#this is no way to treat your head gardener

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

nymph. [part 4] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings:  +18, smut, fluff, maybe a little bit of angst, gods and mythology are treated in a simple way

A/N: part 4. I secretly hope you'll be gentle with me. I'm very curious about what your thoughts will be after this chapter. Please remember that I'd love to hear your comments and ideas. And especially when it comes to the ending of this part… I'll leave you alone now. I send you all my love.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

"She's not from here."

Marcus raised his eyes and followed his old friend's gaze. They could see your silhouette between the trees. It was a beautiful, sunny day and you and Melitta were spending it in the garden. 

The young girl had become your companion, although Marcus had often noticed the embarrassment and delight in her eyes almost simultaneously when she looked at you.

"No, she's not," he confirmed. "But would you believe me if I told you?"

Brutus smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "I'm old enough to believe anything." he said. "But please, Marcus. Don't tell me things you should keep to yourself. Here," he pointed to the General's broad chest. "Everything is safer here."

Brutus' gray eyes wandered back to the garden. He had known Marcus when he was a child, his father had been Brutus' friend, and after his death he had surrounded the young man with care. He had never seen a woman in his house before, and he certainly didn't know of any that Acacius would look at in such a way.

"You love her." He said.

He didn't have to ask. He was at an age where certain things were simply obvious to him. Like this.

"I do." Marcus sighed. "More than anything."

"That's good. You can't fight the whole world without someone close to you. But she's not from here. Is she free?"

Marcus's eyebrows drew together. "I didn't take her as a concubine or a slave. She's free, more than any of us."

"Her family?" he saw a shadow in Acacius's gaze. "I see. Don't explain it, Marcus. She shouldn't appear among people without a background. Let's think..."

A warm wind blew through the window, playing with the delicate curtains, carrying with it the sweet scent of flowers. Brutus took a sip of wine and cleared his throat.

"You should say that her parents died when she was still a child. It would be safest." he said, and Marcus fixed his gaze on him, listening carefully. "Later, some distant family member took care of her. It wasn't a significant family. You met and fell in love, simply. Don't mention her origins, don't pay attention to her. Some may gossip about you, but it will quickly die down."

"I'm not afraid of gossip, only of her safety." Acacius replied. "I am the General, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to ensure the safety of the one I love."

Brutus nodded his gray head in understanding. "The gods must be favorable to you if you found each other in this vast world. It's a good sign."

And he really hoped that his friend was right.

A dozen or so days at Marcus' house passed quickly. You didn't find boredom there. Melitta accompanied you every day, slowly becoming a close friend. 

Antigonus, on the other hand, strived to ensure that all your requests, or at least those that General Acacius agreed to, were fulfilled. So although he sometimes grumbled something under his breath, he let you sit for hours in a room full of maps and writings, which you looked through, and then in the evenings you asked Marcus about them.

His duties to the Emperor and Rome didn't allow him to spend as much time with you as he would have liked, but the thought that he was coming back to you was something that kept him sane. 

Never before had this house been filled with such conversations and feelings. Never before had he felt as if he was hiding the most precious treasure. You.

"If you knew the true faces of the gods, your eyes would turn white." You said one evening, turning in the sheets. The glow of the candles danced on your bare back, and your hair was in a sweet mess. "All those carvings in the temples, the paintings - poof! - nonsense. None of you have seen the true wrath of Mars or Jupiter. You have not experienced the grace of Venus."

"So what lies next to me if not a gift from Venus?" Marcus asked, leaning down and placing a kiss somewhere between your shoulder blades. "Or Mars? I thought I was the favorite of the gods?"

"Sometimes you are too sure of yourself, General." You replied sarcastically, but you sighed quietly when his hand tightened on your buttock. "The gods have their favorites, but that doesn't mean they can't get bored with them."

"I don't care." His hands grabbed your hips and quickly turned you around, your laughter filling the darkened chamber. "As long as I have you in my hands, I am not afraid of the wrath of the gods. You are my redemption."

A hand tenderly stroked his cheek, fingers slipping into the curly hair among which you could see silver threads. "Don't treat me like one of them, my beloved... I'm not worthy of this."

The brown eyes that were staring at you, however, said something else. Adoration and delight radiated from his insides.

