#there is always the soothing practice of drawing my girl mercy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelamajiki · 4 years ago

Text

PARINGS: Shouta Aizawa x Reader

CW: yandere, stalking, rape/noncon, pain kink, pain play, mild scent kink, home invasion, gags, restraints, virginity kink, scumbag aizawa, pet play, humiliation, cum stuffing, fingerings, snowballing, voice kink

SYNOPSIS: You have been calling the same phone sex operator for months, creating stalker and CNC fantasies. What happens when he rings true to his words?

AN: this is very dark, be warned! just had to make a fic out of the little idea I had <3

It’s always you who requests him. He can tell you're a virgin, the way your voice wavers when you feel like responding to him. Sometimes you don’t, letting your breathy moans do the talking for you.

“Good little girl.”

“Getting off to a phone call from your stalker? What a whore.”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

”Do you like that, pretty little kitty?”

He never had a knack for giving nicknames, but he had to make it known that he remembers you. Remembers that voice. Hopefully, he’ll be able to remember your body one day.

Tracking you down was easy enough; you didn't bother to block your number and public records was just calling his name. God did he love untouched girls like yourself. So wet and pliant, so easily manipulated, so naive to believe everyone had good intentions.

Cameras were placed around your house so he could watch you when he couldn't hear you. If it was a stalker you wanted, he was going to give it to you.

You called often and asked for him always—such an obedient girl. The live feed from your bedroom streamed in front of him whenever you rang, but he was tired of playing games this week.

“Just look at the way you’re kneading yourself; you like to tease yourself. Don't you, kitty?”

Your breath hitched, but he knew it wasn't from pleasure. Looking around, he chuckled at your confused expression.

“You got a real cute face, you know that kitty? I can't wait to fuck it one day.”

Be rational, you told yourself. Its all part of the fantasy, right? He can’t actually see you.

“That’s a cute bed spread you got there, I didn’t take you for the type who liked lilies. You always keep roses in your kitchen vase.”

Okay, he was definitely listening to you now.

“Say, you live on 14th Street, don't you? Why don't I come down and give you an in person session?”

“What do you say, kitty? Or should I just break in like I always tell you I would?”

The phone hung up after that comment. Sure, you were up to the fantasy of being stalked and raped; that’s why you called him. It was too embarrassing to tell a partner your fantasies, not like you had one. Or roommates for that matter.

His voice is what soothed you after a hard day, but now it kept ringing in your ears. Listening to his breathy chuckles sent shivers down your spine, but you never expected to feel them there.

Three raps came from your bedroom door before it opened. You were buried in your sheets, hopelessly, desperately attempting to be asleep. Like that would stop him.

“I know you're awake.”

An “ah” of realization came from him.

“Unless you sleeping peacefully is part of the fantasy. This is new, but I can indulge you in that kitty.”

The bed dipped and creaked with his weight, fear sinking into your heart further as a hand smoothed itself over your shoulders.

“So tense.” He tutted. “I’ve got something that can help you relax.”

His tongue lapped at the outer shell of your ear; arm slung over your blanketed body.

“Such a naughty girl. Tell me, how many times did you get off to the sound of my voice telling you I was going to take your virginity by force.”

A hand snaked its way up to your throat, squeezing gently enough not to cause pain but enough to cut off part of your air.

“Tell me you want me to rape you, here and now. Or I’ll take you out to the alley and make a display of it.”

His voice barely reached above of a whisper the entire time, the same soft sound he used over the phone. Hot breaths tickled your ear and neck as you squirmed, gasping at straws for air.

“I promise to be gentle; I know you like a tender man who takes what he wants.”

Your throat restricted even more under the hand to the point where you felt light-headed.

“Please!” You gasped, using your nails to scratch at his wrapped fingers. The pressure withdrew.

“Please what, kitty? C’mon, you can do it.”

“P-Please rape me.”

A sharp laugh came from behind you.

“Is that any way to address me? I thought we were using special nicknames here.”

He let you have your moment, apparently amused to see you choke for air as he stroked your back.

“Please rape me...sir.”

“Atta girl.”

The hand made its way back to your throat, only resting there as the thumb stroked over your tender flesh. The other one snuck under the blanket and groped at your chest.

“You're a virgin, aren't you, kitty? Don't worry; your owner is going to talk you through it. Nice and slow so you feel everything I'm giving you.”

Fingers wiggled their way under your bra and began pinching at your nipples, tugging and pulling at the hardening nubs.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you up. You'll get your treat soon enough, kitty.”

You yelped after a particularly rough tug, tears springing in your eyes. His one hand managed to rip your bra apart, giving better access to his perverted fingers.

“I know you like it, the way I knead your pretty little breasts. Come, take your clothes off. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Everything came off before he instructed you to stand at the edge of the bed for him. He circled you like a predator, making inspections.

“I have to make sure my kitty is well-groomed and taking care of herself.”

The weight of his hot breath on your skin weighed down on you, pulling you further under his spell. He lifted your arms and smelled your scent.

“Lavender deodorant? What a shame; I wished I could have smelled your natural musk.”

Humiliation flushed your face hot. Disgusting pervert, it seemed he was into everything as long as it wasn't consensual.

“Sit down on the bed, legs spread.”

The baritone of his voice shook you to your core, but not in the pleasurable way you're used to.

“Don't make me ask twice, pet.”

His command was hard to ignore after following them for such a long time; it was practically instinctual to do as you were told. Shaking legs spread as you turned your head to the side. Another tut rolled off his tongue as he gripped your cheeks with one hand.

“Don't turn away from me. I want to see the look in yours when I take you and make you mine.”

You hadn't even realized before that he had brought a bag with him. From it, he took a bar spreader, rope, and a spider gag, all of which he put on you. The gag made your mouth uncomfortably wide, leaving nothing to his imagination.

Rough fingers pull you tongue from your mouth, his own coming down to lick at before spitting down the back of your throat.

“Swallow.”

You did.

“Good kitty.”

The name didn't comfort you anymore. Nothing about him comforted you anymore. Not his voice, not his nickname, and certainly not his breath, which you felt like was burning all over your body.

“I’m going to be nice and leave your throat alone today. However, if I give you a treat, you will swallow it. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded, terrified at the notion that he intended to come back after tonight. Crouching down in front of you, he inspected your wet pussy before spitting on it as well. Gingerly moving your lips, he circled your tight hole and stood up.

“That should do.”

Watching him undress himself seemed to make time move slower, knowing that he was about to take your virginity within minutes. His hard cock sprung out from his boxers and hit his happy trail, bobbing slightly against his abs. Not only was this man toned, but he was also huge.

“In we go, kitty.”

Not even taking the courtesy to gather some slick from you, he pushed in, taking his sweet time as he locked eyes with you. He went agonizing slow, grinning as you wailed in pain.

“Hurts, doesn't it? Let's see how painful we can make this.”

You were hardly prepped, only having wetness left behind from your previous phone call. It stung, and it stung bad. Your eyes wept as you looked up at him with a pleading gaze, hoping he would take mercy on you. He did no such thing, pinching your clit between his fingers and rolling it with intense pressure. Moaning, he watched as you convulsed and twitched in pain beneath him.

“Being such a good girl for me, kitty.”

Another glob of spit landed in the back of your throat, making you gasp and choke on your sobs. He loved that you were an ugly, messy crier. It only served to make his dick harder.

Once he bottomed out, he stayed there for a while, letting you feel the fullness of his thick cock.

“The name’s Shouta, by the way. I'm sure you must have been curious.”

He spoke so casually, so calmly. It made you furious how collected he was while you were a whimpering, sniffling mess.

“Don't worry; we’ll have all the time in the world once we’re done to get to know me.”

Goddamn, that voice. That hypnotizing, nauseating voice. It's the reason you're stuck here underneath a fucking phone sex operator that turned out to be your stalker. What a mess.

A tap to the temple pulled you back to the present.

“Keep your focus here, kitty.”

Hips drew back and snapped into you, not letting you take a moment to adjust as he set a brutal speed.

Oh, how you wished you could leave your body, but if anything, your senses were all the more enhanced, taking in every last drop of your surroundings. The sounds of the bed creaking under his pounding, his grunts and breaths, the skin slapping against skin, your own cries of misery. The feeling of his breath, how your once silk sheets now felt like sandpaper across your skin, the metal of your binds, and the burn of your rope. Everything and nothing all at once.

The minutes seemed to draw themselves out into hours as he continued his assault. He, or Shouta, you supposed, wasn't lasting very long. It didn't suit him; he seemed like a man of stamina. Maybe it was because he played out a sick fantasy of his that made him cum in minutes.

Unprotected, he came deep inside you before sliding out, giving your pussy a slap as he made his exit.

“Such a tight little kitty you've got there.”

Fingers at the ready, he stuffed his cum back inside you, toying with your clit all the while. He was quick to make you cum, making you see stars at the intensity of your orgasm.

“Don’t worry; I'll make you cum on my cock next time. I have plenty of games planned for us when I take you home.”

Pulling his fingers out, he pushed them down your throat to clean them before getting up and dressed again. He left you there, tied up and gone without a word.

In reality, he was just getting his car ready for you, but who was he to deny himself the pleasure of seeing your panicked face when he came back?

You were going to make a fine pet for him.

#yandere shouta aizawa #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere aizawa #yandere aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere bnha #tw: noncon #tw stalking #yandere x reader #yandere

3K notes · View notes

lunaastoir · 4 years ago

Text

fluff/relationships w the mondstadt crew

characters included: diluc, kaeya, and jean

gn! reader as always <3

tw: fluff??? domesticity??? crack??? ideal relationships w people who will never be real??? also mentions of alcohol!

an: so i’m back w a sequel to my “fluff/relationships w the liyue crew” since you guys seemed to really like it <3 thank you my heart is literally melting 😩 this post was getting too long so i excluded some of the characters but expect a part. 2 (more like part 3 but part 2 to the mondstadt version)!

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

diluc

man. this MAN.

that’s it, that’s the headcanon.

he would literally be the most doting lover in the softest ways

SUCH a soft romantic like you thought you knew love??? nah this man will show you what love is

will constantly leave you things around the winery to convey his silent thank you’s and appreciation for you putting up with him being busy for most of the day

it’s always the most thoughtful things ever too like-

you mentioned how nice it would be to have some fresh lemonade with the hotter weather outside but it was too late in the day to actually go to the market in search of fresh lemons

the next day you walked downstairs only to be greeted with a pitcher of cool lemonade with a side of lemon bars

there was a note attached to the handle of the pitcher <3

“i recall you mentioning how lemonade would be perfect for the warmer weather so i decided to make some for you this morning. i hope it’s still cool by the time you drink it. love, d”

pls sir your hand in marriage

he secretly loves it when you usher him to bed after waking up in the dead of night to see him working by candlelight on reports

soft hands on his cheeks gently whispering about how, it’s been far too long and come to bed, darling and there will be time for this in the morning

his protests are light given the dark purple hues under his crimson eyes but he’ll still make a little fuss

don’t let this man fool you tho he’s so so touched that you care enough to check up on him and drag him to bed!!

sometimes on the days he has a bit more free time, the two of you will quickly grab your dinners and race to the highest spot in the winery to watch the setting sun

these moments are always filled with laughter, something you’ve found you’re easily able to pull out of diluc, simply because it’s you

uncontrollable sobbing

he would let you paint his nails black like the angsty man he is

frankly he would let you do anything to him if it makes you happy <3

ok but wait diluc w bLACK NAILS?? AND RINGS??? i would die on the spot ⚰️

on the topic of makeup, this man is surprisingly really good w it

i like to think he learned after practicing on kaeya when they were younger bc kaeya was really into makeup

you found out after babysitting klee one day and trying failing to draw eyeliner on the sweet girl after her “big brother ‘bedo!”

you hastily grabbed some wipes, gently wiping off the messed up design before attempting to dive back in

diluc however, had some down time so he decided to check up on his favorite chaotic duo

only to be met with a pile of dirtied makeup wipes, your frustrated expression, and klee’s growing jitteriness

swiftly moving to your side, he quietly asked if you needed help

you glanced up quizzically before handing him the eyeliner, already looking around to find more makeup wipes when this inevitably goes wrong

to your utter surprise tho the eyeliner is perfect??? two perfect winged lines??? in less than a minute??? WHAT

you just stood there like 😦 before diluc got back up and handed you the eyeliner

you were short-circuiting, klee was ecstatic, diluc was worried about you

ok last thing abt diluc

crack! warning but the both of you like lowkey pranking kaeya

for diluc it’s revenge on his annoying brother; for you it’s good - natured sibling rivalry fun

every time the two of you see kaeya, one of you always swipes something of his

small things really, it could be a pen or a handkerchief

one time, diluc swiped kaeya’s spare eyepatch and from the looks of it, kaeya’s only spare black eyepatch bc he was frantically looking for it yk he’s desperate when he even asked diluc if he saw it

the two of you spent an hour nearly laughing your asses off

all in all, life w him is so sweet

kaeya

pretty boy? pretty boy.

while i can’t guarantee stability, life would never be boring w this man that’s for sure

piggy back rides 🗣 piggy back rides 🗣 piggy back rides

he LOVES it, the feel of you on his back while he’s walking around mondstadt most likely carrying you to your commission

he finds it comforting especially since he can hear the rumble of your voice against him while you recount stories, or just babble on about everything under the sun

he is SO dramatic so obviously when y’all reach the site of the commission he has to kill all the monsters even tho the both of you agreed to split it up evenly

he makes quick work of his set before stealing some of yours much to your chagrin

you scold him but can you really be mad at him when he looks drop dead gorgeous freezing the hilichurls the answer is no, no you cannot be

oh my god ok wait-

he does this thing where he tries to spook you in public

so say you’re getting groceries at the mondstadt general store

you round the corner just minding your own business, looking around, taking in the sunshine

and suddenly you just hear someone drop in behind you but before you can register anything you hear a soft “boo” and hands circle your waist

you jump SIKE let’s be honest you shrieked

meanwhile kaeya’s just laughing his ass off

you can hear his rich peals of laughter while you attempt to regain your bearings

he does this so often you SHOULD be used to it but you really aren’t bc mans is SNEAKY-

he cards his fingers in your hair whenever you’re speaking

he doesn’t know why, it’s just a cute habit and he finds the feel of his fingers in your hair soothing

oH on the topic of comfort, kaeya really likes resting two fingers on the back of your neck???

ik he seems like the type to throw his arm around your shoulder which yes he totally is but during more serious conversations his hand automatically seeks out the warmth of your neck

your neck feels amazing especially during the warmer months due to his chilly fingers contrasting with your warm skin

he likes that he’s able to access such a vulnerable part of you and you would willingly let him

HE GETS YOU MATCHING OUTFITS

no i will NOT take criticism on this i just kNOW he’s that type of guy

it would be those stupid “i’m his” and “they’re mine” sweatshirts like BYE

it’s so cringy but for some reason it’s oddly adorable and you truly despise it but you can’t seem to say no whenever he asks

you pretend to ignore the look of pity diluc throws your way whenever he sees you like this

kaeya really loves accessories so i think he would be the type to give you a promise ring or something similar to show that he truly does care for you

he would brush it off, flirting a little like usual before handing you the ring

with the way his cheeks softly darken though, you know he’s being genuine

TICKLE FIGHTS ik i mentioned this for childe but shhhh

he has tickle fingers??? his hands just loOK like they’re itching to tickle someone so you’ll most likely be the unfortunate victim

he will not show you mercy. at all. he’ll tickle you until there are tears streaming from your eyes, your face is hot, and your voice is hoarse from laughing so damn hard

it gives him such a rush of serotonin its SO CUTE

i feel like this goes without saying but he’s super into pda,,, anything and everything is on the table

hand holding? duh. ass grabs? ofc. carrying you bridal style around mondstadt? why not

ik he’s typically very playful but once the relationship reaches a certain stage, he’ll slowly start to let down the walls that surround his facade

very very slowly show you the more realistic parts of him

the real, damaged pieces of his soul

he’ll be carefully monitoring your reaction though, any sign of fear or disgust will have him recoiling within himself again and you most likely will never see his true nature ever again

SO BE CAREFUL 👹

once you’ve seen the parts of him he’s offered to you, the hushed whispers of his past, and the uncertain lines of his future, he will take off his eyepatch

pretends like he’s not super nervous but he’s SWEATING-

the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen though hands down

you can understand why he covers it up but you would like it if he felt comfortable enough to take off the eyepatch occasionally when he’s with you

also!!! sleeps with his eyepatch side facing you (in the event he wears it to bed)

if this happens you KNOW he trusts you bc it’s his blindside <3

anyways life w kaeya will never be boring but he is a very complicated man

stay with him though, i promise it’ll be worth it

jean

the key to jean’s heart is coffee and food

GET HER COFFEE AND FOOD

i am begging you she deserves it 😭

the poor woman works so hard bc the knights are so mf understaffed, this is literally the best way you can ever show her your love and appreciation when she has work

she will MELT if you have a hot shower and dinner waiting for her when she inevitably returns later than she promised

will completely refuse at first with, “you did not have to do this, it’s too much” but shush her as you shOULD bc she deserves the entire world

she’s the definition of “you do something for me, i’ll return the favor ten times grander”

you leave a flower on her desk bc it reminded you of her??? you’ll wake up to find a whole bouquet of the prettiest windwheel asters you’ve ever seen the next morning along with a thank you note

she’s so sweet BYE

she gets flustered extremely easily so you obviously use this as an opportunity to tease her

when you’re in public rest your hand on her waist and inch it higher until your hand is underneath her shirt and in contact with her warm skin

she’ll actually short-circuit its quite adorable

sometimes y’all will be cuddling and you’ll hear whispers of her insecurities

“am i a good grand master? will i ever be as valiant as vanessa?”

reassure her!!! tell her that she doesn’t need to be like vanessa, she’s already amazing as jean

if you haven’t seen her in awhile, track her down and schedule a lunch date

she never misses appointments and if it’s for you, she’ll gladly make time to see you even if she has to stay up even later than usual

OH-

GIVE HER MASSAGES

she has so much tension and the sorest muscles from hunching over papers and running around on errands

if you sneak into her office and quietly stand behind her before gently pushing down on the sore tendons of her neck, she’ll genuinely fall over on her desk

so make sure you steady her 😀

after you feel how tight her muscles are though, you drag her to barbara bc she needs a healer asap 😭

while most of your time is spent in her office - you helping out in the ways you can while jean is overseeing knight duties - you still have your fair share of life outside of the favonius headquarters

jean never likes to sit still so whenever you have free time, the both of you head off looking for monsters to clear

bouken da bouken???

adventuring w jean is seriously the funnest thing you could ever do

it’s just non-stop you accidentally getting into trouble and her having to come help you

even tho the both of you are dead tired after fighting, what? 20 hilichurl camps now??? the laughter and joy in your eyes shows how you both truly loved every minute of it

it’s both a stress reliever, good fun, and a work-out <3

you’re definitely prone to getting dragged to angel’s share w kaeya

kaeya and jean sometimes hang out after work at the tavern so inevitably you’re dragged along too

all three of you are drunk out of your minds which just makes everything a MILLION times funnier

kaeya slurring over his words makes the two of you start cackling endlessly while diluc just shakes his head making sure to not give you more wine despite your pleas

angel’s share ft. kaeya and bartender diluc are always the best times fr fr

life with her literally feels like y’all are married

so much domesticity it’s so NICE ALJDKSFH

your house is always so clean and the color scheme is impeccable bc jean has such a good eye

you have a chore schedule 😎 but it almost never works out bc jean ends up doing everything without you knowing-

you always confront her abt it and she’s like 😁 “i had some time so i did them! no worries tho” like i- time??? where bitc-

oH- she has amazing style so you can bet shopping w her is literally the best experience

she takes you to all of the hidden gems some places lisa recommended and helps you pick out things

will 100% get really blushy if you come out in something and ask her for her opinion tho she’s literally the cutest

basically jean is a sweet girl who deserves the entirety of teyvat that is all.

thanks for reading! if you have any requests don’t hesitate to send them in <3

478 notes · View notes

saviorinsilk · 4 years ago

Text

Again

Ship: Wilhemina Venable x Fem!Reader

Description: Wilhemina Venable is your College English Professor and on a particular night you learn your lesson for speaking out in class. This is an AU!