"To me, you are above them all." he replied, spreading your thighs with his hand and placing himself between them. "I want to adore you every day. Praise the day when my eyes saw you for the first time. Fight for you, conquer for you, live for you."

"Marcus..."

His hard cock slid into you without a problem, all the way to the base. Still slippery, full of his seed. You had made love just a moment earlier, like almost every night. Almost, because you also appreciated those moments when you could just fall asleep in each other's arms, feeling the closeness of your bodies, feeling the steady beating of your hearts.

"I will adore and worship you." his voice was low, he whispered to you as if he was praying "Your body is a temple, your sweet moans are songs of praise..." you sighed feeling him move inside you, you tightened your fingers on his strong shoulders "I was a mere mortal when your grace fell upon me. You were the one who decided to stay with me, now I will give you all of myself."

Hot lips kissed your neck as Marcus thrust into you with increasing force. You already knew perfectly well his endless hunger for you, so you gave him what he needed.

Acacius was a generous lover. He gave you pleasure in every way he knew, and you fell apart in his hands, intoxicated by this feeling. 

You never thought before that bodies could fit together so well, complement each other so much and give each other small deaths, while feeling that they were more alive than ever before.

"I love you..." his hot whisper reached your ears, you wrapped your arms around his neck, slid your hands into his soft hair "More than life, more than anything I know."

He hit exactly that spot, you couldn't say a word, catching your breath. His hot, sweaty body was pressing down on you lightly, but it didn't matter. Soon the pleasure spread through your body, all your senses and heart froze. 

Marcus felt your delicate walls squeeze his cock, but he didn't stop. His prayers had to be finished. He lifted himself on his shoulders, eyes swept over your sweaty cleavage and breasts, wandering to the place where you were connected. He disappeared inside you a few more times, and then a deep moan escaped his throat as his seed spurted into you, filling you up again.

Tender hands touched his face again, pulling him into a kiss. Soft lips that he never wanted to leave, arms that were supposed to embrace him forever. The woman who was supposed to love him for eternity.

When Marcus told you that morning that you could go out with him and see Rome, your eyes widened with delight. You had been begging him to let you see the city for a long time, although you understood perfectly well why he refused to do so. Every decision had to be thought out, every move planned.

"We'll visit Brutus, it's nothing interesting." he said, but the smile didn't leave his lips when he saw the glint in your eyes.

Melitta had been trying to help you dress for several minutes, but you were so excited that you couldn't stand still.

"My lady." she sighed. "The sun will set before you cross the threshold. Please..."

"I know, I know..." you repeated once again "It's just so, so exciting."

"Rome is beautiful." Melitta draped the material over your shoulder "You'll like it. Although I prefer forests and meadows... Bathed in the morning light, with the grass still covered in dew."

You tightened your fingers lightly on her arm. "I'll take you there, I promise." you said quietly "Soon."

The door creaked and you both jumped as General Acacius appeared before you. Even though he wasn't wearing armor, he still looked dignified. He smiled at the sight of you and nodded towards Melitta.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes, my lord." she said curtsying.

"You did well." he praised her "You look wonderful, my love. I have something for you."

He took your hand and carefully slid a gold ring with an emerald stone onto your finger. He pressed his lips to your knuckles.

"It's for your safety." He explained seeing your questioning look. "Anyone who sees this ring will know who you..."

"...belong to." You finished for him.

He kissed your hand again and covered it with his. He wanted to avoid saying those words, but at the same time he wanted them. He wanted to know that you were only his.

Your eyes darted from one face to another, from one fruit stand to the beautifully dressed people you saw leaving the building. Conversations, laughter, the sound of horses' hooves, children running around. You had never been in a place like this before.

Marcus was close to you the whole time, observing your every move and gesture, noticing every smile and delight in your eyes. For a moment he regretted that he didn't see it all the same way you did. 

Years of fighting wars, talking to politicians, worrying about the fate of the country, had made him feel tired and numb. To everything, except you.

"Thank you, beautiful lady! May the gods bless you!" a hoarse voice rang out behind him.

It was only then that he noticed that you had escaped his eyes. Something or someone caught your attention. An older man, in a tattered robe, who was sitting against the wall begging for alms. The closer to the gladiator fights, the more of them appeared in the city, of all ages, sexes, and in various states of health.

Something flashed in the man's dirty hand and Acacius realized that you had given him one of your rings. Not the one he had given you that morning, some other one. He felt a warm surge of affection for you, because he had already forgotten what or who you were before, that you thought differently than those he knew.

A strong hand gently grabbed your arm. "We should go."

You nodded and obediently followed Marcus.

"The Emperor expects your presence during the fights. You should be there." Brutus sat comfortably on a bench under a spreading tree and nodded to the young girl who handed him wine. "There will be no better opportunity for her to go there with you."

"I'm not so sure about that." Marcus replied. "The Emperor, these people..."

"You can't keep her at home forever, Marcus!" the man snorted "I know you want her safety, but someone will notice her soon. Besides, I heard that a few people would be interested in you finally getting married."

Acacius frowned and snorted at the very statement. This topic always appeared when he returned to Rome, that's why he preferred barracks and battlefields, soldiers didn't care about marital status. 

Besides, marriage for people of his position was rarely connected with deeper feelings. It was about the arrangement, about position, about wealth, about creating a strong family.

Somewhere nearby he heard a familiar quiet laugh and noticed you with Aurelia, Brutus' wife, who was showing you around their house. His friend noticed how the General's face brightened at the sight of you.

"It gives me great joy to see you like this." he said warmly "I don't know what spell this girl has cast on you, but the gods are kind to you, since they allowed your paths to cross."

"I will be grateful to them for the rest of my life." Marcus said. "I feel like I knew her before my eyes first met her."

"Is that possible?"

"I don't know... Maybe it was just a dream." He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip of sweet wine. "So be it. She will accompany me there." Brutus patted him on the shoulder happily. "You're right. There will be no better time, and I don't want to risk it."

"We will be there too. But warn her, Marcus. A viper's nest is a terrible place for beautiful creatures like her."

Acacius nodded. A strange fear filled his heart, but when he heard your footsteps, when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, it all flew away with the wind.

Something strange woke you up at night. For a moment you tried to understand what it was. Marcus was sleeping quietly next to you, his arm around your waist, his body as hot as the sun close to yours. 

You felt it again. The scent that woke you up, so familiar.

Sage and other herbs, burning somewhere outside the window, in a garden immersed in darkness. You quietly and carefully got out of bed and threw thin robes over your naked body. The window was open and the gentle wind must have unconsciously brought the delicate smoke into the room.

You strained your eyes to see in the darkness the person who was not only burning herbs, but also... 

Yes, you knew the words to this prayer. You had heard it several times in one of the temples, but not in the temple dedicated to Minerva. These were words addressed to Venus, and they were whispered quietly by someone you knew so well. 

A prayer filled with regret, interwoven with quiet sobbing…

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist @picketniffler @tranquilty @psyched2b @jeewrites @tuquoquebrute @aotfantasmagorias

[beloveds-embrace]

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of the bedroom. Outside the windows, the winter winds howled, rattling the glass panes. John should have been sleeping soundly all of his lovers, beside you, the rise and fall of your breaths a comforting reminder of your presence. But the dream- no, the nightmare- gripped him too fiercely.

In his mind, he saw a version of himself he did not recognize. Cold, detached, and unfeeling. He saw you sitting alone at the grand dining table, the candlelight flickering as your plate sat untouched. Your dress, once bright and elegant, seemed dull and rumpled, a reflection of the neglect you endured. It lacked all the love and care Simon ensured each dress of yours would have- it was a mere fabric worn.

In the nightmare, Kyle avoided your gaze when you asked for help organizing the household. He brushed you off with clipped words and empty agreements, leaving you to flounder alone. Kyle. The same Kyle who melted each and every time you’d cup his face and kiss his brows, your love too much to be contained.

Johnny, once so warm and playful, no longer lingered in the kitchens with you. Instead, he turned his back, whispering in hushed tones when you passed by, his laughter cruel instead of kind. Johnny. The same Johnny who uses the sauces and creams to write how much he adores you and wishes you good day, whose arms you’ve slept in more times than can be counted in the hidden nooks of the gardens.

And Simon… Simon barely spoke to you at all. His glances, so full of affection in waking life, were instead sharp and disinterested, as though you were nothing more than an inconvenience. An obstacle. It was harrowing to see Simon, of all, treat you like that when John knew he was well on his way to losing count of the amount of paintings of you that Simon had commissioned and drawn himself.