Words: 1869

Warnings: Punishment, professor x student, strap on sex, spanking, domination and discipline.

A/N: You guys wanted more of Venable spanking reader so here you sluts go!

Tears clouded your vision of the textbook that was laying open on the desk in front of you. Your body jerked forward when yet another harsh slap rang loudly through the Victorian styled office. Ms. Venable had delivered another brutal hit on your already red, welt covered ass. You didn't make any noise, you wouldn't dare. Your professor had taught you better than that. But oh how you wished you could vocally express yourself.

"Again Miss Y/L/N." Ms. Venable spoke from behind you, her bruising grip loosening up so she could ghost her hand up your lower back and back down. She caressed the sensitive skin of your burning red ass in slow circles as she pushed your dress that was already hiked up, even higher and out of her way.

You supported yourself on one of your shaky elbows as you wiped your eyes with your free hand, the words on the page in front of you now clearer.

"First Person; In the subjective case, the singular form of the first person is "I," and the plural form is "we." "I" and "we" are in the subjective case because either one can be used as the subject of a sentence." Your voice was small, the half-hour of canning you had already endured because of your slip up in Ms. Venable's English lecture, having already caused you to sink deep into your submissive headspace. You braced yourself for the impending attack, making it easier to hold back the whimper that dared to escape.

Ms. Venable's delicate but deadly cane collided with your ass for what felt like the hundredth time, your weak legs beginning to shake as your full ass bounced with the force of the hit.

You took that as your cue to continue and once again began reading over the next paragraph on the page she had been making you repeat, this time your voice shaking as she hit you once, twice and three times.

"Second Person; You use the second-person point of view to address the reader, as I just did. T-The second person uses the pronouns "you," "your," and "yours." We use these t-three pronouns when addressing one, or more than one, person." Your voice was beginning to falter and you wished you had just kept your mouth shut and hadn't made that stupid snippy remark in class.

"Actually Ms. V, wouldn't you want to use first person?" You regretted opening your mouth the moment the classroom fell silent. You knew you had fucked up and everyone else did as well, giving you sympathetic looks as Ms. Venable slowly made her way over to your seat, her cane clicking loudly against the tile floor as she did. She didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of your desk at the front of the class, her piercing dark gaze locked on you. You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eyes as she spoke.

"If you are going to try and correct me Miss Y/L/N, at least do it right."

She snapped back, the class straining not to erupt in laughter, fearing her wrath. A hand shot up at the other side of the room but Ms. Venable took a moment before she nodded at the girl.

"I believe the correct answer is actually second person Ms.Venable." Stupid Casey. You hated Casey. She was such a kiss ass. Always offering to help Ms. Venable after class, purposely being the last one (other than you of course) to leave the class so she could steal a few extra moments with your professor. You hated how jealous the blonde, skinny College girl made you; but you couldn't help it. Even the knowledge that Casey thought of Ms. Venable in that way made your blood boil. And Ms Venable knew it too.

"Very right Casey. Glad to know some of you are paying attention. As for you Miss Y/L/N, we will discuss your behaviour after class."

There had been nothing you had been able to do but clench you're fists and get through the rest of class.

"You will be in my office by 11:30pm sharp." Was all she said before directing her attention back to her computer.

She didn't need to ask. Only You and Ms. Venable knew the truth. That this was exactly what you had wanted. When you didn't move she glared at you, making you blush and quickly pick up your books and throw your bag over your shoulder. Your plan was progressing perfectly and her furious gaze only made you squeeze your thighs together harder, biting your lip the way you knew drove your secret lover crazy.

Her office was connected to the small apartment she lived in on campus. It was a 5-minute walk from your dorm, one you had gotten quite accustomed too.

You still remember the first night you spent in her office. Ms. Venable had offered to tutor you through the writing project she had assigned. She had sat across her desk from you and for the first time you had witnessed her smile, telling you that your outline looked perfect. It was something that didn't often happen from the tough grader. That had been the first night. A tutoring session gone sexual.

Today had been no different, except you knew what was awaiting you and it wasn't praise. She barely had spoken to you before she had bent you over her desk, slamming the textbook down in front of you and making you go to page 62, paragraph 23, demanding you begin reading.

Ms. Venable had seemed to have found a tad of mercy in her cold heart, as she lowered her cane, instead gently tracing the welts and light bruises that had already begun to form from the assault from her cane.

You took the chance to catch your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, demanding that the salty tears that dared to spill down onto the pages below to stay put.

That's when you heard it, the light sound of her skirt dropping, the delicate lavender fabric pooling at her feet before the woman stepped out of it and slid it out of her way. The sound elicited both excitement and fear in you. It made your stomach twist and the warmth that had built up in your core was becoming painful.

That's when you felt it, smooth and rock hard against your ass. She had been wearing her strap the whole evening and by weight of it, you knew it was your favourite one.

Ms. Venable leaned down over you, the dominance she radiated causing you to press your thighs together, desperate to quench the painful arousal that the dark woman had caused. Her strap pressed again your wet cunt as she snatched your long hair that was already pulled up in a ponytail (convenient for her) in her fist. You couldn't help the high pitched squeak that slipped past your lips as she yanked your head back. You could feel Ms. Venable's hot breath against the shell of your ear as she used her foot to kick your legs wider apart; granting her access to the part of you that only belonged to her.

"You enjoy being a brat? Embarrassing me in front of all my students?" She sarcastically asked, slapping your cunt roughly with her impossibly large cock. You bit your lip to keep your moans locked inside, drawing blood as Ms. Venable delivered a few more slaps to your aching cunt. You shook your head frantically, crying out as you opened your mouth to answer her.

"No Ms! I'm a bad girl! I'm sorry!" You whimper as she pulled your earlobe into her mouth.

She hit you with her hand harder than you were expecting and simultaneously slide her large, thick cock into you. The impossible stretch you felt as Ms. Venable buried herself completely inside of your dripping, warm and throbbing cunt, made you moan deeply, fresh tears pricking your eyes. You arched your back painfully and dropped your head to the wooden desk, smashing against it loud enough to cause Ms.Venable's predatory expression to falter for a split second. The concern faded quickly though when she felt you began to grind your hips back, desperate for your professor to give you what you needed.

She moaned in pleasure as she watched your tight hole stretch perfectly around her cock, like you were made for it. Made to serve her.

Ms. Venable's hand came down on your right ass cheek and then the left, her dark eyes blown black with lust. She could tell you were close, noticing the way your whimpers became more desperate, the textbook falling flat on the desk, your head resting on top it.

"Ah, ah, ah don't be a greedy little slut. You better not cum until you're finished." Ms. Venable warned you in a calm tone as she stayed still inside of you, as torturous as it was for her, the stimulation of the base of the strap had begun to make her clit throb but she knew you wouldn't last if she didn't.

Ms. Venable may have been a cruel Mistress and a strict teacher but she knew how sensitive you were after a spanking. How the pain lit your body up like a live wire. Plus, after how good you had been for her, she truly didn't want to have to punish you for cumming without permission.

"Third Person; The third person is the most common point of view used in fiction writing and is the traditional form for academic writing. Authors of novels and composers of papers use "he," "she," or "it" when referring to a person, place, thing, or idea." You practically screamed the last sentence, bucking your hips back roughly, trying to get Ms. Venable as deep inside of you as you possibly could. You were sweating, crying and shaking like a pathetic mess, exactly how Professor Venable liked you.

"PLEASE! Fucking hell! Please, Ms. Venable! I won't forget again!" You sobbed, becoming frantic for something, anything that would soothe the burning and twisting sensation in your lower abdomens

Ms. Venable chuckled to herself, proud of the effect she had on you. If she were honest, she was glad you had finished up as she couldn't stand the intensely of her own arousal another second longer.

"Good girl. Such a smart slut. Now cum for me" You barely had time to register her words before Ms. Venable began thrusting into your roughly, a sure-fire way to have you cumming around her cock.

When your orgasm does snap in your belly Ms.Venable pulled you up, your back crashing into her chest. Your body went ridge, fire washing over you and Ms. Venable held onto you tightly, supporting your weight as she fucked you through your orgasm. "Thank y-you Miss!" You barely got the words out as your body shook with the aftershock of your orgasm.

Ms.Venable smirked wickedly as she shoved you back down on your elbows, cock pulled from your cunt with a sharp spank on your ass cheek. When she finally spoke again, you froze, hearing the three words you dreaded the most.

"Again Miss Y/L/N."

💖Tumblr Tag List💖

@misssofiacatherinepaulson

@queencocoakimmie

@marilynroselleprentiss

@lathraios

@goblinscum420

@pinkey629

@make--your--life--spectacular

@whatiziz

@natasha-danvers

@marvelfansince08love

@mssallymckenna

@pradababey

#venable #wilhemina venable fanfic #wilhemina venable fanfiction #wilhemina venable #smut #ahs smut #venable smut #ahs apocalyse #american horror story

219 notes · View notes

heroloverangel · 4 years ago

Text

All Yours, Forever

You may be the only person on the planet who can have All Might at your mercy like this.

Your quirk’s never been worth bragging about; the ability to generate heat from your hands isn’t exactly hero-quality or impressive. You can’t find many ways to use it most of the time, outside of simply keeping your coffee warm. You’d might as well be quirkless, for all the use you get out of it. Still though, if the greatest hero in the world finds value in your power, you’re happy to have it.

It’s a rare night at home together with Toshinori and you’re spending it indulging him like he deserves. You’ve got the hero stripped to his underwear and laying on his stomach beneath you. You straddle his thick waist, your nightgown bunched up around your thighs as you stretch over him to run your warm palms over the hard muscles of his shoulders. The heels of your hands press firmly into his broad back and you’re rewarded with a satisfied grunt as you massage the tension from within his powerful from.

“Harder, please.” You bite your lip, doing your best to ignore the twinge of interest rising at the rough tone in his voice. Readjusting your position, you put more of your weight onto your arms and knead deeper into him. “That’s so good, you really are the best.” You’re thankful that he’s looking the other way, you’d almost be embarrassed by how pleased the expression is on your face. It takes you nearly an hour to work the knots out of his back and your arms are in desperate need of a break, but every minute is worth it to repay your hero for everything he does.

Gradually you make your way down to his waist, soothing his body as you go and then give yourself a second to stretch. “Alright, turn over so I can get your front.” You move to slip off of him, but even in his relaxed state he’s still much faster than you. In the blink of an eye you find yourself laying in his place, All Might hovering over you with affection in those intense eyes.

You swallow as you stare up at him, his trademark smile looking a little more mischievous from his angle above you. “I think you’ve earned a little pampering of your own, sweetheart.” When he leans down to kiss you, it takes your breath away. You part your lips for him and he takes your offer, sliding his wide tongue into your mouth and relishing how small and delicate you are in comparison.

“Toshi,” you groan, separating for air and feeling far too warm in your thin nightgown. He pushes the skirt higher to your waist to expose your panties. You don’t normally wear something so enticing; he’s not usually home to appreciate it, but tonight you’re going all out to show your love. One large finger traces over the lace covering you and your clit is already twitching at the touch of him through the thin fabric. Even when he’s being gentle, he’s so strong it’s impossible not to react to every movement he makes. You spread your legs wider for him, an open invitation to explore more of you and he quickly has you squirming at his touch. “You always take good care of me,” you say, every word a breathless pant.

You reach up for him and bring his lips down to meet yours, your fingers twisting in that familiar golden hair. “Don’t keep a girl waiting,” you whine. He laughs at your enthusiasm and carefully dips his fingers into your waistband to drag your underwear down your legs. You definitely enjoyed having your hands all over him, but you’ll need a lot more help before you’re wet enough to take him.

“Don’t worry, I could never deny a woman in need,” your hero teases back. You practically purr as his warm hands run over you, trailing up your bare thighs as your stomach flips in anticipation of their destination. “You are so lovely,” he breathes in your ear, rubbing his finger along your slit to circle your clit. Immediately you’re gasping and your thighs flex in an effort not to clamp down around him. Toshinori chuckles, his free hand holds your hip to keep you in place as he strokes against the folds of your cunt. You lay back into the soft pillows beneath you, eyes closing to focus on the building tension with every light brush over your sensitive body.

The two of you don’t get to spend as much time together as you’d like, but he’s still quite familiar with you and can read you like a book. “Toshi, I wa-” You don’t finish the sentence; he’s already giving you exactly what you want before you can ask for it. The steady pressure on your clit withdraws, only to be replaced by the stretch of that thick finger slowly slip inside of you. You’re instantly moving, hips rutting up against his grasp to take more of it. “Fuck, you’re so big, Toshi…” With your eyes clamped shut you can’t see how he licks his lips at your words, but you can tell he’s encouraged when the finger slides deeper into you. Your hands dig into the sheets as he finally starts to move, gradually working you open to handle more of him.

You’re far too excited for his attention, too receptive for your own good. By the time he adds a second finger into your pussy, you can’t stop yourself from crying out. “It’s alright, love.” It’s thrilling to hear it, the great All Might’s voice strained with arousal and only for you. “I’m here, I’ve got you.” He’s gentle as his fingers slide in and out of your tiny body, coaxing the sweetest moans and gasps from your throat that leave his cock throbbing in his increasingly uncomfortable boxers. He abandons the task of keeping you pinned down and grabs for your nightgown, pushing it further up over your chest and you manage to wiggle out of it. “Beautiful,” he whispers, but you’re too distracted to notice.

He reaches for your breasts, cupping one in a rough palm and teasing your nipple to full hardness. “Toshiii, I need more. Please?” You look up at him with pure hunger and in that moment, he would give you the world if you asked. He can feel how wet you’ve gotten from his fingers, but still takes excessive care when he works a third digit in with the others. You let out a whimper at the stretch of it, pushing yourself against his big hand for more stimulation. “Make me come,” you plead, and he’s powerless to deny you. He flexes his fingers, spreads them apart to stretch your dripping pussy wider. His calloused thumb rubs firmly over your clit and he can feel how close you are, your inner muscles steadily squeezing around his fingers are proof enough. He twists his wrist to drag them over your g-spot and your thighs automatically slam shut to hold him in place.

Toshinori stares at you like he’s hypnotized as he watches your orgasm play out. You always look so gorgeous like this, when you’re coming completely undone and writhing from his affection. Your back lifts into a perfect arch, the muscles in your lower body going taut as you mindlessly grind yourself against his hand on pure instinct. “I love you,” he blurts out, the man’s brain rapidly losing control of his thoughts.

You’re winded, but flash him a wide smile of your own. “L-love you too.” You grab for his broad shoulders and he gets your point. Without another word he’s shifting his position, moving to cage your fragile, precious body under his much larger frame. His kiss would leave you speechless if you were still able to string more than three words together. You’re yanking at his boxers, too wound up to wait any longer for him. You mentally scold yourself for skipping yoga again, your poor legs splayed as far as you can to make enough room for his wide hips.

Everything about All Might is impressive, including the thick cock throbbing against your hand as you free it from its fabric prison. “So fucking big,” you coo, trailing your finger down along his shaft and cherishing the deep rumble in his chest. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“All yours, forever.” He pulls your hips forward to line himself up with your pretty little pussy. “You’re ready?”

You nod, gaze fixed between your bodies at the dick waiting to split you apart. “Yeah. Come here, I want you.” His smile is so warm as he braces his strong arms against the mattress and carefully begins to enter you. He starts slow for your benefit, and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock rubbing inside you, filling you to your limit inch by inch. You grab for his broad shoulders for support and he groans at your touch, withdrawing slightly before sliding another inch deeper on his next thrust. You’re not sure how long this lasts, he continues his careful back-and-forth until after several minutes, he’s fully pressed inside you. He waits for you to adjust, watching your face for any sign of discomfort before he’ll let anything continue. “I’m okay,” you confirm after a few deep breaths and buck your hips up against him. “You know I’m not gonna break.”

You’re lucky that Toshinori has such excellent control of his strength, or you’d be bedridden for weeks. His pace increases gradually, allowing you to get used to his rhythm before he pushes you for more. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs and you clench around him at the compliment. You squeeze his shoulders and he moves faster, drawing another needy whine out of you. “I’m so lucky to have you.” You shouldn’t get so flustered when he talks to you like that, but every word is just so sincere and heartfelt, you can’t help but melt a little. There’s no hiding your reaction to his words, but you bring him for another kiss as a distraction anyway.

One strong arm snakes under your body and angles you upward to meet the steady drive of his hips. Your cunt grips tighter on his pulsing dick, your voice sounding so much shakier than normal. “Mmm, that...god, there. You make me feel so good. Toshi, my perfect hero-” You’re always amazed that your own mindless praise affects him just as much, that you can bring a blush to his face when even the strongest opponent can’t dampen his smile. “You’re gonna make me come again already,” you pant.

His pelvis grinds against yours with every move he makes, brushing against your sensitive clit each time he pushes forward into you. You hold him close and savor everything about him; the strong muscles surrounding you, the deep voice whispering his affection for you, the heavy cock rutting into you so perfectly you’re in heaven. It doesn’t take him much longer to push you over the edge and you’re squealing for him like a woman possessed.

You wrap your legs around his waist as best you can, trapping him so he can’t pull out of you. “You can finish inside, I know you want to.” The sound Toshinori makes is almost a snarl, his lips leaving kisses all down your throat as he buries himself as deep as he can inside your still-sensitive cunt. You feel him twitch hard, and his warm cum is pouring into you until it’s overflowing out of your much smaller body. You let out a happy sigh and run your fingers through his ruffled hair as both of you take a moment to calm down.

All Might eases himself off of you to roll over onto his back beside your limp, tired form. You give yourself a few more minutes to recover before you manage to climb back on top of him. You know you’re making a mess of both of you, but you won’t mind sharing a hot bath later. He looks at you with curiosity and you activate your quirk to generate the heat from your hands. “I told you, I still need to get your front.” He barks out a laugh as you lean over him to continue his massage.

#lemon #bnha x reader #all might x reader

85 notes · View notes

joeyglowy · 5 years ago

Text

Bad Study Habits ft. Miya Twins

In which the Miya Twins learn not to waste your time when they are the ones that asked for help. That, and that their necks are surprisingly quite sensitive.

(Call it a commemoration for Miya Osamu finally having his character designs introduced, even if it’s the fucking laziest but most beautiful thing I’ve seen all week)

Miya Atsumu x Reader, 1500+ words Miya Osamu x Reader, 1700+ words

(I promise, I love them, almost equally)

Miya Atsumu

“Why do I need ta know Avocado’s number? Unless he’s down to help a brother getting blue balled by his own girlfriend, tell him I’m not interested.”

“It’s Avogadro’s number and for once in your life can you not think with your dick? We’re not here to have sex; I’m here to make you pass your chemistry test so you don’t get another detention for slacking off in class!”

For the past eighteen minutes, you had been using your middle and index finger to rub circles into your temple, a vain attempt to soothe the hammering headache that jabbed your eyelids each time Atsumu opened his mouth.

When your boyfriend had come to your door, ‘begging’ you to help him with chemistry, you found it pleasantly endearing. For all the faults to which Miya Atsumu had—for which there were many—he had unfortunately perfected the art of looking just sheepish enough that it became adorable while still bristling his feathers like a proud peacock that just made you want to pull his chubby cheeks. He was the naughty puppy that still had his ravenous canines punctured in your favourite lita boots with his tail tucked between his legs. He was that one bad kid in every class who fooled around but all the female teachers doted on him anyways because he was charismatic in that childishly infuriating way that made them lower their standards when he finally put in the effort.