But the worst of all was himself. The John in the dream sat behind his desk, a fortress of papers and letters and a vast, cold chasm between you. His words were short, his tone clipped. He watched you cry once, silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you excused yourself from his office, and he did nothing. He did not reach out for you, did not comfort you, and when the door closed behind you, he felt nothing but relief that you were gone.

In the dream, you withered.

You wilted under their coldness, your once bright smile replaced with shadows beneath your eyes and quiet, careful movements, as though afraid to disturb them. As though afraid to take up more space than allowed.

You were unloved.

John woke with a start.

His chest heaved, heart hammering so violently it drowned out the sound of the wind outside. His body was drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around his legs. But none of it mattered- none of it- because you were there.

Curled up beside him, Kyle’s arm around your waist from the back, your face was peaceful, your features relaxed in sleep. The gentle rise and fall of your chest reassured him that you were here, real and warm and safe.

Still, he couldn’t shake the lingering tendrils of fear. He reached out with a trembling hand, brushing your hair back from your face. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, instead leaning unconsciously into his touch.

God, how could he ever let himself act like that? Even in a dream?

When you woke the next morning, it was to the smell of freshly brewed tea and the sound of soft footsteps. John was already up, but instead of heading to his study as he often did, he was the one by your side with a tray of breakfast.

“John?” you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. You were so comfortable, and your sleep was ever so peaceful in their arms.

“Morning, love.” He said, setting the tray down before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You blinked up at him in confusion as he fussed over your pillows, propping you up before offering you a steaming cup of tea. “What’s all this, John?”

“Breakfast.” He said simply, though his eyes lingered on you in that way that made your cheeks warm.

You took a sip of the tea, and your lips curved into a soft smile. “You didn’t have to do this. It’s not like I’m sick.”

John didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat beside you on the bed, taking your hand in his and running his thumb over your knuckles. His gaze was… unusually troubled, now that you noticed. But he spoke before you could say anything.

“Are you happy, Duchess?” he asked suddenly.

Your brows furrowed, tilting your head. “…What?”

“Are you happy?” he repeated, voice quieter this time. He reached for your hand, calloused thumb carressing the soft skin of your palm. “With me. With us.”

You stared at him, unsure where this was coming from, but the vulnerability in his expression tugged at your heart. Setting the tea aside, you turned to him fully, cupping his cheek in your other palm.

“Of course I’m happy,” you said softly. “You’ve all been so good to me, John. Better than I ever expected. More than I could have ever asked for.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, but you could tell something was still bothering him.

“John, honey?”

“I had a dream,” he admitted. “It- it was awful. None of us treated you right. You were lonely and hurting, and we didn’t care. And I just- ”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips warm and soft against his. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers curling into his hair.

“That’s not real,” you whispered. “You’re not like that. None of you are. You make me feel loved every single day, I swear.”

His arms came around you then, pulling you into his lap and holding you close. “I’ll make sure you always do,” he promised, voice rough. “Every single day.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of tenderness. John refused to let you lift a finger, taking your workload of the day with a kiss to your forehead and sending you to keep Kyle company. Johnny outdid himself with lunch and dinner, plying you with your favorite dishes and desserts. And Simon lingered near you whenever possible, his sharp eyes softer than usual as he kept you close.

By the end of the evening, you were so thoroughly spoiled that you teased John for treating you like porcelain.

“Not porcelain,” he said seriously, cupping your face in his hands as he leaned down to kiss you again. “But precious.”

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew- no nightmare could ever change the way these men loved you.

dukedom au masterlist

[mintiicinnamonii]

“hello ma’am! can i date your grandson?”

pairing: ororon x reader

synopsis: you’re dating ororon. citlali isn’t having it.

“hello ma’am! may i date your grandson??”

You and Ororon were dating; everyone in the Masters of the Night-Wind knew. The second Ororon saw you walk into their tribe’s territory as a courier from the Scions of the Canopy, they all had accepted that their hero Ororon was smitten. Everyone, except Citlali. Ah yes, the second most eclectic yet infamous person in the entire tribe. Being the tough ‘granny’ she was, the second she heard that you were dating her GRANDSON, she did not approve. Even Ororon’s pleas wouldn’t convince her. He even tried the ‘but Granny, I love them!’ trick. Zilch, zada, nothing. You could always feel her icy blue eyes staring into your soul whenever you so much as said hi to Ororon. Hell, when you two were on a date once, she was fucking SPYING ON YOU IN THE BUSHES. 

You knocked on Ororon’s door, clearing your throat as you fixed your hair. You were carrying a bouquet of Saurian Claw Succulents, since you knew he liked those flowers besg. The two of you were planning to go aphid-watching and haave a little picnic, since besides gardening, Ororon didn’t have many hobbies, and you honestly felt bad for dragging him along with your tribe’s extreme sporting tournaments. Poor guy. 

“Oh. It’s YOU.”

You froze, blinking one eye at a time like a gecko as Citlali groaned, hand on her hip. “Oh.. hey, Granny Itzili.. what a nice surprise-“ Even though she was shorter than you, she was still very intimidating, in a strange way. “Listen, messenger. I want Ororon home by 10 PM.” You piped up awkwardly. “But the aphids don’t wake up til 9:30…” You scratched the back of your neck. She scoffed, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt. “Oh, shut it, youngster. I don’t care that everyone says you’re perfect for my grandson, I don’t care that you’re well-known across Natlan. I still don’t like you! And I bet you don’t either!” 

Wait, what?

“I actually do like you.. I’m happy that Ororon has people beaides me that care for him so much.. Especially someone as dedicated as you.” Citlali’s eyes widened, letting go of your collar as she soghed, thinking for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.. Fine. Jst.. bring him home by midnight.” You smiled. “Oh! Thanks ma’am-“ Before you could continue, she cut you off. “But remember this, youngster…” Her voice darkened, taking on a threatening and protective edge. “I have eyes all over Natlan.” 

As you and Ororon sat watching the aphids, you marveled at the glimmer in your boyfriend’s eyes. He had loved the flowers, which rested on the side of the hill you both were sitting on. The night was clear, and a basket full of your favorite treats was at the ready. He looked so happy.. a smile slowly crept up on your face as you listened to him ramble about the insects with such joy. Your hand slowly crept to his waist, pulling him closer to you as you enjoyed the moment. Ororon was completely immersed in the moment, not paying attention at all. But you heard a voice from inside of your head. Citlali’s voice.

“Get your hand off there!”

You chuckled, removing the hand at her request. “Damn, she really was serious when she said that she had eyes all over Natlan.” Ororon stopped for a moment, raising a brow. “You say something?” You jolted, chuckling. “It’s nothing babe.”

[oxbowreality]

I fucking hate buying things. I love window-shopping but I hate making purchases. Unfortunately, my underwear is literally falling apart and there's no way in hell I can keep avoiding taking care of that. Well I can but it'd leave me with no underwear that I like to wear and it'd be a whole thing (sensory hell).

[sttoru]

sukunas fav concubine being bullied by the other concubines?? maybe they push her into the fountain 👀👀👀

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. being bullied because you’re sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. when sukuna finally notices the harassment you’re going through, he doesn’t hold back.

wc. 2.2k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort). heian era. bullying. one mention of d.ecapitation. vile language. reader gets called ‘brat’. beta reading? what’s that

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they couldn’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the ruthless sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you. you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you. it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you cannot blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine. in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him. you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces. the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurt a little. he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder. you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“what a brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure. he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into something else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“you’re staying in my chambers tonight.”

[rafesangelita]

pogue!sweetheart!reader meeting rafe for the first time? 🍰

warnings: jealous!rafe, topper calls you ‘doll’, a lil bit of flirting, slight fluff

“girl scout, two o’clock.” kelce cleared his throat, topper and rafe following his gaze. you stood at the receptionist desk, chatting with the director about your plans for the week. “is she really a girl scout?” rafe’s eyes trailed down the soft curls of your hair, stopping just above the neckline of your top.

“nah, we just call her that because she sells cookies and shit. ‘really good by the way, highly recommend.” kelce leaned back in his seat, forgetting all about the cards in his hands as you started making your way towards the three of them. rafe would be lying if he said the way his friends ogled you didn’t bother him.

“hey! what game are you guys playing?” you sat your basket down on the hardwood table, eyes flickering over to rafe. “just some solitaire.” topper shrugged, removing the cloth that covered your treats. “what do you got for us this week, doll?” if rafe was bothered earlier, he was even more so now.

you smiled, tilting the basket so they can all steal a peek. “shortbread and chocolate chip.” rafe didn’t care to look at anything else other than your face, his gaze sweeping over your features. “i’ve never seen you before.” he finally spoke up, his voice immediately drawing your attention.