Miya Atsumu, put bluntly, is a godforsaken brat.

“[Name]-chan! My chem teacher’s threatenin’ me! He said if I fail one more quiz I’ll have to sit through at least three detentions just, doin’ I don’t know, symbiosis! You gotta help me; you’re my girlfriend, aren’tcha?”

Yet, you somehow fell for this idiot anyway.

Enamoured with his honey-lemon eyes, you decided not to tell him that what you were doing was in fact stoichiometry and symbiosis is actually a biology term. But with the way he had grabbed your shoulders, for an inexperienced lover like yourself, it was more than enough to trigger a visceral reaction that caused some internal organ to clog your throat. His subtle guilt-trip did not go unnoticed but with your brain short-circuiting, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you had dumbly nodded, cursing your inability to deal with intimacy and members of the opposite sex as you allowed him to barge into your home.

Since he was always practicing, you thought it would be a chance to do something that couples do. Using your infinite knowledge collated from various fanfictions and shoujo manga online, you had constructed a seemingly infallible plan to make the most of your time with Atsumu. It involved having every excuse to stare at him without being teased for it and if anything, you would be in the rare position of the teaser, playfully pointing out his mistakes to which he’d probably pout and whine about before undoubtedly, once you were done, he’d demand a reward. Enter obligatory make out sesh. Which of course, was more than welcome in your book. You were a simple girl and he had cultivated excellently curved muscles from his years of volleyball, sue your transparency.

There was just one chink in your perfectly polished armoured plan.

Atsumu was a brat above all else. A horny one.

Tutoring him was like trying to make caramel for the first time.

At first, you think it’s going well. You’re simmering the white sugar, careful and attentive, determined to make it a success. Yet, as the browning starts to come in from the edges, a funny aroma that was not the scent of sweetness but one of something being grossly burned beyond recovery did you realise just how taxing the job was. Before you knew it, it was like having your kitchen on fire, the ignition source being the abomination that is Miya Atsumu.

As Osamu would say, “His mental age regresses by five years when he’s playing. . . but it plummets by ten when he’s, god forbid it, studyin’.”

If he wasn’t whining, he was trying to stroke your legs with his spider fingers under the kotatsu, creeping up your thigh only to be smacked away by your own hand to which he’d just go back to loudly whining. He had the attention span of a five year old and the attitude of a twelvie that equalled a near migraine for you. Least to say, you were far too annoyed to be turned on now so you had abruptly gotten up in a fit of annoyance, told him you were going to drink some water and left him in the living room.

You sighed, the water only granted a moment’s worth of reprieve as you headed back to the living room to see his honey coloured mop of hair from behind. Your eye twitched when you looked from behind to see him doodling an avant-garde penis on the page. Lovely.

He still hadn’t noticed you peering over his shoulder so you took the chance to admire the back of his head, watching how his hairline faded out from beneath his undercut, the roots of his old hair still left their stain. You wondered if his neck down ever got cold, with the constant exposure and all. The longer you stared, the more you felt your stomach lurch, toying with a lingering thought that just might get you what you wanted after all.

In a swift movement, with your lips gently planted on the supple flesh, beneath his hairline, you caressed the skin tenderly. Your lips quirked upward to hear a squeak from your boyfriend who had shuddered violently, his shoulders shaking as his penis drawing gained an unexpected gradient slope, his pen streaking in a straight line across the page. You chuckled into his neck; nipping at it playfully as your hot breath caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. Pleased with the pinkish hue that spread across the skin like paint, you pulled away as Atsumu snapped his head towards you, moon eyed.

Although you may have burnt the caramel, it looks like you’ve found some hidden strawberries to snack on instead.

You watched the way his pretty blush flourished to his cheeks while he looked visibly affronted by your sneak attack. “Wh-what do ya think yer doin’!?” he spluttered on the spot, his hand flying to his neck as if you had just bitten into it. You wanted to lick your lips at the thought before you narrowed your eyes sternly, trying not to let a wolfish grin slip through the cracks.

“I don’t know about you but personally, I despise wasting time, don’t you ‘Tsumu?”

You drummed your fingers on the kotatsu’s surface, slow and pronounced. His golden eyes zeroed onto them in anticipation. You licked your lips. All these food metaphors made you realise just how starved you are. Atsumu being someone who had always been observant, seemed to pick up on your hunger as well, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, as he glanced up at you from under his lashes, anxious. You turned back to the paper, almost nonchalant, as if you weren’t aware of his clenched fists and tensed thighs.

“Yet, you seem to be taking advantage of my generosity, good boyfriends shouldn’t do that ‘Tsumu. You’re a good boyfriend, aren’tcha?” you drawled lowly, as you started glancing at your nails using your other hand, viciously using his guilt-tripping tactic from before.

Atsumu looked positively famished. His brows twisted up guiltily, that sheepish, puppy look on his face once more. Still, you could see his eyes shining too bright, still thinking that it’d go his way if he played nice. He was a mischievous imp that was a little too used to getting what he wants. You decided you weren’t going to fall for it this time.

“[Name], I didn’t--”

“Oh, but you did,” you sharply interrupted him and he winced. Your heart throbbed and as much as you loved teasing him, you did want this to end with him pinning you to the couch so you smiled softly. “Why don’t we finish studying, yeah? Then you can make it up to me.”

If Atsumu wasn’t getting blue balled before, then he certainly is now. He had no idea how the situation began to drip with sexual undertone but with the unbearable heat coursing through him, he could only nod helplessly, at your mercy. For the remainder of the studying session, while it had become increasingly harder for him to stay focused with his raging hormones going haywire, he clung onto every single word that fell from your mouth like it was a lifeline as the incomprehensible scribbles on the page finally morphed into numbers and words that he could understand.

You grinned victoriously to see the eager look Atsumu would get in his eyes, awaiting your praise and what he thinks is his reward once you had both finally gotten through the content. He really is just like an overzealous, whiny puppy that wants his treat. Well now, this will most certainly result into an exciting night for you, just as you had planned.

You smirked triumphantly.

‘All according to keikaku.’

Miya Osamu

“So, do you know how to use Avogadro’s number?”

“Mm? Avocado?”

You sighed. “No, can’t you stop thinking about food for a second, it’s Avo—Osamu!” you yelped, seeing your boyfriend barely stirring from the nest he’s made with his arms as he blinks blearily at you. The sleep in his eyes quite nearly breaks open every dam with the unparalleled force that is your love and affection and ability to just gush about how adorable this man is for hours and yet, you are forced to restrain yourself. As much as you adore Miya Osamu, he is unfortunately, just as much of an idiot as his brother—yet strangely manages to get within a range of 1 to 5 per cent higher than him on every test.

Osamu lets a little smile slip. “Avosamu? I thought it was Avogadro.”

You offered him a hard glare before deflating into the kotatsu, just like he did. He perked his head up to hear your muffled groans, his lips quirking up at how cute you sound. “Osamuuuu, you need to study for the test tomorrow! It’s worth a third of your grade!” you exclaimed, erupting from the cocoon of your arms to pout at him. Osamu grimaced just a little because every move he made was with restraint as he guiltily looked away.

“I know but m’tired,” he mumbled into his arms, burying his nose into them. “From practice,” he clarified with a grumble that faded out into something roughly incoherent. You had to stop yourself from smiling at his petulant tone of voice as you sighed, shaking your head. He was a kid, just like Atsumu too apparently.

“I know but . . .” you trailed off to see him in a sleeping position. You shook your head, unable to stop your smile this time as you gently raked your fingers through his hair. A sound rumbled from his chest and you snorted, of course only Osamu would be able to do the human equivalent of purring. His face resurfaced from the blanket of his arms as he leaned into your touch, sighing contently. You found your hand devoured by the dishevelled mess that was his hair as you fondly played with his matted grey tresses. Your love for this man warmed your heart beyond words as you could feel yourself relaxing—you blinked.

Wait a minute.

The way you ripped your hand out of his hair was like a splash of cold water to the face as he startled, bewildered by your forceful action as you glowered at him. “You fox!” you hissed. He blinked innocently in return as you shook your head adamantly. “I will not be an accomplice to your illicit sleeping endeavours! Nor the reason why you fail tomorrow’s test and have to stay back to do catch up work! Atsumu and the team would never let you live it down you know!”

You clutched your beating heart with a flush on your cheeks. ‘Ahh, that was close! He’s much more convincing than I thought but I won’t be fooled!’

You offered him another glare before sighing. You’d done that too many times this session you now realised. “Look, I’ll get you some tea, okay? But after that, you have to stay awake! You’ll be in big trouble if I come back and you’re asleep,” you softly reprimanded him although he looked completely unabashed as he nodded.

“Mm’kay.”

You were only gone for five minutes but when you had returned . . . he was definitely in trouble.

You gripped the steaming cup of hot tea by the handle; careful not to brush your knuckles on the actual cup so you don’t burn yourself and spill it like a waterfall. Carefully, you placed the cup of tea out of reach so he doesn’t knock it over before you plopped onto the cushion next to him, pouting. Really, coming over, begging you to help him study, only to fall asleep in front of you, what a tease. . .

“Jeez, I was hoping for some, fun times after we finished up too~” you whined to yourself, letting your chin fall to your fist before a movement other than your own caught you from the corner of your periphery.

You narrowed your eyes. His lashes flickered like a butterfly’s wings, elegant yet silent. Then nothing. You drummed your fingers slowly on the kotatsu’s surface before aptly concluding that your, apparently, asshole boyfriend, was faking his slumber. Your Sleeping Beauty was actually a Beast in disguise so it would appear. You pursed your lips, blowing air from your nose like a puffing, huffing steam train. He wants to play like that, does he?

You swiftly rose out of your seat before standing behind him, your shadow devouring him. You just might too if Osamu doesn’t tread carefully. You eyed his fraying hairline, beneath his undercut. You wondered how sensitive it would have now become, what, with it being constantly exposed to the frigid air all the time. A smile coyly played to your lips, as you hummed kittenishly before leaning down.

Tenderly, you placed your lips to the back of his neck, giving it a quick peck.

You looked up, gauging for a reaction but received none. You smiled daringly. Perhaps your dear boyfriend needs a bit more persuasion. You pressed another kiss into his neck. And another one. Accompanied by another. Before you began peppering his neck in searing kisses, from the roots of his hair to the brim of his collared uniform. You watched in delight as the skin gradually increased in heat while you continued to reap the benefits of your ravenous exploits.

You could feel the skin beneath your lips beginning to tremble but since he still wouldn’t reveal he was awake. . . it might be time to go exploring. You hovered over his ‘sleeping’ frame as both your hands slithered under the arms pillowing his face. They coiled around his waist and you found yourself licking your lips, suddenly feeling rather hungry. You could see him beginning to squirm yet he was adamant not to budge. A wolfish laugh escaped you as you plunged your fingers under his shirt to dance on his stomach before your teeth finally met his skin.

The last thing you heard was a sharp gasp that sounded like absolute heaven before your world turned on its axis. Your back met the ground with a thud and you suddenly realised you couldn’t move. Casually taking a quick glance, you craned your neck to see two calloused fists handcuffing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You looked up to finally see a panting Osamu, glaring at you.

“Oi.”

You blinked.

Osamu was every shade of grey. Every expression, every movement, although a little rough, it was done with minimal effort and restrained. He was always in control and always composed. He was a little slow and sluggish like that, but he could become a dynamic black, cool and confident whenever you pluck just the right strings.

Which is why it was all the more endearing to see a lovely peach pink speckling on his cheeks.

“What,” he breathed out, as if he had just sprinted in a marathon, you could see his torso trembling, “do ya think yer doin’?”

You watched him placidly and couldn’t stop admiring the pretty colour on his cheeks. You wanted to capture it, burn it in your memory until your final breath. You wanted to paint it, to smear the red all over his grey. You licked your lips.

“I told you, didn’t I? That you would be in trouble if I came back to find you sleeping. So pray tell, what were you doing, ‘Samu?” you purred beneath him, a playful smirk crawling to your lips as you felt a pooling sensation bubble in the pit of your stomach.

Osamu’s eyes widened and even though he had overcast a shadow on the both of you, you could tell that his cheeks had darkened. He suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights and he could no longer meet your gaze. With an agonisingly slow movement, he tentatively released one of your wrists to feel the back of his neck.

“D-did you . . .?” he stammered, not able to bring himself to finish the question.

Picking on what he was insinuating, using your left hand, now free, you roughly grabbed him by the collar before pulling him down. He yelped like a puppy that had lost its footing, as he lurched forward like a tidal wave, almost tumbling over, quickly stamping his free hand to the ground, stopping him from knocking his head into your as you curled your finger under his chin.

“No, I didn’t. I warned you though, right? If you try to fall asleep again when I’m teaching you. . .” you slur, tracing your finger, teasingly let it tap on his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his eyes now wide awake and focused only on you as you grinned hungrily.

“I’ll decorate your neck with hickies until you’ve got a goddamn necklace of bruises.”

Osamu shuddered as he fell to his elbows, barely holding himself up. Feeling his voice shake, he meekly nodded, trying to hide his arousal as he shakily—but briskly—flew back to the kotatsu, promptly hiding his face from you, just like a mouse.

You bit your lip, grinning wildly at the ceiling which although, was completely uninteresting, was the only excuse you had to not let him see your dorky smile.

‘HOLY SHIT THAT WORKED. Reading all those fanfics and manga finally paid off!’

You can’t let yourself come off as too desperate though. You realised that you had been waving the stick in front of him for too long now, it was time to finally bring out the carrot.

You propped yourself, being deliberately slow as to keep him waiting before you tenderly held onto his shoulder. You could feel him tense you brushed your nose against the lobe of his ear, your wispy breaths dyeing it pink as you whispered:

“When we’re done, I promise, you can eat whatever you want.”

While he didn’t fall asleep and actually got some proper studying in afterwards, perhaps it was him being petty or a vain attempt to gain back some control, he did not offer you his dick but went straight for the fridge to get some pudding. Still, it didn’t change the fact that you were hungry and Osamu found out that night that not only were you quite convincing yourself but you also really liked turning his neck red.

Hmm. And you called him a fox.

#miya twins #miya osamu #miya atsumu #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq atsumu #hq osamu #in which i am so whipped for the miya twins #finally putting atsumu in his place #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu osamu #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader

419 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

bless us with your thoughts on Helena and "I thought you didn't want me" from the Super Sappy Lines prompt?

Written by @evoedbd

Her lips trembled as they framed the scar, tip of her tongue tracing the line of a shooting star across infinity. Smooth. Warm. Alive beneath her touch. Tamed only by the desire to be seen, for a goddess to gift herself to her directionless devotee. Kya’s lips lifted, leaving the damp imprint of her kiss to echo across Helena’s senses. Gods, it hurt. To part even that little bit pierced Kya’s heart so suddenly she whimpered. Only Helena’s calm breath guided her pace, allowing Kya to remain gentle as she dipped down to the Mage’s shoulder blade. A slice, the line stars had travelled, a new mark across the constellation, one which birthed a love story to echo for the ages. A story that bypassed the borders of reality, which overcame the challenges of the Universe and defied the very concepts of reality. Their story.

Kya’s lips lingered, drawn by Helena’s very soul to pay homage. The concept of a kiss or the flick of a tongue faded. Kya’s lips framed the old wound, caressing it between focused pecks. She knew there were so many scars to tend to, old wounds to soothe, yet that required her to break contact. The thought had her fists clenching, gathering the white sheets between snowy knuckles. Never had she felt so torn, even during the war. She craved the feeling of Helena’s muscles twitching beneath her touch, the sounds of contentment she could draw from her Mage… yet to do so meant she had to stop touching momentarily.

Her lip curled upwards, leaving her teeth grazing across Helena’s flesh. Her lip left a trail of delightful warmth, dragging down to the next scar before Kya’s bottom lip joined to deliver the next kiss. No longer could she let her mouth break away, not even to move to the next scar. With her eyes peacefully closed, she drifted on the tides of her memory, dragging her lips and tongue across the space between until she was positive Helena’s back would have been turned into a pool of residual saliva, if not for how swiftly each kiss dried.

“Mhhhmm…” Helena practically purred, the sound of her contented moan rumbling in her chest. A shiver worked its way down her limber body like wave, causing her to arch up into Kya’s loving attentions. The Sorceress felt her lover’s smile against the small of her back, just as she felt the heat of Kya’s breath turn her last kiss chilly for just a moment. Temperature. It was so… Helena was quite aware of it, even when she had no need to be. For so long, the feeling of a subtle chill on the air was enough to warn her to silence herself. To shrink from the Queen’s abuse, or beg for her attentions to avoid something less predictable. Now, Kya used that knowledge in such small ways. Ways most wouldn’t think about. Like how a kiss could become cold, then warm, then cold again within a single tick of the clock. How Helena could feel the patterns of scattered kisses or licks to paint a tapestry. Sometimes, it was the beauty of the scars across her back, the unique constellation Kya had begged to lay claim to like a deity of legend. Other nights it was messages, words of encouragement driven into her flesh in ways that would never mark. Never hurt. A quick peck could dot an i, whilst a slow, sensual curl of the tongue might carve hearts over the wounds of old.

“Enjoying yourself?” Kya questioned; tone laced with a smugness that Helena couldn’t help smile at. It was THEIR smugness. Kya’s inability to hide her own pride in what she could do to the tortured soul beneath her. And why should it be hidden? None had ever given Helena a reason to feel valued as even a human being, yet Kya made her feel all powerful. Helena knew her magic could destroy worlds, yet that was so insufficient when held to Kya’s love. Kya’s giving was more power than Helena knew how to handle. It burned and consumed her, until she had to touch lest the fire destroy her mind.

“As always, my Gentle Heart, you touch my soul.” Helena’s gentle, earnest praise drew heat to the tips of Kya’s ears, flooding from the deepest regions of her racing heart. Lord, Helena wasn’t even trying, and she took the wind from Kya’s sails. She locked the poor American in a place between fantasy and reality, where a blink could be a thousand years of the most romantic of memories, or the most heated of encounters. Where possibilities and everything Kya wanted to do were laid out, paved roads for her to speed down if only she dared pick her route. Instead, she froze, gaping, jaw flapping like a fish at the view before her.

Helena’s bare back almost glowed in the moonlight filtering through the window. Pale skin, scarred beyond reason, held such unspeakable vulnerability. Her body swelled with each deep breath she claimed, each a defiance against a lifetime of abuse. Her muscles shivered and twitched, reminding Kya of the waves of the ocean at night, crested by the gleam of lingering kisses and smoothed scars. Hair of winter gold was gathered to the side, spilling across the pillow in a glimmering pearlescent stream. The darkness of shadows embraced every curve of Helena’s body, delicately shading the swell of her partially obscured breast, the dips of definition in impossibly powerful arms, the exposed line of a once ravaged throat.

Kya felt hers constrict.