“uhm, i don’t think i’ve seen you either..” you extended a hand, “what’s your name?” rafe didn’t hesitate to return your gesture, taking your hand in his. “rafe, and yours?” your heart skipped a beat when you felt his thumb stroke your skin. “y/-” kelce chimed in before you could answer his question.

“i’ll take two of each. and one of you.” rafe’s head shot in his friends direction, his grip on your wrist tightening. laughing nervously, you brushed off kelce’s remark. “actually, he’s not taking anything. i, however, would like the whole basket.” shaking your head, you waited for rafe to say he was kidding.

“oh! you’re serious-” rafe got up, taking the basket in his free hand as he led you two outside and away from his obnoxious buddies. “what the hell!” topper shouted. without protesting, you allowed rafe to take you to a more secluded space, your dainty heels clicking against the pavement.

“is everything okay? i-” rafe stopped in front of the country club’s garden. “do you have a boyfriend?” he blurted, making you stumble over your next few words. “uhm, well! no, but..” taking his wallet out of his pocket, rafe took a couple hundred dollar bills before cutting you off.. again.

“not that it matters if you do, cause i’ll just take his place.” the certainty in his voice made your face flush with a new profound sense of shyness. he placed the folded bills in your palm, a smile forming on his lips at your smitten expression. “how are you so sure that you’ll be my boyfriend?” you asked.

“because i always get what i want.”

[venmondiese]

LITTLE BOX FULL OF SURPRISES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

based on this request⭑.ᐟ

-ˋˏsummary: The maimed one-eyed prince marries the most beautiful woman on earth. She is dutiful, beautiful and perfect, but Aemond can't stand when someone, specially his uncle, look with desire at what it is his. ✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Tully!Original Female Character ✧word count: 3.1k ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones, face slapping, spitting on the mouth, degradation kink, possesive Aemond, Aemond is WHIPPED by his wife.

Every time his grandsire and his mother spoke of a Lady of great beauty coming to King’s landing, he rolled his eye. 

Even when they present a small portrait, small to fit his palm, he does not seem impressed. Perhaps it is too small, perhaps it is too pretentious. Either the painter exaggerated your features or he couldn’t properly paint a small portrait. But he was curious, after all. Named the most beautiful woman on earth, blessed by the Gods. 

He doesn’t doubt that Lady Tully was beautiful. Perhaps she was truly a beautiful woman, with her long red hair, ‘like fire’ said the letter. But being called The Maiden on Earth seems exaggerated to him.

His grandsire had told them about the implications of his betrothal, about how important it was to have secured the Riverlands, since Grover Tully was an old lord, and will not understand reason. To have his most beloved granddaughter as a princess, was the only way to win his approval, and support. 

Aemond finally meets her on the little garden near the Weirwood tree. They had been serving little cakes, as some lords and ladies talked nearby, not even half of court was here, and he liked the quietness. That made him less self-conscious.

She was near the table, her hand hovering above all the treats she could get, smiling as she watches them with interest. She is expressive, he realises. He hasn’t seen her face, only her back and the day her hand moves and her head is tilted, curious about the southern gastronomy.

 “My lady” Aemond says softly. 

She turns so gracefully, and she is surprised to see him. Her hand still extended, and she quickly moves it to grab her skirts, and do a courtesy to him. She has a sweet smile, and she speaks. 

 “My prince” she says, a bit surprised. “I… I didn’t expect you.”

“I must admit I came a bit earlier than agreed…” he murmurs, looking behind him and then back to her.

The most beautiful maiden on earth fell short to her. She was… something else, in the best way possible. She had that curiosity, that life in her eyes, as she smiles at him, her lips are perfect, and he could see that her maids probably used those Myrish lip taints, for they were a very natural red colour, almost matching with her hair. Her dress was magnificent, wearing the colour of her house, red and blue decorating everything. Even her eyes, blue like the opaque blue rivers in the Riverlands, and her hair, red like flames, matched with her house colours. She wore fish details, her earrings and in her dress pattern. But she was wearing a collar with a seven pointed star in it, and he sighed at her beauty. She was breathtaking.