Trust. This is what trust truly was. A back exposed freely, a sleepy body offered, laid prone, without any trace of tension despite a tapestry of reasons to be fearful. Here, with a Siren lounging so comfortably in her bed, a vision of realistic perfection and dreamlike seduction, Kya was elevated to the clouds by the simplest of truths. Helena trusted her completely. Every image of lust Kya could summon to her mind felt pale in comparison, like the ghosts of true and lingering emotions. Here, she had every chance to take, to sate whatever desire could come to mind. Helena’s silent offering was not merely a chance to indulge, it was an offering of her entire self. She did not shy from Kya’s gaze, did not conceal a single weakness. To hide had been beaten into Helena, yet she so boldly defied every harsh lesson when it came to Kya. The realisation made Kya cling even tighter to the sheets bunched around Helena’s plentiful hips. Her fingers itched to reach out, to trace the lines she had just soothed and once more learn the constellations of her galaxy. From the dotting stabs and grazes, down to the savagely delivered whip lashes, and lower. The wounds she knew existed only because Helena had given her those stories, had let Kya see beyond the walls of General Klein. A gash down the inside of her thigh, delivered twice. Once with a knife, once with a curse. The thousands upon thousands of burns down Helena’s ankles from where she had fought, or where the Queen had bound her too harshly. Alchemy and magic had preserved the image of flawless skin, yet Kya could not help but question the purity of such things. The scars no longer existed, yet all that did was erase the crime from the world. The deed only existed in murky depths. Tangles of traumatic flashes across Helena’s memory. Had they ever happened at all? Were they just a night terror? Their only acknowledgement was the words Helena gave when her shoulders caved beneath the pressure of horrific memory. Worlds might forget, yet for Helena the deed still stood so stark, still drove her mind to the depths of conceivable hell. To places where communication was screams and pleading for mercy, and mercy was merely a more violating touch.

Never. Again. Kya’s body thrummed with the silent declaration, as it did a hundred times a day. Never again would Helena’s trust, body and soul be violated. God, she had somehow earned this beautiful woman’s trust, and she vowed to protect it until her dying breath. Never would she stop striving to earn the blessings Helena gave, or stop appreciating everything that Helena was. How two worlds could miss it, she had no clue. Helena was a goddess, and Kya was all too happy to offer her soul in devotion.

“You’re… I don’t have the words, Helena.”

That was true. What words could ever sum up everything Kya could see painted across a single body? Ten thousand words may compose the weight of Helena’s crimes, yet a million could not begin to grace the essence of her. What words could explain a young girl growing from an abused daughter to an abused possession? What words could bare the weight of how Helena had been tortured, twisted into an image so terrifying that nations whispered in fear? Could anything explain the gravity of Helena’s fight? Of every defiance torn from her humanity? Of how she had continued, spent over thirty years fighting just to be seen as a human? What words could sum up her gentleness? How tenderly she touched despite the power of pure destruction running through her veins? Kya knew no way to express the simplest of things any more than a traumatic story. The mischief twinkling in sapphire blue eyes. How she possessed both the grace of a dancer and the power of a stallion whilst also withholding the gentleness of flower petals. How, even holding Kya’s hands down, Helena’s grip never became too tight. How her thumb would always seek out Kya’s pulse, as if reminding herself that the war was over. That Kya was alive in her grasp. The relief Kya often saw flood Helena’s eyes when their gazes met. Admiration for Helena’s struggles continued to claim Kya’s breath, even as she watched the Sorceress lift her head.

“You’re crying. Hav-“

“No!” Kya interfered, refusing to let the words of self-blame escape Helena’s lips.

“Helena, Christ, no. It’s just, sometimes everything you’ve been through just hits me. Its… I am so fucking furious for you, like I could go and bomb the Queen’s castle. But I’m also so insanely proud of you! How you fought, how you managed to face everything you’d endured.” Kya confessed, letting her forehead fall back to the small of Helena’s back for a moment. She couldn’t resist leaving another loving kiss to the bump of Helena’s spine, followed by another, and another, all as her tears fell.

“You are so beautiful, Helena. I love you so much my body can’t always contain it.”

“To think,” Helena began, pushing up onto one of her hands so she could turn enough to gaze down at Kya. All at once, the Sorceress’ breath caught in her throat, stolen by the sincerity in Kya’s otherworldly eyes. Grey, but not the type of grey that mimicked storm tainted clouds, nor the type of greys reminiscent of steel. No, Kya’s eyes were the grey of of stone, flecked with little slithers of blue which reminded Helena of diamonds before they were cleaned. Always, the images were of Earth. Grounding. Afterall, Kya was the grounding force in her life, the bedrock she had rebuilt herself upon. Kya had moved her to defy the Witch Queen, to embrace her own fears and rediscover who she was as an individual. Kya had moved an entire world, shown them one of the most horrific figures in their history, the fearsome General Klein, then made them see a hero. The Curse breaker. The slayer of the Witch Queen. Made them see Helena Klein in lights none dared dream.

“there was a time I had been convinced you could never truly want me. That it was my obedience you truly craved.” Helena’s confession earned a quiet yet sharp hiss from Kya, along with a literal flinch. Kya understood, boy did she ever, yet her body rebelled against the notion. She attempted to press closer, scattering more patient kisses up Helena’s back. How? How could any power that be, any god which may exist allow such a beautiful soul to be tormented to the point of worthlessness? The injustice of it all was a fire in her heart, causing her to tremble with the effort of keeping those flames contained.

“I hate that you ever felt I did not want you. I never wanted to force my wants onto you, but, Helena… have you seen yourself? Before I even knew your name, I was imagining things.”

“Things?” Helena enquired; brow arched playfully.

“You. Me. A bed. Alone and safe. How your arms around me would feel on cold nights, holding me close. How comfortable your chest was to lay my head on when you first hugged me. How that would feel to sleep on every night.” Kya’s response drew a rare flush to Helena’s cheeks.

“Then, I got to know you. The more I got to see, the more I wanted. I got to see a woman who is the best artist I have ever met. A woman built for peace, not war. A woman who has the element of destruction in her veins, but the power of endless growth and love in her heart. Not to mention the things just looking at you does to me. I could watch you draw for decades and never get tired of it. You make me appreciate the little things in life, even when I miss them because I am too busy watching you enjoy them. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you, I doubt I even could.” Kya spoke clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. God, she already knew she would never stop wanting Helena. It was carved into her soul by carpenters of universal renown. Yet, it was only a shallow mind who would associate Kya’s desires to something carinal. Lust was simple, easy. What Kya wanted was so much more; a mountain compared to a pebble made from the droppings of a rabbit. After all, lust could be so fleeting, an experience of touch and taste to drive someone to the brink, then watch them drown and plummet beneath waves of momentary bliss. Sensations which would fade before a turn of the sun. Kya’s desires were so much more than that. Already, she welcomed the pain of overworked hands, even as she moulded each brick from the clay of understanding and sincerity. Her own blood played the mortar she offered as she tried to help Helena piece herself back together. The tower of Babylon, possibly, yet Kya was committed to continuing to build. To rebuild and repair, each time sturdier and aiming higher. Did Helena even have limits? If so, Kya wanted to help her find them, to reach the stars she’d always looked towards. Then, to shatter the ceilings of what ancient civilisations considered Heaven. The moon. The sun. Blackholes galaxies away. All challenges Kya believed Helena could conquer.

“Kya…” Helena couldn’t force more than the most reverent whisper past the lump in her throat. She felt the truth of Kya’s words, just as she felt everything Kya never voiced. Sheets tickled the swell of her hip, prickling along erased wounds and violations. Helena couldn’t help but feel how Kya trembled, only allowing her dark hair to brush Helena’s skin. A dry brush whispering across a plain canvas, held by an artist who was pleading to birth delights for the world. Even driven by such powerful emotions, Kya held herself back, silently waiting for invitation. Such power brought a smile to Helena’s lips. If she were water, she knew Kya would die of thirst before claiming a single droplet… And oh, she felt Kya’s thirst. It shouldn’t amuse her as it did, to feel how desperate Kya was to touch. To love. Even now, it was mystifying how Kya could love her. She was a murderer, a general of a genocide, something more dangerous than any creature within any world of fantasy or reality. No dragon could destroy the world on a whim, not as Helena could, yet Kya approached her as if she were a lost kitten. Where the Queen’s hands had tortured Helena into a weapon, had tried to erase her imperfections, Kya longed only to feel them. To understand.

“I would not mind… more…” The Sorceress finally admitted, her mind clawing for the words she so desperately wished to say. A small smile dawned at the small whimper which escaped Kya. It was a sound Helena now understood meant Kya was holding back her tears, drowning in emotions too pure for Helena to touch. Yet, touch she would. Again, and again, until the concept of individuals faded. If magic could not combine them, then Helena was greedy enough to claim every other closeness… and Kya was too.

“Helena… please. Can I touch your back?” The level of desire in such an innocent request punched the breath from Helena’s lungs, tore the concept from her body, just as it would tear her heart to refuse.

“Touch as you desire, Gentle Heart. I surrender myself to you, for tonight.” She granted her permission with a soft sigh. Her head sunk to the pillow once more, eyes closed. She waited, searching for the feeling of dread that often swelled beneath her breast when she invited such things, gave such power to another, yet it did not come. Worlds did not collide within her head, nor did her heartbeat begin to wage war against her veins. Instead, there was unity. The way her breath picked up fell in gentle pace with her heart, with Kya’s heart. She felt Kya’s body trembling above hers, skin whispering across her own as Kya audibly swallowed. Then, fingers, the lightest touch against her shoulders. A soft sigh of wind over fields of peaceful wheat. Loving rains over meadows green. Kya’s fingers were so careful, so gentle, so… reverent.

“I’m just going to touch your shoulders, maybe lay over you, ok? You have complete control, even with my weight on you, I promise, if you don’t like this, I’ll stop.” Kya whispered; voice thicker than molasses. Helena only hummed in response. Kya’s promises were branded into her soul, then upon the world as Kya birthed them to reality. The Sorceress trembled, allowing herself to feel every touch. Lips had branded every scar, time and time again. Every disgusting moment she could recall, and many she could not, had thrown themselves against Kya’s reassurances; foot soldiers laying siege to a temple. If pain acted the aggressors, then Kya’s words played the role of Goddess.

“I want you to enjoy how I love you.” Kya’s words were the fires she cast upon shame. Helena sighed softly, feeling that unique, unspeakable fire beginning at her core. It was an ember, a brief spark, nothing as shocking or frightening as the Queen made it. This was so very different. Kya was different. With the Queen, if Helena did not offer flame, she was punished. She was trapped, burning too brightly, too painfully for her soul to endure unscathed. She was made to destroy in order to survive. The Queen had tried to take that ember and destroy the world with unholy fire. Kya held that ember within her cupped hands. She spoke gently, sacrificing her body to shield that little ember from a world of storms and rain. Kya fed that flame with gentle words, coaxing and praising with nothing but the purest of intentions and utter patience. The Queen had set that flame across the world, only to punish it for burning. Kya sought only to see that flame grow as it would, to revel in it’s beauty without turning it to her own whims.

Above the Sorceress, Kya flushed brilliantly, the goofiest of grins forming across her lips as she slowly moved to lay herself across Helena. The way her hand touched Helena was nothing short of worship, tracing the lines of her muscles with delicate fingertips and gentle palms. The weight of Kya’s body over hers did not intimidate, even when Helena felt Kya’s hand push that little bit harder. Instead of fear, she was flooded with a sense of contentment. This was warm. Safe even, despite being so unknown. Her brows furrowed in curiosity for what Kya had planned. She had been taken like this before, punished by strap and spell, or a third party to entertain. She had accepted this position in exchange for food when she had been weak and starving. But this wasn’t them, this wasn’t a violation from her hideous past nor torture for her crimes. This was Kya. Gentle, caring Kya who had nothing but smooth skin pressed to Helena; hips rocking slightly against Helena’s rump. No, not rocking. Fidgeting. Wiggling. Trembling.

Kya was trying not to apply pressure, even at the sacrifice of her own comfort. That made the warmth in Helena’s heart intensify. It radiated through her muscles, soothing her until she allowed herself to give in. On a soft breath, the Sorceress released the tension in her body and finally allowed herself to melt into the mattress.

Kya waited, watching the pinch in Helena’s brows, searching for anything beyond curiosity. Helena remained calm, her cheek pressed into the pillow, lips parted to take small gulps of air. Beautiful blue eyes were closed, relaxed, save the occasional flutter of eyelids. Unable to resist, Kya allowed herself to fall forwards, only to catch herself on an outstretched hand lingering beside Helena’s. Kya’s free hand came to Helena’s brow, light fingers tracing each delicate line of Helena’s expression. Her curiosity. Her contentment. Her smile. Oh, how that gentle curve of lips could undo Kya a thousand times over. It was strange, feeling such pillowy softness beneath her thumb when she knew lips had a thousand grooves, each leaving a unique print behind to mark a kiss. It was a gentle kiss to the pad of her thumb which drew a soft gasp from Kya, even as the Sorceress beneath her let out a soft yet playful hum.

“You seem relaxed. Is this ok?” Kya questioned; her tone filled with tender concern as she let a little more of her weight rest across Helena’s scarred back. She watched, trying to decipher the slow blinks and twitch of Helena’s brow.

“I am completely at ease, Kya.” The realisation that her words were entirely true was enough to make Helena’s heart swell. She reached into herself, scouring the further most regions of her conscious in search of her fear, only to find nothing save contentment and passive curiosity. Not only did she not fear Kya’s touch, she welcomed it. Helena longed for such gentle contact across her wounded body, across every foul memory. Kya could wash away the shame Helena had carried for her entire life. Kya could wash away the ugliness of abuse. Kya. Kya was everything Helena wanted, every salacious desire and tender comfort she could comprehend. Acts which she knew brought her shame and agony suddenly intrigued her when paired with Kya. Situations that had left her scarred were now potentially enjoyable and safe, if Kya was there. If Kya was the one leading. Surely, if it was Kya behind her, she was safe.

“I can feel that.” Kya breathed; voice strained. Thick, like molasses and honey dripping through a sieve.

“I can… gods, Helena.” Kya’s voice broke, hitching on an all-encompassing sob that rocked her entire being. It was true, she could feel the honesty in Helena’s words. Helena was just so soft. So warm, so close and so relaxed. The Sorceress was liquid muscle beneath her, as if lacking a skeletal structure. It was enough to have Kya’s eyes stinging, for tears of pride and joy to flow down her cheeks and onto Helena’s skin. The raven-haired woman rested her forehead between Helena’s shoulder blades, sobbing softly as she wrapped an arm underneath Helena’s torso. Kya squeezed gently, cuddling Helena as close as she could. She lost herself in Helena’s scent, earthy and magical. Parchment, herbs and a unique smell no human could categorise. Nobody was ever allowed close enough to Helena to notice that little underlying note.

“I’m so proud of you. I love you so, so much. I wish you could feel how full my heart is.”

“Show me.” Helena found herself whispering. Pleading, even. It shocked her. How her body reacted to Kya’s mere presence, the weight and warmth plastered across her back. Lust had always been stoked, something brewed with intention. It was Kya who’d shown her spontaneous, yet even those situations had a logical formula Helena could follow. This… this was something entirely different. It was not the roaring inferno, or even the trickle she was used to. It was a sudden yet gentle warmth. Something spilling from her overflowing heart that slowly warmed her veins. A radiant glow peaceful bliss.

“I surrender myself to your guidance, my love.”

“In that case…” Kya began, voice wavering beneath the weight of Helena’s words. Thunder echoed in her chest, rocking her overflowing heart to the very last molecule. Suddenly, there were immense possibilities, many of them mistakes. What if her touch inspired fear? What if she scared the Sorceress with her eagerness to please? Or worse, if she tempered her desire, would it seem as if she did not appreciate the gift so lovingly offered? A gentle kiss placed to the curve of Helena’s shoulder bought Kya a few moments to collect herself, to remind herself that this was her Helena. Helena was not her destination, not a goal to reach or an objective to meet. Helena was not a journey to take, nor was she an adventure to best. Helena was the path. Even when there was no clear trial to follow, Helena was the direction Kya took. She was the golden pavement and gravel both. She was oceans and forests, storms and sunshine. Helena was everything. The fact Helena trusted Kya with her physical self was just a sweetener to the fact Helena existed at all. Kya could do no wrong, not if she followed as she always had. If she was honest, if she loved as she wished to be loved in return. Whether the night unfolded into seduction or laughter, it was with Helena. That was all that truly mattered.

Reassured by her realisation, Kya leaned closer, allowing her lips to skim the shell of her Sorceress’ ear as she whispered the first of many less wholesome requests for the night.

#Anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #helena klein #helena x mc #lovestruck helena #love and legends helena #love and legends #fluff #scatterday

67 notes · View notes

imastrangeone98 · 4 years ago

Text

Dimming Light - Chapter 1: Rage of the Dying

(A/N: becuz I feel like my writing skills have somewhat approved over the last several months as I kept practicing... I think it's time. It's time to face my worst batch of writing head on)

If any of you have read the original story titled "lost and found"... I'm sorry 😅 it was poorly written and just straight up garbage. Hopefully I can do the rewrite justice

...what am I saying I'll definitely fuck this up too

It should've been easy.

But as Dante laid there, blood pooling out of the strange gash in his stomach that refused to heal, he couldn't help but wonder if he had finally bitten off more than he could chew.

"Piece of shit demon," Lady grunted painfully, a hand pressed against her bleeding thigh as she glared at the six-winged demon that tore her clothes.

The demon itself simply stared back at them, golden eyes devoid of emotion.

"Not gonna lie, that face of yours is pissing me off," he grunted, forcing himself onto his feet. The ground looked way closer than he thought. "How 'bout I reel it in a little?"

He gripped his sword...

...And fell flat on his face.

"C'mon, get up," she hissed. "Don't be a baby." But the second she spoke, her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground.

"Baby, huh..." he chuckled, devoid of humor.

Nothing about this was funny. Not anymore.

His skin felt itchy. He wanted to scratch it, but his arms felt too heavy. His eyes felt too heavy.

He thought he heard a rumbling voice say, "Be one with our Lord. A fragrant offering and sacrifice."

...Sacrifice...?

It wasn't just hot anymore. He was burning. Weakly, he clawed at his chest.

It... hurt...

...

...What was that sound?

The voice above him had gone silent. In fact, it didn't feel hot anymore, like the demon had retreated.

Something cold was pressed against his back, and the soothing chill spread through his body. His chest didn't feel like shit, and he could breathe easier. Beside him, Lady let out a relieved sigh.

What was happening?

"So." The echoing voice returned. But it didn't seem to be directed at him. "You've finally come."

Dante wanted to retort that he's always been here, dumbass, but soft sound of footsteps reached his ears. A pair of shoes entered his vision, and someone stood in front of him.

It was a girl. With baggy clothes, ratty black hair, and a vaguely sweet scent of flowers. And a complete lack of weapons.

He wanted to yell at her to run, that the thing would slaughter her, but the words wouldn't form. His tongue was too dry.

"...You left me no choice," a soft voice responded. It sounded nice, like water over stones.

"It was the only way you would come."

"Using innocents. How like you, Ramiel."

"It is the natural order of things, nephilim."

Dante groaned, and it caught the girl's attention.

"You've 'blessed' us with your presence long enough," she muttered, stretching an arm out, as if she was blocking it. "Leave. And I won't Fade you."

"The beginning of the end is approaching. You cannot stop this."

"Who knows? Perhaps our Lord will show mercy... for once." She sighed, and he could see her head turn a few times. "Leave. You're not welcome here."

"And you are?" It made a weird rasping noise, almost like it was laughing. "Do you belong?"

The girl's hands clenched, but she didn't say anything. Dante didn't know her, and he already felt his heart sting at the words, as if they were also directed at him.

A rush of hot air blew in his face. A sharp screech pierced the air. He squinted at the impact, and something wet splattered on the side of his cheek. Warm liquid. Like blood.

He forced his eyes open. And they widened.

The demon towered above him and the girl, eyes still blank and unmoving, even with the strange glowing pole impaled through its chest.

In the girl's arms was a violin. When did that get there?

Golden blood dribbled out of the demon's mouth (did demons have gold blood?). But for some reason, it didn't look at all surprised, or even in pain.

Even demons screamed when they were hurting.

"The end is drawing nigh," it rasped, blood coating its lips. "It cannot be stopped."

"Stay quiet," was the girl's solemn reply. "It's what you're best at."

Just as the words slipped past her lips, the demon began to disintegrate, melting into golden dust. He watched as the pillar that had impaled it disappeared into the girl's body.

She turned to look back at him, and he was pinned by the color of them.

Gold. Just like the demon.

...What the hell?

She was silent, just watching him and Lady, who looked just as stunned as he felt. And her head turned to take in all the other bystanders around. A soft sigh escaped her mouth.

"I'm sorry..." she murmured, and the violin re-emerged. She raised it to her chin and began to play.

"Cover your ears," Lady suddenly whisper-hissed to him, and, too stunned to even retort, he did so.

The ground began to vibrate, and the people around them began to sway, as if entranced. Then, the faint sounds of music disappeared, and the bystanders shook their heads, blinking furiously.

And like that, no one seemed to remember the demon that had appeared just minutes ago.

The girl in front of them trembled, weakly clutching her stomach, then began to stumble away.

He thought about calling after her, but Lady held him back.

"They had the same eyes," she noted. "What if she's a demon too?"

"I don't know..." he shrugged, still checking out the healed wound on his stomach. Why hadn't that healed like normal? "She didn't smell."

"What?"

"Demons. No matter what form they take, they always reek of death and hot garbage. She didn't smell like that."

"Well, whatever she is, it's not good news. Let's keep an eye on her-"

They turned to look at the girl again, only to find that she had long since disappeared into the crowd.

Like she never existed in the first place.

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

A/N: no ones gonna read this, but I already feel a little better about this first chapter than I did lost and found so hopefully this means we're off to a good start!

#devil may cry #dimming light #dmc dante #dmc lady #dmc oc

8 notes · View notes

millennial-star-gazer · 4 years ago

Text

Tantric Flames: Chapter: 9

Tantric Flames

Nalu lovefest 2019 Prompts: Magic, Worship, Reckless , Forbidden and Cravings (All Implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing:Nalu (Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: One look, one smouldering hooded gaze, one word, one fiery kiss, one magnetizing touch was all he needed for her to completely unravel at his mercy alone, succumbing to the sinful temptation of her inhibitions, his love, his feral passion, his raw, insatiable desires, his "Tantric Flames". Originally an Submission for Nalulovefest 2017 (on previous accounts) in which Natsu gives his mate a tantric massage-after much persuasion- she won't soon forget when it turns into so much more. Also previously featured in Nalu lovefest 2018 (on current accounts) , as well as Nalu Week 2017, Nalu Fluff Week and Nalu lovefest 2017 (as stated) with first three chapters on my previous celestialgeekmage accounts . Chapter 7 was also an entry for nalu week 2019 and Chapter 8 for Nalu Lovefest 2019. ( Nalu-centric) (Slight Au).

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

Chapter 9: Tempted by A Tantric Touch

A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl Millennial StarGazer! This time I'm returning with another long-awaited installment of Tantric Flames. Once again, a major thanks to and koodos to @bmarvels, @mannyegb, @animezing-fandoms/princess-starry-night, and @allie-and-her-fandoms for helping me edit and further develop this chapter! Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

(Note: Scroll down pas the keep reading button/ cut for the designated links, legend and actual chapter. The tagging feature and keep reading button might not show up or fully work on the desktop site but should function just fine on the app and mobile version.

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

Read More of Tantric Flames and the rest of my writing on here and other plaftorms.

)Note: You may need to Copy and paste designated links into a new browser tab or window if reading on the desktop site)

1. Tantric Flames

A. Tumblr Version

(Previous Chapter:) (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/188352271948/tantric-flames-chapter-8-tantric-art-of)

Chapter: 9 (Next Chapter ) (Coming Soon)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) ( or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13114990/1/Tantric-Flames-reupload-from-cosmicdragonwizardaccounts)

C. A03 (Click Here:) ( or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063882/chapters/40123739)

2. Master Post Of All My Writing (Click Here:) ( or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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

Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized Word(s)

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

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

"You run your fingers over every part of my body and tease me with your touch".

(Source Unknown)

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

Oh God, those love bites. So many love bites that decorated the blonde's creamy skin like jewels; far too numerous to count that always sent a red-hot line fire rippling through her nerves with with every nip, every suck; each every and stroke of Natsu's velvet tongue. Plus, he's usually doing other things at the same time. Racy images of the couple's steamy moments together from the last soak flooded Lucy's mind.

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

Flashback

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

The celestial mage's back arching of its own accord into Natsu's touch from robust hands cupping her breast; Blazing digits kneading the twin peaks in time with lips sucking along Lucy's pulse with so much skill that she couldn't help the heady moan that escaped her throat.

"Ya feel that, Luce?" Nastu growled in his princess's ear, the dark undercurrent of his territorial voice pulling a tingly shiver from her. "My marks all over that perfect body of yours— and not just the permanent one when you swore your heart to me . All of those are symbols of my essence, my claim, my love. That you belong to me and me alone. My mate and queen, forever and always. And those sounds you're makin'? Hot as hell."

Pretty sure, dude leaves marks on me as his way of announcing to the world I'm off limits as his mate. Explains why he's always quick to leave a fresh one in its place even after I cover them— not that I'm complaining. Plus, it's not only for his benefit but mine. It's great that he knows how much I love receiving hickeys and gets off from it.

Seriously, what more could I ask for?

Not to mention how lovely it always was to unwind with Natsu after each bath. The wizard was often keen in his offer to dry the blonde's damp hair with a towel or fire-magic-powered steam; from her perch on his lap or between his legs.

Much more relaxing than using a hair dryer if you ask me.

The dragonslayer would sometimes even hum or sing a familiar tune from days past in that appealing, gravelly baritone of his; would usually lull the already-zen mage into the world of dreams when combined with the sooth dual sensation of fingers combing through her hair, .

"I tell you, I tell you, the dragonborn comes ..."

Anyother guild member who might be eavesdropping, however, would often be quick to lightheartedly goad the blonde mage ( much to her chargin). Natsu no doubt would find this hilarious of course; which would serve for Lucy's cheeks to flush an even deeper shade of crimson than she already was.

"Say Luce, is that a blush I see?" he once crooned, a teasing edge to his words; though the affectionate mirth sparkling in his eyes warmed her heart just a little. "Aw, is my girl a little embarrassed? That's okay though— makes ya all the more adorable and endearing than you already are. You want me to make it all better? Cuz I can! Got plenty of kisses! Come on, you know you want some which I'm more than happy to give. God I love ya' so much, you know that?"

It's amazing really... Lucy ruminated in fond awe. How Natsu can switch between the different roles and sides to him with relative ease. From Romantic and tender to dominant, playful and affectionate; then back again on top of everything else all seemingly at the drop of a hat. All an innate part of his overall nature I guess— essentially what makes up who he is. Some people may find this a bit confusing to keep up with— but I don't. Just makes him all the more complex.

Though those people would also be right when they say that the dude still has a devious streak, she couldn't help but add with wry smirk. Even with me, though never with malicious intent. German suplex, non-stop tickling, dumping me in a tub of freezing cold water during one of our baths— too many pranks to count really. At least he's always quick to follow up with plenty of affection ever since we became an item— can't complain about that."

"You ready to get started Lucy?" Natsu's keen voice broke through Lucy's reverie.

"You know it!" The celestial mage chirped, unable to mask the pure enthusiasm in her voice; earning an amused chuckle from the dragon wizard . "Can't wait. I take it you'll be hoarding me for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Mhmm" Came his content hum in response." That really a bad thing, though?"

"No, definitely not."

"I figured. Why don't we get you up on that massage bed?"

"Sure thing!"

A buzz of anticipation was practically thrumming in Lucy's blood from such tantalizing implications of his words; the stunt Natsu pulled next , though— that was what really shot a thrilling jolt up her spine.

"Let's finish what we started later, yeah?"

The dragonslayer's proposal was punctuated by a light tap on the summoner's ass for good measure,; which resulted in a delighted squeal.

"O-okay!" was said female's response in the form of a breathy giggle.

"Let me get you that towel while I'm at it."

"Sure— thanks."

"My pleasure."

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

A Few Minutes Later

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

"Ugh...do me a huge favor and burn this towel. Will ya?"

Lucy couldn't help but let out an audible groan along with the heat rising in her cheeks. Good god was the particularly moist spot on the white towel a truly mortifying sight to behold. Basically tell-tale remnants of liquid arousal that had been wiped clean from her legs just moments before.

Mavis only knows what would happen if Levy or Cana noticed during laundry duty.

" Okay... why though?" Natsu questioned, brows drawing together in mild confusion. "As in why do you want me to?"

"Guild Laundry day" came Lucy's automatic reply."That's why."

"Not following ya.' Natsu blinked owlishly in uncomprehension.

"Levy…..and Cana….." Lucy supplied, a finger twirling an errant strand of blonde hair in :a self-conscious display." "I... uh.."

"Still don't know what you mean here, Luce."

"It's their turn to do laundry duty." She attempted to break down what was apparently such an abstract concept into simpler terms; not able to help the aggravation rising in the back of her mind.

"Yeah? So?"

"They'll probably see the moist stain on the towel." Lucy clarified, forcing her voice to remain level.

"I see— don't see the problem though."

"Think about who'll most likely be with them ."

"Gajeel and Laxus but…...ahh—"

Realization dawned on Natsu's face. "I get it now. What you're saying is that they'll probably catch a whiff of your arousal? "

"Well, the lingering remnants of the scent anyway. Seriously though?" he tacked on, lifting a questioning brow."That's what you're worried about?"

"Yeah... I am," Lucy admitted, nerves leaking into her voice. "Aren't you?"

"Not really, no." Natsu gave a shrug of his shoulders—seemingly unfazed.

"Why's that?" Lucy couldn't help but shoot him a puzzled glance.

"Cuz it'll show everyone how much I rocked your world." Natsu replied, flashing his mate a cheeky grin. " And what's not to love about that?"

"Pervert — of course you'd say that!" Lucy screeched, skin flushing a deep shade of crimson.

"That's me!"

"Ugh, still don't know what to do about the moist spot— those four are never gonna let me live it down."

"You know if you're that worried, I could always use my tongue to clean ya up instead." Natsu drawled with a lazy smirk that set her heart all pit-patter .

"And of course, you'd suggest that," Lucy quipped with a slight roll of her eyes. "Did I mention how much of a horn dragon you are? "

"Yeah, but only for a certain gorgeous blonde of mine and she loves it."

"Oh, she does, huh?" Lucy raised a challenging brow.

"Yep. Don't bother trying to deny it, Luce".

"Ugh fine... you're right. I do. Seriously, you and your colossal ego though."

"Why, thank you! If you're impressed by that, you'd really should see my co—"

The rest of Natsu's words were cut off by Lucy's hand swatting him with a pillow which was met with a snicker.

"Pervert" Lucy deadpanned with another eye roll. "By way, you would've found yourself in the proverbial dog house if you actually meant the other kind of 'fighting earlier."

Only for Natsu's face to instantly fall in response to her statement.

"What?" Natsu objected, gaping at her with wide eyes. " And deprive me of the chance to wake up to your beautiful face each morning for that long?!"

"Yep." Lucy gave a nod by way of reply.

"But why? You know that's not the type of fightin' I met!"

"Well yeah, I know that now. But not earlier when you originally brought up. Just be glad that you didn't bail on our date earlier."

"I didn't though! And never would— honest Luce!" Natsu's voice lifted into a petulant whine.

"Hmm.. Okay, good to know. " Lucy responded, raising her hands to placate him. "Though you'll have to be without me for a few days anyway.

"Wait, seriously?" Natsu faltered , bewildered panic flashing in his eyes. . "Come on! What is it this time?"

"Camping retreat in the woods next week that Cana, Mira, Lisanna, and Erza are organizing— ladies only."

"W-ha?" Natsu continued to sputter, his poor brain no doubt short circuiting by now." But Elfman said that it was open to anyone who's free to go!"

"Really? Lucy mused in thoughtful interest. "That's not what I heard... huh."

"What am I supposed to do without you?"

"How about something fun with the guys? Should be nice, right?"

"Yeah, but so is spending time with you Lucy! It's always more fun when we're together like you said."

"And I don't disagree. Doesn't change anything though. The trip's still happening."

"Didn't say it wasn't but it'd still suck here without you! Natsu moaned, that desperate sense of longing bleeding into his voice. " I'd miss ya' too much! So would our little buddy! Can't we tag along? Maybe Even share an air mattress in a decent-sized tent? I'd gladly help set up and keep you cozy in my arms at night."

"What about Happy?" Lucy questioned, intrigued by his suggestion. His offer does sound really tempting.

"Obviously he'd share the tent with us but would have his own sleeping bag and could hang with Wendy and Carla whenever we wanted alone time. Plus there are all these cool spots I could take you to on nature hikes!."

"Sounds great."

"Course it is! So whaddya say? You onboard?" Natsu wheedled, flashing her what could only be described as the most flawless puppy eyes she'd ever seen.

"Aw that's really tempting and" Lucy gushed, heart contracting at the adorable pout he was throwing in too. Normally I'd say yes"— but it'll have to wait. Thank you though! I'd love to take you up on that offer another day."

"Oh come on— please I wanna go!" Natsu huffed,stamping his foot as if he were a child pitching a fit over being denied a coveted toy- quite an amusing display to say the least.

"Not this time I'm afraid. Sorry, them's the brakes."

"Lucyyyyyyyyy!" Natsu whined again, dragging the syllables of her name with such melodrama that she finally decided to let him off the hook

" Jeez.. enough with the dramatics already. " Lucy yielded with an exasperated groan, You can still come— the trip is for everyone. I was only kidding after all."

Said confession was met with a noise of stunned dimsay from from the pyro.

"Wait... so ya' mean to tell me that this was a joke?! he muttered, voice coming out with a small pinch of disbelief. "You were pulling my leg the entire time?"

"Yep— consider it payback for me making think you were gonna ditch earlier."

"That's why? That's not nice, Luce— not very nice at all." Natsu grumbled, though not with any real heat.

"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" Lucy baited, a daring lilt to her words.

" Oh —- wouldn't you like to know?" Natsu rumbled, eyes sparking in a such a calculating way that it sent a electrifying chill down Lucy's spine.

"I would— ngh! Nastuuuu!"

The rest of what Lucy was attempting to say Lucy's words were cut off by the lighting- fast sweep of Natsu's velvet tongue up her thighs . Not to mention that electric high-voltage jolt of ecstasy flooding her veins.

"There! that should show ya!" Natsu let out a cackle of glee. " Not to ever play dirty tricks on a dragon I mean. Guess you're not gonna need that towel after all, huh Lucy?"

"My God..."

"Yeah, I know . Just that amazing with my tongue, I guess. Natsu purred, voice laced with am indecorous promise "Plus, hearing ya' scream my name like that just gave me another hard-on that I'd love for you to see .. "

"Jeez … of course it'd would . and no real shocker that you would say something like that."

"Yep- you know me so well, Luce. and it's not like you're complain' anyway. Want me to prove it?"

" Maybe.. But God- you're such a pompous ass, you know that?"

"Yeah but all part of my charm, sweetheart."

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

A/N: And that's Chapter 9 folks! My apologies for the delay by the way! I originally wanted to post this much sooner but got hit with writer's block after getting a somewhat stumped on a particular segment of this chapter. I've also been with my other ongoing fanfics, WIPs and responsibilities among other things in my life . That all aside, at least this chapter was finally posted! Now please feel free to do me a solid and let me know what you think by leaving a comment/ review! Stay tuned for Chapter 10 too! Oh and please feel free to check out the rest of my writing which can be found above, on my profiles and in master post if reading this on tumblr. All right, that's pretty much all I have to say for now! Thanks to all my mutuals/friends, readers and followers for their continuous support over the years! (Corresponding links for the master of my writing and profiles can be found above, in the navigation bar of the desktop and bio if reading this on tumblr.) Until next time-take care!

#fairytail #ft fanfics #nalu #endlu #natsu x lucy #e.n.d natsu x lucy #tantric flames #my writing #millennial star gazer writes #millennial stargazer #please reblog

55 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years ago

Text

Anonymous asked: You sound like a remarkable woman out of her time. Your posts suggest you are modern and feminine yet your cultured intelligence and cleverness seems from an earlier lost time. Would you prefer to be living in 18th Century Georgian England? One imagines you would fit right in as a heroine in Jane Austen’s Regency world of aristocratic manners and clever barbs over tea in the drawing room.

I had to smile to myself a little because the last thing I ever saw myself was a Jane Austen character. I certainly don’t see myself as heroine of Austen’s world. After all don’t most if not all of Austen’s literary heroines spend their time pathetically pining away for the socially aloof and yet heroically vulnerable gentlemen they profess to love, men who are usually too dense to know that these whining women have childish schoolgirl crushes on them? I know I’m going to angry mails now from pouting Austen fans but I have to speak my mind.

Like most people I do profess to liking a nice, cosy Jane Austen adaptation on television. The fabulous frocks, fans, feathers and finery soothe us with images of a gentler, well-mannered time when gentlemen in cravats and breeches wooed perfumed ladies across ballrooms and well-manicured lawns.

However the reality was not quite so lovely. It’s not that women - like Austen’s literary women - were caught up in the social constraints of their time but also I would get restless just sitting down all day to tea and gossip. I would sooner catch the first ship bound for India and have adventures in the Orient along the way. Tea with Mr Darcy in well stuffed breeches might not be enough for me but then again a well stocked library as most landed gentry homes had would make me reconsider.

I’m fortunate that within my family we have a wealth of diaries, correspondence, private papers, and other family heirlooms that go back a few centuries which we have scrupulously stored to hopefully pass onto future generations.

So when I can decipher some letters of my ancestors it gives me some insight into what life was like for them as men and women of their time. It’s not always easy to read as they loved to scribble in ink (now faded) in the margins on nearly every page of the books they read. And so the penmanship is stylish but minuscule and therefore sometimes hard to make out. The letters are somewhat more legible but it requires patience and perseverance to make sense of what they were writing about. It’s a wonderful way to flesh out the genealogical tree with titbits of personal anecdotes that could be perfunctory, mundane, scandalous, salacious, romantic, and even political.

I’ve read Jane Austen like every other girl at boarding school I imagine. I like her writings but I wouldn’t say my heart is in it to actually live through that time.

Life for Georgian women, even of high birth, was harsh enough in a time when men still held all the power and husbands could beat and even rape their wives. Noblewomen caught diseases passed on from their husband's prostitutes and were still subjected to confinement and the barbaric medical practice of bleeding when pregnant. Even their fashions and frippery provided cold comfort when their make-up poisoned them, unwashed dresses and undergarments stank and their fancy foods made their teeth rot and fall out.

The fact that women did survive and even thrive is a testament to their strength and fortitude which I find admirable.

I’m used to mud and sweat and even living rough because as ex-army officer I was trained to suck it up but it’s also in my nature because I love going rough when I hike or climb mountains or trek to other places off the beaten track. So I’m not squeamish so long as at the end of the day I can bathe or shower my aches away and I can put on a fresh change of clothing. However even I recoil in some horror when I consider that despite their elegant appearance, Georgian women carried a world of stench. While hands and faces would be washed daily, immersive bathing was considered bad for the health and was only indulged in occasionally.

The heavy gowns of the period would have caused the wearer to sweat profusely, with only perfumes such as rose water and orange blossom to mask the smell. The clothes themselves would also be pungent. Due to the huge amount of work involved in laundering, most households would have a maximum of one wash-day a month. Linen undergarments were changed as often as possible, but their "clean" smell would still be unappealing to us. Linen was often bleached in chamber lye, a kind of soap made from ashes and urine.

As if bodily odour was not bad enough, there was also the whiff of rotting teeth. A sugar-rich diet led to frequent tooth-decay in the upper classes. Cleansing tooth-powders had started to emerge but most of these featured "spirit of vitriol", known to us as sulphuric acid, and stripped teeth of their enamel. Often the best remedy for smelling teeth and bad breath was to chew herbs such as parsley. Where a tooth was past hope of redemption, it would be pulled with pliers or a tooth key, a claw that would fix to the teeth so it could be loosened in the jaw. To avoid a gummy smile, ladies of fashion sought false teeth made from ivory or porcelain but, where possible, they preferred to have "live" teeth in their dentures. Poor people were encouraged to sell healthy teeth for this purpose. While such a practice was unethical, it was better than the other method of sourcing human teeth: pillaging them battlefields and graveyards.

Georgian women were renowned for their snowy faces and dark eyebrows but achieving the fashionable skin tone could be extremely dangerous. White face powders were lead-based and some also featured vinegar and horse manure. Years of coating the entire face, shoulders and neck with such a mixture could lead to catastrophic consequences. Society beauty Maria Gunning died at the age of just 27, having spent her life addicted to cosmetics. Lead-poisoning could cause hair loss and tooth decay but ingeniously, these problems were elegantly adapted into the fashion and it became desirable to have a high forehead and pencil-thin eyebrows. If your own eyebrows failed you completely, you could always trap a mouse in the kitchen and use its fur to make a new artificial pair.

I usually wear my hair straight or tied up in a bun so I don’t fuss too much over my hair. This would certainly be out of place if I lived in Georgian times. Georgian ladies were the mistresses of big hair. They piled their frizzed and curled locks over pads or wires to create show pieces for the drawing room. Often their own hair was not sufficient and had to be supplemented by horse hair and false pieces. Styles from the 1760s were domed or egg-shaped, elongating into the pouf in the 1780s. But Georgiana, the infamous Duchess of Devonshire, had to take things a step further. She introduced the three-foot hair tower, ornamented with stuffed birds, waxed fruit and model ships. Following her example, women competed with one another to make the tallest headdress. Since these styles were costly and took hours to arrange, they were worn for several weeks. Ladies had to sleep sitting up and travel on the carriage floor to avoid spoiling their creations. With no combing possible, lice were inevitable so a special scratching rod was invented for irritated ladies to poke into their piled up hair.

It wasn’t any real fun being a woman and I often think Jane Austen is selling a false bill of goods in her books. You never see women in her novels deal with their menstrual problems. No one has proved for certain what they did, if anything, for sanitary hygiene. With no knickers to hold in strips of linen or rag, they were left to Mother Nature’s mercy. I can imagine that being a conversation stopper in the drawing room over tea with the vicar and his prissy wife. Their toilet habits were a little more civilised. When ladies at the royal court were caught short, they resorted to porcelain jugs much like a modern-day gravy boat. This contraption, called a bourdaloue, was stuffed up beneath the skirts and clenched beneath the thighs. Apparently it was quite normal for a lady to continue her conversation while urinating into the device! I think Jane Austen missed a trick by not having at least one scene with Elizabeth Bennet urinating under her skirts whilst trading clever barbs with Mr Darcy.

Speaking of which marriage was not a box of chocolates in the early 18th Century or indeed later in Austen’s day. Upon marriage, a lady and all her worldly goods would become property of her husband. It was therefore essential to guard a well-to-do bride’s interests with a legal marriage settlement before the ceremony took place. I read somewhere that Henrietta Hobart, later mistress to George II, had reason to be thankful for the settlement drawn up before her marriage to Charles Howard in 1706. It stipulated that two thirds of her dowry should be invested, with the interest at her sole disposal. Should Henrietta die, the funds were to pass to her children. This arrangement was to prove life-saving when her husband became an abusive gambling-addict and alcoholic.

Lower class women were known to take extreme measures to protect their future husbands from their own debts. "Smock weddings" were intended to show that the bride brought no clothes or property to the union, thus exempting each spouse from the other’s financial liabilities. The woman would be married wearing only her undergarment or smock – or sometimes nothing at all. Of course no marriage settlement, however generous, could save a woman from a violent husband and it remained legal for a man to rape or kidnap his wife. While excessive beating was frowned upon, whipping was considered a reasonable measure to discipline a wife. Even so, it would appear many men pushed their rights beyond the limit, for laws were later amended to say a man could only beat his wife with a stick "no thicker than his thumb".

Escaping an abusive marriage then was well-nigh impossible. Divorces were so expensive that they remained the privilege of the very rich. Even if a lady did have the money to appeal for divorce, she was by no means certain of success. She would have to prove both adultery and "life-threatening cruelty". And if she won her freedom, it would come with more than just a social cost - any children from the marriage would remain property of the husband. Certainly in my family - on my father’s English side of the family - they had their fair share of scandalous behaviour that didn’t reflect well to our 21st Century minds.

Certainly the Georgians were not sexless and they enjoyed their carnal pleasures but of course being aristocratic they never did things that would publicly expose them to scandal. I was reading one such letter of an ancestor who was writing to her older sister about how hard it was for her to conceive her first child - a son naturally - that her rakish husband first took to prostitutes in an era when such things were common and the risk of infection from sexually transmitted diseases was rife. And then later settled on one mistress whom he seriously gave thought to impregnate her. However the mistress was an actress and thus such a union was frowned upon in landed gentry circles and so he was shamed back to his high born wife and to ‘try harder by God’s Providence’. The duty of any aristocratic wife was to produce a healthy son and heir but if nature did not take its course, they could seek help and so these ancestors of mine did.

Like many other aristocratic couples with trouble conceiving children they sought out quacks who made promises to cure infertility. One such person was a Dr James Graham who had invented what he called ‘The Celestial Bed’ that guaranteed conception and unearthly sexual pleasure. The bed itself was electrified and stood on insulating glass legs. The mattress was stuffed with stallion hair to increase potency. Mirrored floors and music from a glass harmonica heightened the experience, while the air swirled with exotic perfumes. Having made love on this bizarre contraption, the couple were encouraged to take ice baths and have a firm massage. The lady would also be advised to douse her genitals with champagne.

It must have worked because the family line did not die out but flourished. It proves to me that champagne is the answer to almost every question in life. A woman’s travails were not over just because she was successfully pregnant. More hazards lay in her path. Despite advances in medicine, a shocking number of medieval practices remained in the Georgian birthing chamber. The long period of rest or "confinement" leading up to the birth was still enforced for wealthy women. The rooms would be kept dark and sweltering with the expectant mother wrapped up in fustian waistcoats and petticoats. As soon as she had given birth, the room was made even hotter, with the curtains round the bed pinned and even the keyhole in the door stopped to prevent a draft. When I lived in China I discovered this is what Chinese mothers did and still do to this day. So I wasn’t so surprised when I read such a practice happened in other cultures like my own.

Those more fortunate might find themselves in a birthing chair. This had a sloped back and a semi-circle cut from the seat, designed to let gravity aid nature. It was certainly a better option than staining expensive bedding and linen. With only female relatives and an unofficially trained midwife to help, many women and their babies died in childbed, as it was known. Even when male surgeons became involved in obstetrics toward the end of the century, treatments were woefully inadequate. I read in the correspondence of one of my female ancestors that she was frequently ‘bled’ during her pregnancy. Somehow she survived any risk of post-partum haemorrhage.

Even when a birth was successful without complication the wife/mother was not out of the woods just yet. In keeping with custom in landed gentry circles of the times, the new mother would not suckle their own babies. In keeping its custom this taks was given over to a wet nurse. In the case of one of my ancestors whose correspondence I read she got a village girl from the family estates to breast feed the baby. The reason for doing so was brutally simple. Firstly, it was to ensure that the lady could conceive again as soon as possible. And secondly, Wealthier women often had difficulty breastfeeding due to their tight corsets or stays. It was also believed that a child would grow up stronger and hardier with a country-woman’s milk.

But even when the baby sprog was weaned, it was common practice for it to be handed to foster-parents until it was old enough to run about and talk. Interestingly enough Jane Austen and her siblings were fostered by a cottager in Deane village, two miles from their family home.

So overall I’m no so sure I would be thrilled to be living in the Georgian and Regency era even if it meant challenging that scoundrel Mr Wickham to a sword duel (and kicking his arse), match making with Emma, or even missing out on the pleasure of taking tea with Mr Darcy.

Sorry Mr Darcy.

Of course I’m fascinated with history and one sometimes wonder what it might be like to live in a particular time. However it’s just a flight of the imagination because to paraphrase Sir Roger Scruton I prefer to live in “the pastness of the present” rather than the past itself. This is the difference between being an historically illiterate reactionary and being a true conservative.

Thanks for your question

#question #ask #regency #georgian england #living #women #femme #personal #family

37 notes · View notes

tickle-fic-chick · 5 years ago

Text

Breaking Bender || A Breakfast Club Tickle Fic

Author’s Note: This is another fic I was really excited for. The Breakfast Club has to be one of my favorite fandoms to write for. I love the characters and there is so much untapped fic potential. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sorry it’s a little on the shorter side.

Bender had been more aggravating than usual that day, constantly poking and pestering Claire. She was honestly a little exasperated. What had gotten into him? They had her house to themselves that day, which Bender would have usually loved. These occasions were usually dedicated to making out and cuddling, something they were still a little embarrassed about doing in front of the group. The redhead sighed, glaring over at her boyfriend, who had just prodded her side again. “What are you doing?” They were laying on her bed, Bender practically throwing himself across her lap. He looked up at her, lips quirking into a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied. Claire rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Yeah right! You’ve been annoying me since you got here.” The girl retorted.

Bender shrugged, resting his hands behind his head. “You’re imagining things, princess.” He replied. Claire looked at him in exasperation. When Bender wanted something, he wouldn’t ask for it. Maybe it was because of his father, she didn’t know, but when he wanted something he would do one of two things. One, he would take it without asking and deal with consequences later. Two, he would nag and pester you until you willingly gave it to him. He usually got into trouble regardless of what he picked. What was it he wanted this time? A kiss? No, that didn’t seem quite right. Food? No, they had already eaten. Her eyebrows furrowed in thought, her gaze drifting down to the boy flopped across her lap. Suddenly, everything made sense.

“Oooh, I get it.” Claire chuckled, shaking her head. The delinquent opened his eyes, gazing up at her in confusion. “What are you going on about?” The redhead raised her hands, wiggling her fingers. “This...” She purred. Bender’s eyes widened, arms crashing down to protect his torso. “C-Claire, don’t you dare!” He growled, trying to hide the look of excitement in his eyes. His hands latched onto her wrists, making no move to push her away. That proved her theory. “Ssssh, we both know you love this.” It wasn’t meant to be a tease, though it certainly came across that way. Bender’s cheeks instantly turned red, his words to jumbled stammering. He did his best to stay calm during these types of situations. Claire made that coolness go out the window.

Her hands lowered, slipping under his shirt. She knew Bender responded best to gentle touches, probably because he wasn’t used to them. Her nails scraped down his belly, making her boyfriend jump. Bender bit down on his lower lip, desperately trying to hold back a grin. Nails like that should have been illegal, in his opinion. Claire’s fingers continued dragging up and down his abdomen, slowly riling him up. The more anticipation, the worse it would tickle. Her fingers began walking up towards his ribs, drawing a snort from the criminal. She was getting closer to the really bad spots now. “Clahahaire!” It came out like a whine, much to Bender’s embarrassment. “Yes?” She smirked. He didn’t get to reply, her fingers now reaching his rib cage. He instantly burst into light laughter.

“Nohohohohohohoho! D-Dooooohohohohon’t!” Bender snickered. His ribs were one of his worst spots. However, her gentle tickling didn’t produce nearly the amount of laughter that Andrew could have. The athlete was surprisingly ruthless, drilling into Bender’s armpits and ribs until he shrieked for mercy. While he loved those kinds of tickles too, Claire’s gentle touches were painfully soothing. Her nails were scratching between each rib now, drawing more laughter from the ticklish adolescent. “Sohohohohomewhere else! Mohohohohove sohohohohomewhere else!” Claire’s smile grew. She had noticed how he had told her to move, not to stop. “Whatever you say.” Her fingers crawled up, now scratching at his exposed armpits.

The delinquent’s eyes widened, a shriek tearing from his throat. Oh, that wasn’t fair! It’s so wasn’t fair! Bender’s arms clamped down, trying desperately to protect his armpits. All it did was trap her hands in the horribly ticklish hollows. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! CLAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIRE!” He called. No matter how gently you tickled, his armpits always had him cackling. The rest of the Breakfast Club took full advantage of his, sneaking up behind him and launching quick attacks when he wasn’t looking. His laugh, his real laugh, had to be one of the most infectious things in the world. No one could ever get enough of it.

Claire kept up the ticklish attack for another minute before slowly coming to a stop. She looked down at her boyfriend as he panted, slowly regaining his composure. His cheeks were flushed from laughter, a wide grin still stretched across his face. She hadn’t seen him this happy in a while. Claire’s heart practically melted and she had to hold back an amused giggle. She began combing her fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. This never failed to calm the other down. Bender shuttered, his eyes drooping closed. “Claire...” He murmured, still smiling. The redhead leaned down, pecking his lips. “Are you happy now?” She chuckled. All she got was a nod; that was all she needed.

#john bender #claire standish #the breakfast club #tickle fic #tickling #tickle community #tickle blog #writing blog

36 notes · View notes

vanessakirbyfans · 4 years ago

Link

As coldly drawn as an atlas yet no less capable of enflaming the imagination, Mona Fastvold’s “The World to Come” is a hard and brittle period love story that thaws into something much warmer — what its hyper-literate heroine would call “astonishment and joy” — as a merciless 19th-century winter blushes into a most unexpected spring.

Tuesday, January 1, 1856. Abigail (Katherine Waterston) mourns the daughter who was taken by diphtheria a few months prior, and journals about a world that feels barren in the young girl’s absence. “This morning, ice in our bedroom for the first time all winter,” she reads aloud in voiceover, offering the first excerpt from an interior monologue so pronounced that Fastvold’s romance often feels like an epistolary film written by a woman to herself. “The water froze on the potatoes as soon as they were washed. With little pride, and less hope, we begin the new year.”

And what a new year it will be for the ever-studious Abigail, an overgrown schoolgirl who likens her loneliness to “a library without books.” It will begin with new neighbors. It will bloom with new memories. And it will shudder with the tectonic aftershocks of a woman who — with no means of escaping her nook-like place in the world — dares to remap herself.

That cartography motif provides “The World to Come” with a clear sense of place from the moment it starts; the credits are scrawled above a map of upstate New York (played with patience and edenic possibility by the hills of Romania), and they give way to a valley so petrified in gray ice, even the slightest hints of color seem exotic. Embodied by a mealy-mouthed Casey Affleck (whose quietly moving performance as Abigail’s husk of a husband sneaks up on you), Dyer bristles against the depressive pall that’s settled around their house like it’s just another fallow period any farmer worth his beard could survive. “Contentment is like a friend he never gets to see,” Abigail notes in her journal with a novelist’s sense of invention, sketching the inner life of a spouse always less expressive than his shadow. They may be married, but what can that really mean to a woman who’s only met a handful of people in her life? At night, he grabs her breast and offers her another child. Abigail requests an atlas instead.

It could be worse. Abigail could be married to the more controlling Finney (Christopher Abbott), a jealous brute who’s just leased out the log cabin nearby and doesn’t appear to have any inner life at all. Not that his wife Tallie (Vanessa Kirby) would try to draw it out if he did. Unlike the bookish Abigail — who’s been raised to think of the world as a hidden empire built of ink and imagination — Tallie walks through life with her chin up, her cheeks flushed, and her hair caught in the wind. She is a woman less compelled by what she can imagine in her mind than what she can feel on her skin. Things like the webbing between Abigail’s fingers, which Tallie explores with unclear intentions as the two prairie housewives trade polite gossip about their husbands.

Has Tallie been with a woman before? Has any woman been with a woman before? Abigail doesn’t know the answers to these questions, or even how to ask them. All she knows is that the house seems warmer after Tallie’s visits. The swirling winds of Daniel Blumberg’s clarinet score — which can whip into a winter storm at a moment’s notice — grow as warm and soothing as an orange hearth. And a story that opens with the grief-stricken chill of a rustic horror movie starts to pull focus away from its monsters, eventually settling into a harsh but hypnotic love story less rewarding to watch than it is to remember.

In that respect, it differs from a recent spate of similar films. Critics — and this one speaks from experience — should be careful about relating every restrained sapphic romance to the likes of “Carol” or a Céline Sciamma movie. But Fastvold’s stiff knockout of a second feature (which arrives six years after “The Sleepwalker,” and trembles with the same intensity its filmmaker wrote into the scripts for “The Mustang” and “Vox Lux”) shares a common interest in female interiority and the sweet vertigo of falling in love. “The World to Come” takes that pioneer spirit and runs with it deep into the woods, even if its characters spend most of their lives standing in place, even if the movie around them — which entwines the furtive eroticism of “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” with the kerosene ache of “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford” — owes as much to the latter as it does any of its more obvious influences.

Without “Jesse James,” “The World to Come” literally wouldn’t exist. Andrew Dominik adapted the Western from a history book of the same name, sparking an artistic kinship between Affleck and author Ron Hansen — whose writing partner Jim Shepard got the idea for a novella about a forbidden affair when he found a note scribbled in the margins of an old farmer’s journal: “My best friend has moved away, I don’t think I will ever see her again.” When Hansen and Shepard offered Fastvold the script version, Affleck came with it, as did the implosive fatalism he brought to the role of Robert Ford, and the bitter survivalist mindset of living at nature’s mercy.

“The World to Come” is so withholding that the characters from “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” are practically sky-writing their emotions by comparison, and Fastvold’s film — despite its delicate lilt of a last scene — never detonates inside of you with remotely the same force. It’s jabbing and elliptical instead of lush and symphonic; old-fashioned where some of its predecessors have thrummed with contemporary zeal. No one filters drugs through armpits, or scissors their bodies into shapes that Abdellatif Kechiche might cut together. On the contrary, Abigail and Tallie are seldom onscreen together at all, and only in hindsight can we appreciate how charged the space between them is when they are. Fastvold shoots the movie at a polite and unfussy remove, the fuzzy vibrations of Andre Chemtoff’s 16mm cinematography hinting at an energy invisible to Abigail and Tallie’s husbands.

Many of the script’s most pivotal moments are folded into the margins like the two lines of chicken scratch that gave birth to these characters; each scene begins with the date scrawled across the scene as Abigail reads from her diary, and it isn’t until the end of the movie that you realize how much she’s kept hidden from us. It’s enough to know that she has access to it, and always will, but it’s also frustrating that we’re stuck watching some more ordinary histrionics instead. Abbott’s performance shivers with a sociopathic affectlessness, but “patriarchy incarnate” is thin gruel in a film where everyone else gets to play so many layers (even Affleck, who earns Dyer some hard-won dimension by the end). It’s not that his character doesn’t ring true, nor that Finney’s jealous chaos is at all contrived. Only that his destructive boorishness is such a plain way to spoil a story this ornate, like a wedding invitation embossed in comic sans.

But “The World to Come” is about the things we remember, and not the ones so easy to forget. “I hold our friendship and study it,” Abigail writes of her bond with Tallie, “as if it were the incomplete map of our escape.” Whether or not she ever finds her way free, the first half of 1856 will linger in Abigail’s mind like all of the best love stories do, her neurons and nerve endings rearranged into forest trails that forever lead back to the legend that explains them.

Grade: A-

“The World to Come” premiered in Competition at the 2020 Venice Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.

#Vanessa Kirby #The World to Come #Review #Articles

5 notes · View notes

tyrannoninja · 4 years ago

Text

Arrows of Alodia

Japan, 1500 AD

The walls of the castle glowed pale yellow before the face of the setting sun, with blue shingles sparkling on stacks of curved roofs. This radiance conferred the semblance of a tall gold crown encrusted with lapis-lazuli gems. The castle sat atop a wooded hill, overlooking the fields, forests, and scattered peasants’ villages like an emperor surveying his rural domain.

A young woman hiked a series of stone steps that zigzagged up the hill’s northern slope, cradling in a yew chest her arms. Her hooded waist-length kimono and trousers, both dull green like the trees sheltering the path, protected her both from the evening’s damp chill and from any eyes spying on her. Not that the woman had noticed anyone giving her a second glance so far, but nobody in her line of work could afford to let their guard down.

She reached the summit of the hill, strolled across the short bridge over the castle’s moat, and paused to gaze over the sprawling countryside. The verdant beauty of the Japanese landscape would never leave her eyes entirely, yet years of experience had scraped away much of its allure. She knew that underneath its lush and tranquil veneer lay a cutthroat and lawless world of cruelty and treachery.

This would be her last evening in the land. The next day, she would set sail for civilization.

Among the irregular mass of rocks building up the castle’s base was a rectangular slab, as tall and wide as a man. The woman inserted her fingers along its edge and pushed it aside as if it were a regular sliding door. Ahead ran a narrow corridor lit with paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, a small courtesy she had not expected.

Underneath the more pleasing scent of the cherry blossoms, the stink of dead flesh leaked through the chest’s lid. The woman hugged it against her breast, a queasy nausea swelling in her stomach. Grisly as the odor was, it was only part of the price she had to pay for her upcoming escape.

She followed the passageway through the base until it led into a series of rooms, the walls built of white paper with wooden frames, a building material she had always thought strange. Back in her native Alodia, along the Nile to the south of Egypt, people built almost everything from sturdier materials such as mudbrick or stone. For a race that constantly warred with their own, the Japanese could have stood to fortify the interiors of their homes better.

After sliding open a succession of paper doors, the woman found the Daimyo Takeshi awaiting her in his study. She greeted him with a bow of her head while laying the chest before the tatami mat he sat on.

“I see you already had the way in lighted for me, my lord,” the woman said. She pulled down her hood to reveal her dark brown face and braided black hair. “Very kind of you.”

“I have good timing.” The old Daimyo croaked a chuckle as he laid his hands on the chest. “I trust this is Hiroshi himself?”

The woman nodded as she unslung her bow and quiver. “I took him out in the dead of night. Nobody suspected a single thing. Suffice to say he won’t trouble you anymore.”

Takeshi pried the chest open, releasing the stench of its contents in a full wave. Inside lay the half-rotten head of Hiroshi, once his vassal. The Daimyo’s cackling made the woman feel even more sick than the morbid object.

“Excellent work, Maia of Alodia,” he said. “I see you more than deserve your reputation.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice, my lord.”

Maia glanced around the study for a bag of coins, yet she could find none. The only gold she detected in the room was the paint on some serpentine dragon illustrations on the walls. “Now, where is my payment?”

The Daimyo’s smile vanished. He pulled a curved scabbard from his belt and slid out the katana sword within. “You didn’t really think I would let you go with my vassal’s blood on your hands, did you?”

Maia’s pulse kicked into a thumping panic. She held her bow close to her. “Why not? None of the other daimyo I’ve served had a problem with that.”

“Then they were fools. Think, Alodian, of what would happen were you around to blurt out the truth, in whatever circumstance. The world would know I was behind this all, and I’d have even more insolent subjects to contend with than before!”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t pay anyone to take out your critics, O Daimyo.”

Takeshi stood and drew back his sword, his once pale yellow-brown face flaming red. “Unless I can take you out in turn!”

Maia ducked beneath the slicing sweep of his katana, dodging it by less than an inch. She hopped across the room and swung her bow at him as if it were a sword. Its bottom tip slashed across the back of the Daimyo’s blue silken vest. Despite not drawing blood, he fell over with a yelp and a groan, his sword flying out of his grip and rolling over the floor until Maia picked it up.

Maia strutted over to where he lay and pressed the tip of his katana into the nape of his neck. “I could easily kill you as I killed your vassal, Daimyo Takeshi. But I’ll give you one more chance than you gave him. Pay me the gold you promised, and I’ll leave your hide unscratched.”

“Never!” Takeshi swept his arm aside and banged into Maia’s ankle, tripping her. He snatched his sword back in a springing leap. “I still have tracks to cover up.”

After wheeling away from his next few attacks, the Alodian shot her foot into his shin. He growled a hideous curse and repaid the blow by slashing across her hip.

The cut burned hot through the flesh of her leg. Her rage blazed so much hotter that it drowned out all pain.

Again the Daimyo charged, brandishing his blade with a bloodthirsty roar. Maia sidestepped and swatted him in the skull from behind, throwing him across the room until he crashed through the wall, tore through the paper and splintered the framing. From a leather sheath under her belt, she grabbed a curved dagger and flung it into his spine. After one last guttural croak, the Daimyo Takeshi lay without movement other than the blood flowing out of his wounds.

Signing a cross into the air, Maia whispered a prayer that her God show mercy on the poor sinner’s soul.

“How could you?”

A young woman in a scarlet kimono burst into the study, her hair tousled and her face wet with tears. She knelt sobbing by the Daimyo’s body.

“I’m sorry, was he your father?” Maia asked. She lowered her hand to touch the other woman’s shoulder in consolation.

“No! I was his beloved wife, Ichiko.” The Japanese girl slapped the Alodian away and tore the katana out of her fallen husband’s grip. “Now you will pay for your crime, barbarian bitch!”

Yanking the dagger out of Takeshi, Maia thrust it to parry Ichiko. Sparks erupted from the clashing of blades until the Alodian’s smaller weapon broke in half. She lunged to stab her opponent’s thigh, but Ichiko kicked her into the room’s opposite wall.

Maia had carried half her dagger, and the Daimyo’s widow showed just as much agility. Maia carried only one weapon that would give her any advantage in the fight.: the one she had used on the vassal Hiroshi.

What she needed was more space between she and her target.

After chucking a stick of shattered wood into Ichiko’s face, Maia scrambled to retrieve her bow and quiver. She hurled herself through the hole, over the Daimyo Takeshi’s body. She had an arrow drawn the instant Ichiko launched herself into the air, katana raised overhead for a downward cleave.

Maia fired. Ichiko fell in mid-arc onto Takeshi, the arrow through her heart seeming to pin her onto her husband’s corpse, uniting them in death as in life. It was a bittersweet way for them to go, Maia admitted to herself.

Through her labored breathing, she heard the shrill wailing of an infant.

Hurrying out of the study, the Alodian stumbled into a room, where three flat cushions rested like low beds on the floor. The first two were adult-sized, for the Daimyo and his wife. The third was only big enough to support the naked, wailing baby that lay curled into a ball on it, bawling with frightened distress.

Throughout her career, Maia of Alodia had taken many lives. Some were daimyo rival to the ones who paid her, whereas others were insubordinate vassals like the one she had taken at Takeshi’s behest. Still others had been guards and soldiers she fended off when her missions went sour. It was her way of earning what she needed to survive in a ruthless country. Never had she imagined she would feel guilt or remorse, until she saw the tears glistening on the baby’s face.

He had no mother or father anymore. No one left to comfort or protect him. Instead, he lost them to the cold bite of steel, much as Maia had lost her own mother and father when she was a girl. This time, though, Maia’s own steel had robbed him of his family.

She could not leave him there. Either he would die young in this merciless land or would grow up forever ablaze with hatred for her and perhaps all the people of Alodia. Maia could not blame him one bit for that.

She had to make it up to him, to give him what she had taken from him.

Maia picked up the baby in a firm embrace, murmuring soft words to soothe him. “I shall name you Isaac, sweet one. Don’t cry, you shall be safe with me.”

The castle of the late Daimyo Takeshi, once a brilliant pale yellow, turned a luminous white before the moon and stars. Down the hillside steps Maia descended, holding the sleeping Isaac under one arm while hauling the yew chest in the other. Instead of a human head rolling within it, the chest now jingled with plundered gold coins, more than enough to buy Maia a sailing trip away from this beautiful yet deadly land.

Where could she go next? She didn’t know. Her family had fled Alodia when it fell under attack by the Muslim Funj, and doubtless they would have taken the kingdom over and replaced its Christian religion with their own. Perhaps Ethiopia, another African kingdom still faithful to the same God as Alodia, would offer sanctuary. Or maybe Maia could sate her appetite for adventure elsewhere in the East, perhaps the jungle kingdoms to the south or the steppes to the north. Even the empire of China might hold promise, as they enjoyed more unity than the Japanese.

Wherever Maia went, she would carry Isaac with him. She would nurse him, raise him as her own, and teach him how to shoot arrows like a true Alodian.

This and other short stories can be read in my self-published collection Beasts & Beauties.

#short story #fiction #literature #african #sudanese #nubian #black woman #woman of color #warrior woman #feudal japan #japanese #asian #historical fiction #woc #poc #writing

3 notes · View notes

domesticatedantelope · 5 years ago

Text

star-crossed

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: E, NSFW 18+

Word Count: 3686

Summary: The one under the stars. For RoD Appreciation Week.

Mercy is four hours deep and only halfway through her second problem set when Logan scoops her from the desk and sweeps her smoothly over his shoulder.

“Hey!” She gasps as the world spins around her, stunned by the sudden upheaval. Her hands grip instinctively at the line of his shoulders for balance; and despite her indignation an appreciative warmth still flushes through her at the firm span of muscles there. She almost forgets to be mad, until the sight of her work growing steadily further out of reach reminds her that she was just piecing together a particularly difficult equation, and she is being actively carried away from its solution. “Logan! I was working on that!”

His touch is the same gentle reverence that she’s learned to expect from him when he shifts her against his chest, where she hangs in the cradle of his arms like an oversized doll. “I know.” He offers her a sympathetic smile, pressing his lips somewhere among the dark waves of her hair. “But even big smart brains like yours need breaks sometimes.” Then he pauses, rocks back on his heels, reconsidering; hesitation wavers in his features. “Let me help you unwind for a little bit.” It’s not exactly a question, but she knows that he is waiting for permission, and harbors no amount of doubt that he would put her right back where he found her with the utmost care if she requested.

Reluctantly, the irritation fizzles out, worn over like erosion by her own fatigue, and that fondness for him that is just as much a part of her as the beat of her heart. She presses her hand to his cheek, and a warm curl of affection flutters in her chest when he turns to kiss the palm of her hand. “All right, hermoso. What did you have in mind?”

The smile that unfurls across his face ought to be criminal, every atom of his body so openly pleased and easy to read - like the pages of a book she’s learned and loved a thousand times before. “Wanna go for a drive?”

She leans up to kiss the hollow underneath his jaw. “Always.”

With enviable ease, he carries her outside and tucks her lovingly into the passenger side of his car. And when he reaches past her to buckle her seatbelt, he sneaks a kiss to her lips while he’s there, full and sweet and slow; and she thinks if his smile should be criminal, the other things his mouth can do are downright dangerous.

She’s still blushing when Logan slides into the car beside her. Behind the wheel, he’s the absolute picture of ease, a man most firmly in his element, and it looks so unfairly good on him. He grins at her, puts on a song he knows she likes and starts to drive.

They wind their way out of the city, buildings racing by in flashes of dark colors and bright lights. She luxuriates in the impermanence, how quickly all the streets and people flicker past and disappear as they speed down the freeway and leave everything behind them.

When his hand reaches across the center console, she meets him halfway, and their fingers thread together with all the ease of second nature. She traces the ridge of his knuckles, touch soft against the hatch marks of old scars that split the skin there. Lifting his hand against her lips, she soothes them over with a series of tender kisses, and his thumb strokes gentle as breath across the rise of her cheekbone.

“You know, I remember when you used to help me study.”

Logan laughs. “Did I really, though?”

“I recall doing quite well on that exam.”

“You’ve never needed anyone’s help for that, Mercy.” He meets her gaze just long enough for her to catch the earnest warmth in his eyes before turning back to the road. “But… this should help, too. Trust me.”

She squeezes fondly at his fingers. “I do.”

When they merge off from the freeway, Mercy starts to recognize the route they’re riding up into the mountains above the city. Her eyes glance over to the clock on Logan’s dash, where the late hour glows in bright block yellow numbers. “Is this where we’re heading? Won’t it be closed?”

He flashes her that reckless smile, the one she fell so irreversibly in love with, and her heart leaps with the same wild excitement that only Logan can inspire in her. “When has a little chain link ever stopped us before?”

She bites her lip, fighting the grin that threatens to break free across her face. “Never.”

“That’s my girl.”

After a dizzying drive along the twists and turns that hug the Santa Monica mountains, Logan kills the headlights and pulls up to the front gate of an expansive and very familiar parking lot. He reaches into the back seat and retrieves a neatly-folded blanket, tucking it under his arm and turning to her with a mischievous grin. “Shall we?”

He catches her by the hand when she steps toward the front gate. “This way. I know somewhere a little more private.”

Despite the chill of night, a blush warms her cheeks. “Want me all to yourself, huh?”

The glance he aims her way is lingering and dark with desire. “Since the moment I met you.”

Their fingers laced, Logan leads her away from the parking lot, through the chapparal and underbrush that skirt the side of the observatory. Their boots crunch over dirt and vegetation, marking the sound of their travel until finally they break around the corner, and the dazzling lights of Los Angeles sprawl out like so many stars before her.

Logan eyes the fence that stands between them and that breathtaking view with a smirk. “This all they got to keep us out?” He tosses the blanket over first and braces back against the fence, locking his hands over his knee. Then he shoots her a wink. “C’mon, troublemaker. You know your criminal trespassing by now.”

Mercy rests her boot between his cradled palms. Before she leaps, she fists a hand in Logan’s shirt and yanks him up into a kiss, feeling him stiffen with surprise before he smiles and eagerly responds.

“For good luck,” she says, when he lifts a brow at her.

Staring at her mouth, he licks his lips and hums an eager noise, deep in the base of his throat. “All my luck is yours,” he promises, easy as breathing. He boosts her up and over the fence in one swift, practiced move, and she clambers expertly down the other side. Her feet touch ground among soft blades of grass, and when she turns -

Wow.

The city stretches out as far as she can see, miles and miles of glittering lights and glassy silver skyscrapers that reach up with jagged hands to graze the dark night sky. She must have come here a dozen different times when she was a child, but this isn’t the same view she remembers.

Then Logan fills the space at her side, leaning close to take her hand, and she thinks that the company might have a lot to do with it. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, it’s… beautiful.” The word feels insufficient; she knows so many words in many different languages and none of them seem right. “More beautiful than I remember.”

“Good. ‘Cause I saved you the best seat in the house.” He flops down onto the blanket with an inviting smile, patting the empty space beside him.

Blushing - because even when she’s feeling bold, she’s always blushing - Mercy folds herself decisively in Logan’s lap instead. “Best seat,” she declares, and taps the tip of his nose with her finger.

His arms hook eagerly around her, sweeping her tight against his chest as he nips playfully at the curve of her neck. “And don’t you forget it.” Giddy laughter rises from her lungs, fond and freeing, and his eyes soften at the sound. “Haven’t heard you laugh all day. I was starting to miss it.”

She smoothes the hair back from his face. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Always.” Framing a hand against her cheek, he draws her close to claim her mouth in a gentle kiss. His fingers lace through the thick tresses of her hair, his grip an anchor locking them together when she pushes him onto his back. Eyes dark and ardent, he stares up at her and submits freely to her lead, his features taken with a sudden hunger that makes her skin ache to be touched. “What’s on your mind, troublemaker?”

Mercy smiles and dips her mouth against his jaw, shaping a slow, teasing kiss there. “You,” she answers easily, and slinks lower to kiss his throat, his collarbone, the muscles above his heart. “You, and you, and only ever you, hermoso.”

He trails a rough hand down her waist to the curve of her hip, where his fingers chart slow shapes over her skin. With the winds of late night LA cold against her back, the scorching heat in his palm summons liquid shivers through her body. “You’re warm,” she moans, sinking down against his chest and nestling greedily into his body heat.

Logan chuckles and runs his palms up her arms, trying to press his warmth into her skin. “Maybe I ought to be warming you up.”

“Mmn, you can do that?”

“I have my ways.” He rolls her under him with a low, rumbling laugh, until his body shields her protectively from the cold. His lips find the pulse in her throat and linger there just long enough to make her gasp. “Where should I start?”

“My fingers are actually freezing,” she confesses, flushing, but he only smiles and wraps his hand around her wrist, bringing her fingers to his lips, where he breathes warm air across her palm, dragging his mouth down the line of her knuckles. When his teeth nibble softly at her fingertips, she bites back an unexpected groan as desire circles down in the pit of her gut, nerves tingling under the languid path his mouth tracks. He catches her gaze as he reaches for her other hand, seeing to its care with the same meticulous devotion. His lips part against the valley of her hand, and she sucks in a sudden breath as the flat of his tongue travels hot and wet across her palm.

“O-oh! That’s -” Mercy bites her lip until it hurts, tossing restlessly through her vocabulary for the proper words and coming up forever short.

Thankfully Logan continues, seemingly encouraged by her speechlessness. He attends to the sensitive skin of her wrist with several tender kisses, then charts his way across the palm fronds that fan leaves of dark ink down the length of her arm. She buries a hand in his hair, tugging lovingly at the soft strands as his teeth find a nerve in the slope of her shoulder that makes her whine.

He sneaks one last teasing bite at the rise of her throat before his eyes find hers once more. “Anywhere else?” he asks, and her heart pounds at the rasp of want in his voice.

Mercy has come to terms with the fact that Logan puts her far beyond the realm of words. She drags her fingertip down the center of her chest instead and whispers a shaky please, hoping he will understand.

The first soft kiss he drops against her sternum is barely there at all, a ghost of lips and gone again. The second lands with more conviction, and once he works through the top buttons of her blouse, the third and fourth are sinful with tongue. His breath spills warm between the curves of her breasts, that tickle followed quickly by his searching mouth and the barest hint of teeth.

She thanks a god she hasn’t prayed to since her childhood for front clasps when he easily unlatches her bra and frees the stiff peaks of her nipples. A shiver of discomfort grips her from the frigid air, and Logan is quick to cover her bare skin with a series of attentive kisses and love bites to compensate.

His name frays on her tongue, and she is hurtling toward incoherency.

“Mmn.” He glances up at her through his lashes, a wolfish smile curled across his face. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

She licks her teeth and manages to scrape the words together with great effort. “Then keep making me say it.”

“Oh, I’ll keep you here all night, troublemaker.” Logan laughs under his breath, his voice just as satisfyingly wrecked as her own. He reaches back with one hand to tug his shirt above his head, and then she’s clutching eagerly at the delicious heat of his bare skin and nearly sobbing at how good he feels against her.

“You are so soft,” he groans against her throat, his fingers burning trails of warmth like hot coals down her waist. “And sweet…” His tongue laves hungrily over a muscle in her neck. “And you smell like cookies all the fucking time.”

A delirious laugh bubbles like champagne up her throat. She swallows it back, squirming as he pops open the last few buttons of her blouse and splays the full roughness of his hand over her stomach. His eyes drag ravenous with need down the curves of her body, and he bites a groan into his teeth. “God, it makes me want to just…” He trails off, a sudden ruddy flush coloring his cheeks.

“Just…?”

Logan pins her with a searing look. “Mercy, I want to eat you ‘til you’re screaming.”

Well. Her throat works when she swallows empty air, her own face flaring red with vibrant heat. She offers him a timid smile and taps her finger at the end of his beautiful mouth. “Show me, handsome.”

He crushes his mouth to hers, slipping a hand under her skirt to tease the soft lace of her panties down her legs. His knuckles graze the slick heat where she throbs for him, and they shiver together at the contact. Groaning her name, he locks his arms under her hips and drags her back on top of him, and it will never fail to thrill her when he shifts her around like she weighs nothing at all. And then he grabs her by the thighs and yanks her up his chest until her knees tumble apart above his shoulders, holding her open and exposed and inches from his face.

Her confidence threatens to buckle, and he seems to feel it in the way her thighs tense around him. His thumbs soothe gentle circles into the soft skin there, head turning to kiss the inside of her thigh but never dropping her gaze. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

“Yeah?”

A positively devilish smirk forms on his face. “Let me show you.”

Lip caught between her teeth, Mercy gives him a determined nod.

Logan starts slow, kneading his fingers at her hips as he bites sucking kisses up each thigh, never hard enough to hurt. Gradually she eases into his hold, threading her fingers around a fistful of his hair, and he hums beneath her in approval. His eyes flicker up to meet hers from between her legs, and there is an unspeakable rush that flutters in her stomach at the sight of him there, staring up at her like she is something holy.

When he drags her down against his mouth, she gasps at the first searching stroke of his tongue. Her back arches as white hot pleasure bleeds across her nerves, heat etched into her skin from the tip of his tongue, each languid shape dancing like cast shadows through her body. Broken words bounce uselessly behind her teeth, half-syllables of curses and sacrilegious invocations.

Emboldened, he grips tighter at her legs, working his lips and tongue in firm rhythms against her skin as she sobs and starts to tremble. His name shivers up from her lungs, and he groans beneath her, hunting rough fingers up her thigh until he finds the point where they connect, slick folds parting around his tongue, and then she feels him pushing in, thick fingers filling, fucking, crooking softly and wrenching the last of her breath in a shattered gasp.

“Oh, god!” Her hips begin to rock before she can stop them, and Logan slows to match her pace, that hot, hot tongue like a scorching sun between her thighs as he spirals blazing shapes around her clit. His mouth spells out the most exquisite bliss, and he is unrelenting, like a man at his last meal, feasting on her as if he might never get another chance, and though she lacks the faculties to reassure him, she would tear the world apart before she let anything take him from her.

Love and rapture sing in her heart, dance with blissful fingers down her nerves. Logan never tears his eyes from her face as her legs start to tense around his head. The brutal flat of his tongue glides in tight over her clit, sucking her between his lips when he staggers a third finger in beside the others, and that devastating stretch is what finally tears her apart. Her eyes twist shut into darkness, and she screams as blinding pleasure overtakes her.

It feels like a thousand tiny deaths ripping all at once across her every nerve, and if this is how she passes on - straddled over Logan’s face for all the stars and the city of angels to see - then she submits to her undoing with no regrets.

Little seismic echoes drift through her twitching body as the pleasure gradually recedes, and Mercy blinks her bleary eyes until her vision clears to reveal Logan smiling triumphantly up at her. His wet mouth scatters kisses down her shaking thighs while she recovers.

“I could watch you come all night,” he sighs, lashing his tongue over a mark his teeth left in her skin. She lifts away from him on unsteady legs, and he eases her gently back against the blanket, rolling to occupy the open space between her thighs. Her hands roam lovingly over his shoulders, down the first few notches of his spine, tugging his mouth down against her own. Her lips are clumsy in the wake of coming, so he kisses her slowly, lifting his hips to let her fumble with his belt.

“Need you,” she breathes, feeling him tense against her when his cock fills her hands. “Please, baby.”

“I’m here.” He soothes a few steadying kisses down her jaw, licking his fingertips and slicking them over the head of his cock. She whimpers at the hot, hard feel of him against her, and he watches her expression twist with relief as he pushes in, inch by perfect inch until they’re seated firmly together, and the world is squeezed abruptly down to the exquisite width of him inside of her.

Logan chokes out a strangled noise against her throat. “Oh, fuck… Mercy.” His lips shiver down the column of her neck. “Perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Scoring her nails up his sides, she urges him into motion with a hushed moan. “Logan, please.”

His hips surge against her, and the dull stunning pleasure steals her breath every time he sinks home. The dark strands of his hair spill over his face as he ducks his head against her shoulder, his hands roaming greedily down her back, over her hips, gripping the curves of her ass to drag her hard onto his cock, forcing a wordless squeak from her lungs.

He catches her mouth in a messy kiss, moaning against her lips when his tongue dips between them. Her knees hug in around his waist, and she pleads for him in shattered syllables, head falling back as pressure carves a hot path through her belly from the wet, tight point inside of her where they connect.

Tears bleed at her lashes, gushing down her face as she presses clumsy kisses to his temple. “I love you.”

Logan muffles a groan against her shoulder, lifting the frantic black of his eyes back to hers. “Say it again,” he breathes, and strokes his thumb down the soft plane of her cheek. “Please.”

“I love you.” She says it on the back end of a gasp, and again when he fucks into her with renewed urgency. She pants the words into his skin, over and over, soft as prayer, and when he seizes up against her, fingers biting at her hips as he comes inside of her, she presses her mouth to his neck and shapes the words against his racing pulse.

Gradually the tension fades from his clenching muscles, and his body relaxes into her embrace. He kisses her forehead, her cheekbones, her nose, and finally the swollen curve of her mouth before he smiles down at her. “Love you too, beautiful.”

After slipping clumsily back into his jeans, Logan dresses her with reverent hands, replacing her clothes with the same attentive care that he removed them. The strength slowly returns to her limp muscles, and she helps tug his shirt back down his chest with a carefree giggle that doesn’t quite form, her voice still weak from screaming.

By the time they stretch out side-by-side under the stars, the moon hangs high in the night sky above them, glowing white against the darkness. Mercy reaches up to trace what little constellations she can find amidst the endless LA lights, naming them from memory. Logan plays with her fingers as he listens, and when she glances over, she finds him watching her with a smile to rival the stars on his face.

Eventually the temperature dips too low for even Logan’s body heat to keep her warm, and they trek back toward the car on somewhat unsteady legs.

She falls asleep on the drive home with Logan’s hand cradled between her own, and dreams a sea of stars that fills the sky from horizon to horizon.

#rodaw #ride or die #choices ride or die #rod logan #logan x mc #ns*fw #happy rodaw y'all!#let's start things off real sweeeeet #did i spend way too long deliberating whether sneaking into griffith observatory and banging on the grass is actually feasible? yes #this is fanfic please just let me have this #it's what they deserve #mercy booping logan's face: best seat #logan: then sit there #these kids are fun #mc: mercy castellano #dom writes #ship: grand larceny

102 notes · View notes

jawllines · 6 years ago

Note

CONGRATS also what happened to our blurbbbbbb :(

HELLO I AM SORRY!! HERE IS THE WEREWOLF BLURB :D

Harry had dealt with his fair share of whiny pups in his day.

Hell, most of the time he was the whiney pup himself. Despite being the Alpha, and for the most part being sturdy and phlegmatic, when it was just him and Y/N in a room together then he could be the absolute whiniest thing. Only because she allows him to get away with it, petting at his curls, grazing her fingertips up the skin of his sinewy back while simultaneously teasing and soothing him with gentle words spoken often just loud enough for him to hear.

This mostly occurred when she’d have been caught up in her school work or at the bakery and Harry can’t help but begin to feel neglected, especially when he’s been banished to the other side of the couch so she can focusing on writing her essay during his impromptu visits to her flat. That’s when he was the most abhorrent, he’d reckon, quietly sulky and whiney as to give her the chance to finish, but their bond makes it almost impossible for her not to feel his downtrodden mood shift. He figures she feels guilty then, beckoning him over with a soft call of his name and Harry all but scrambles for the opportunity to curl their bodies within one another.

It’s in those moments the notions of her being his true mate are only reaffirmed, coaxing him to nothing but a muddle of purrs and endearment towards her. Very seldom is she the whiny pup -- she’s lovey and warm and soft but never a complaint or a grumble at her lips when he’s busy or tending to other things.

So now, when she’s in a state such as this one, Harry isn’t sure what to do.

The beginnings of it had been that morning, when he’d woken to the strips of sunlight cascading against the walls and the dark sheets of his bed. Normally he might wake up to Y/N already stretching out her body, or curled nicely against his body, her back to his chest snuggled close. However, now her arm was wrapped around him tightly, and her leg had been positioned over his own almost possessively. The apple of her cheek was pressed to his chest and he could just barely feel her lips brush against his nipple, pebbled from the damp warmth of her breath. He had attempted to untangle her from him so that he could position them in a way he could wake her with kisses before venturing down to the dining hall for brekkie, but she wouldn’t budge. Grumbled in her sleep and stubbornly latched on tighter to him.

“Pet,” he’d murmured -- his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, how it does every morning, but he forces it to move, “Wake up f’r me.” He’d given her a shake or two before she was properly roused, and there had been something different in her eyes this morning. Something needier almost. She appeared cute as ever, and soft as ever, she smelled sweeter than normal as well which urged his cock awake some, and when he’d tried untangling them once more she groaned aloud and shook her head.

“Don’ move,” she had attempted to order, “Want to cuddle more. Love you.”

Harry had felt mushy of course, and he thinks he would’ve even considered skipping breakfast if it meant just letting her cling onto him how she was -- to revel in that sleepy possessiveness that she’d otherwise be too embarrassed to show -- but her stomach rumbled to life, demanding to be heard and catered to. So he’d mustered the strength he knows he has to overpower her, and just brings her along with him as he sits upward, ignoring the long whine that stretched from her throat.

He’d imagined it had just been some post-sleep snuggles that she’d been working out of her system but that was far from the case. When Harry moved, she moved; if he walked to the dresser, she would tail behind him, and when he was brushing his teeth after she’d finish brushing hers, her forehead was pressed to his back, between his shoulder blades, just resting. He’d been concerned at first, feeling her forehead, “Are you feeling well, my love?” He had asked and she nodded, brows furrowed deep.

“What, I can’t want to be close to you?” She had replied defensively, though her arms were still locked around him as she’d placed them when he turned from the sink, “If it’s annoying then I’ll jus’ see if Niall wants my affection.”

Harry’s own brows furrowed, “No,” he grumbled shaking his head, “It’s not annoying, not at all -- you’re just more cuddly than usual, with me. Didn’t know if something was wrong.”

Y/N shakes her head, the irritation that he’d questioned her having left as she only hugs to him tighter when his own arms reciprocate around her body, “Just love you, s’all,” she’d replied with a soft sigh, and Harry thinks his heart may just burst from his chest when she continues, “Love you lots.”

“I love you too, baby,” he’d murmured, “Now let’s go get something to eat.”

It’d continued throughout breakfast, during their morning walk around the grounds flourishing with springtime, when he’d read to her from his father’s old journals (he didn’t think she’d much care for them, but she loved it -- hearing his father’s recounting of events across the world and within the pack was so enthralling to her, she often requested he even bring one when he came to visit her flat), and carrying on into lunch, and to now, as he’d just had to negotiate his way out of bed with her so he could coordinate their food orders by promising twenty-five kisses minimum when he returned. Y/N wanted to be near him at all times, warm on his body, holding onto him in some way, and if humans had the capability of purring he’s sure she would be.

Harry’s a little worried. Don’t get him wrong, he’s reveling in this sudden burst of love and affection, but it's at a caliber she’d never expressed before. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Y/N was on the cusp of her heat, but that. . .but that couldn’t --

Oh.

The sudden spark of the thought as Harry reaching into the desk in his office, tearing open the drawer on the top right side and pushing past the dagger that had linked him and Y/N’s blood together, for the book the Swedish woman sent him. It was full of information about their situation, which he had thumbed through quite often in the beginning, before they were together, but he’d recognized he’d always skipped over a chunk of pages. He can’t remember his exact reasoning but it had been along the lines of not wanting to get his hopes up and not wanting to form a knot at the thought of it.

When he finds the page, his eyes first flit over it quickly, searching for keywords that might clue him in on what he thinks may be happening and when he sees words like heat and possible and needy it prompts him to go back and read more carefully. Realization pooling around him, allowing him to plunge deep within its depths, and awakening his cock.

Y/N was in what the Swedish woman called, a “false heat”. Obviously, she can’t have one given she is a human, but since she is bonded with a werewolf -- an Alpha, no less -- her body has shifted into a state of this needing and wanting in order to accommodate him. Though his rut had already past, it was just her body trying to figure itself out; regulating so that she could match up with his rut, only to make the two of them a mass of insatiable desires until they’re both run dry.

And at the understanding that the reason she smelled much sweeter than usual was because she was wet and begging to be filled but didn’t know how to formulate it. His poor girl was so needy for him and he’d run off without a thought -- he can’t help but shake his head at himself.

So he all but runs back to his room, finding her flopped over on his bed, phone in hand above her face until she hears him and she turns to face him, lighting up once he enters, “You’re back sooner than expected,” she pushed herself up from her lying position, waving him over with both hands, “Sooner the bed, more of you to myself then.”

He climbed onto the bed and didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward and capturing her lips within his own. They were tender and warm, like she might have been nibbling on them in his absence, frustrated with the way she feels and not understanding why, and this only fuels him further. His hand slides up her back, palm flat between her shoulder blades as he levels her back down to the mattress. His whole body bristles when she moans, a longing, pretty little noise that makes him draw back. Fingers curling into the waistband of her pants, he wiggles them down her legs, and she’s more than compliant, her legs falling open for him to get in between.

“My sweet little puppy,” he murmured, more to himself than to her as he looks down, seeing that the fabric between her legs was nothing but a piece of soaked cotton. So soaked in fact, he could practically see through them, “Why didn’t you tell me your pussy was this wet, hmm? I knew I smelled something sweet,” he shook his head some, overwhelmed with the suddenness of her arousal hitting the air around them. His cock was filling quickly, even more so as he uses two fingers to merely pull the damp fabric to the side to take a peek at her weepy hole. He thinks he may pass out, eyes drinking her in to see her wet lips parted, clit engorged and begging for his mouth and he was more than ready and willing to give it to her, but first he pulls a little harder on her panties. The fabric splits apart, and she squeaks, “Still waiting for an answer.” He reminded her.

“I didn’t wanna bother you -- thought I was pushing it with the cuddles,” she struggled to get out as the pads of his fingers carefully graze over her lower lips, spreading her wetness around, slipping ever so carefully around all her sensitive spots, “Was happy just to -- just to cuddle.”

A smile pulls at his mouth, “You’re never pushing anything ever -- I love holding you and I love taking care of you in anyway you need me to,” and he takes mercy on her begging little pussy by sinking two fingers into her hole easily. He shivers some at how both tight and welcoming her hole is for him, curling his fingers up against the soft, spongy bump that makes her whole body tremble. Harry’s mouth waters when the whimpery little moan that leaves her mouth, enters his ears, and his heart swells when she grapples for him. Reaching out for his shoulder, she pulls him down so that he’s close, his arm between them as he begins slowly fucking his fingers in and out of her, while she decides to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close again.

“Love you,” she murmurs, “Love you, love you, love you,” she repeats it like a mantra and Harry is soaking it in. Who would have ever thought his sweet little human would have any semblance of a heat? And one that just absolutely turns her into a mess of pure, unfiltered affection.

“I love you too, Darling,” he hums in response, pecking a kiss to her temple, “So much.”

. . .

Once Harry had worked four orgasms with his fingers and mouth alone, he was beginning to truly understand this false heat that she was going through. The poor thing was so needy -- probably the neediest she’s ever felt in her life -- so all the noises she let filter from her throat were unabashed, louder than she’s ever thought to be before. Her cunt was all accepting of everything he was able to offer, from three of his fingers curling up into that special spot that twists her up in greedy knots, keening for more, to his tongue that first laps at her soft petals, parting her lips around the wet muscle only to dip it within her. Her whole body was quivering. . .trembling like a leaf just barely clinging onto a branch in fall. . .but in the same breath, she was blooming for him. The carnal desire that she’s normally so reserved about, he was meeting for the first time, and it was the utmost gratifying.

When she cums, she begs for another, and though she grabs at his wrist when she’s feeling overstimulated she doesn’t tell him to stop or say their special word. She pleads and whines, babbles some and even mewls, to the point that he plugs her mouth with his fingers. Not because he wasn’t reveling in each pretty little sound she was producing but because this is what they’re meant to do for omegas in their heat. And it proves to work, her murmuring happily around his fingers, looking at him with these glossy, fucked out eyes that ooze nothing but love and adoration for him.

His cock is throbbing; a heavy weight in his boxers that almost feels unignorable at this point. This strokes him in all the best ways, his soft little human undulating at the thought of him inside of her. She had just come down from a nice, tightening orgasm around his fingers, where she’d milked them, soaking him to his palm and still asking for more. “Please,” she urged him, pulling him down towards her body, so his chest was flush against hers and she mouths pitifully at his lips, like she wants to kiss but keeps talking and cuts it off anytime they lock together for a moment, “Want you so bad -- everywhere, all over me, inside me, I --” her fingernails dig into the skin over his shoulder blades, shaking her head, “M’sorry, m’so needy but you’re -- you’re my Alpha, Harry need you so bad.”

Harry nearly busts off right there, a particularly strong throb rock through his prick and a thick string of precum dots the heather grey fabric of his boxers wet and sticky. He bristles with her claim and those words that he didn’t even know he needed to hear, were the ones that sparked the fire in his veins at an even higher temperature than before.

“Don’t apologize, never apologize,” he slips down closer to her, tilting his forehead against hers, their noses brushing together, “You’re right baby, I’m your Alpha -- need to take care of my girl, don’t I? Fill you up so full with my knot that you feel me leaking from you for days.” This makes her shiver, nodding quickly as she parts her legs open more easily for him. Harry has one hand up near her face, cradling her cheek and caressing the skin gently for a moment before he pushes up and the other he pushes his boxers off his legs, then taking the base of his cock in his hand and slipping it up her swollen, messy little slit. He looks down between them, the head shiny and slick with his own arousal, dipping into that sweet little oasis of a pussy she has for him.

He watches himself sink in, her walls wrapping around him and the filthiest groan leaves the both of them and Harry flops back over to her. Bottoms out deep within her, balls snug to her bum and he can already feel his knot forming. “God, baby,” he all but growls, shaking his head, “You sweet little thing, you’re so tight and warm for me aren’t you? Just the perfect fit for your Alpha, yeah?”

She’s nodding, letting him move her legs easily, so her leg was swung around his forearm with the inside of her knee to his skin, as he begins to steadily fuck into her. The pads of his fingers dig dents into the flesh of her thighs, rocking back and forth and Y/N seems like she’s fallen into paradise. Her eyes are wet with tears, and she loops her fingers around the thin skin of his wrists, pulling the two fingers that had been in her mouth back against her tongue. “Oh, sweet girl,” he hushes her, petting at her tongue, “I love you so much.”

Harry’s hitting her spot again and again, and she’s mewling for him, “I wove you so mu-tch,” she cries out to him, “G’na cum, I think m’g’na cum.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a low rumble, “Cum for me then, yeah? Squeeze me baby, squeeze me tight around my knot.”

Y/N listens, moaning and her walls begin pulsating around him intensely. It pushes him towards his own end, giving a shaky breath, another deep growl as he buries his face into her neck and breathes in the sweet scent of her as his knot swells, slipping into her dripping hole as he cums shot, after shot inside of her, filling her so full that its slipping around his shaft as some of it leaks out of her around his balls. Thighs trembling as they squeeze around his hips, overstimulated and sensitive as she finishes out her orgasm. He wants to slump over her and rest but he can’t, instead shifting them to the side so that they were on their sides, facing one another and her hooks her leg around his hip to keep her close.

“I love you so much,” she whimpers, leaning forward and rubbing their noses together mawkishly.

Harry’s heart grows in his chest, and he feels so soft, sliding his palm up and down her back, “I love you more, my love,” he puckered his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her mouth and he tastes the salt of her tears from before, and his heart yanks. “You’re my whole world. Do you know that?”

“No, you’re mine,” she counters, burrowing her face into his chest, “I love you most.”

They could do this all day and night, he’s sure of it, and the fact that they could make him feel immensely warm. He was in bed, with his mate, and though he was knotted with her after the filthiest act, the moment felt so pure and innocent. . .full of love.

Harry’s happy and he doesn’t think he could ask for anything more.

#BLURBS #OR #BLURB #Anonymous

688 notes · View notes