“Oh, well, so it seems…” she says as she smiles a bit sheepishly, looking at him. “It’s a fine castle, my prince. It does have its own beauty.” 

Aemond has never thought of the red Keep as something beautiful, at all. He always wanted to live in Dragonstone, but his wish was not granted.  But, if she says so, it must be true, and with good reason.

“You think so?” 

She grabs a lemon cake, and eats it carefully as she nods. “Yes! And you also have a Weirwood tree here. When we made our trip here, we passed through Raventree, and their Weirwood was a bit… depressing…” she says, smiling sweetly. “But here it’s very beautiful. More… alive”

As she talks, he watches her closely. Even when his mother, his sickly father and his siblings arrive, when his mother gives him a scolding look for arriving earlier, he sort of watches you in silence, his chest swelling with an air of mystery. 

“You are not what I expected” he admits, quietly between the two of them as their parents talked about the betrothal.

“No?” She asks smiling, licking her finger from the cream of the lemon cakes. “You’ll see I’m a little box full of surprises” 

That’s the beginning.

A ceremony on the Sept, as she stood next to him, reciting vows and the cloak with dragon sigils is on her shoulders, left behind the fish one. Aemond has never looked so smug and proud. The bedding ceremony was… traditional. Having a crowd was awkward for both, surely, but Aemond made it all more comfortable for her, covering her body with his, and not exposing her, at his own expense.

“Just focus on me” He murmurs closely to her face, as she looks at him with wide eyes. He was between her open legs, and he insisted for her to keep her chemise on, while he had no problem in nudity “Your septa and mother could have told you…”

“Not much” She whispers back.

“Not much” he repeats, moving a strand of hair out other face, tenderly watching her face for discomfort. “But I will be gentle, and… we’ll learn together. Yes?”

“Yes. Thank you…, husband” she says, and he feels a prideful pressure on his chest. He was her husband. The most beautiful woman’s husband. 

And she was always thankful for his patience and gentleness towards her, and she stuck to him to all times, even when she was in court, charming everyone around. Her arm was always interlocked with his, and referred to him as ‘her sweet husband’. 

Love came quieter than expected, as they laughed on their bed at nights, having picnics in the gardens or going to the Riverlands in Vhagar together, swimming on Riverrun’s rivers, and just… enjoying each other. It was more than love when they had their first son, a lovely and happy baby, mismatched eyes, with both purple and a deep blue. Aemond adored his son, his little Daerion, and he adored you more.

“Black looks well on you” Aemond comments. 

Daerion’s blabbing was a way to agree with Aemond’s statement as the maid finished putting on her headband, the same tone of her dress. Her orange hair is in braids, two simple ones with some gold details on them, and some dragon earrings that he gifted her. She was gorgeous, and all his. 

“Your wardrobe hasn’t changed” she states looking at him. “Went from velvet black to dark black” 

Aemond walks over to his wife, watching her being just so beautiful like that, sitting, waiting peacefully like a porcelain doll.

“Mhm... As if changing colours would make everything amicable…” Aemond murmurs, taking Daerion in his arms, and he allows him to play with his hair. “Does father know it’s useless? Rhaenyra wearing green won’t change anything, nor will my mother wearing black. HIs voice comes as a grunt as he bounces their baby. 

“It’s foolish when you put it that way” her voice is tender, sweet, and somewhat like velvet. He is still besotted by her, as maidens do with knights. He watches the shape of her breasts on that dress, how the cleavage is so delightful for his eyes and the roundness of her tits that make the fabric around stretch a bit. As if the tailor always got the measurement of her chest wrong on purpose, which he won’t complain about. 

Her bright red hair contrasts with how the black makes her skin look paler, and her eye colour deeper.

“They shouldn’t call you the Maiden herself anymore” Aemond murmurs softly, walking closer to her, still holding Daerion in his arms. “You are like the mother herself. Like the Goddess Syrax of Old Valyria. Beautiful, strong… so alluring…”

“You never seem to run out of compliments” her hands move to grab her rings, and the one he likes the most is the sapphire one, just to symbolise her marriage to him. 

“Never, more so if a goddess like you is my wife. All mine…”

“My prince, my lady.” It’s a Kings guard who interrupts. “Supper is ready, and Queen Alicent asks for you both to arrive earlier…”

“Hm” Aemond says, leaving Daerion in the wet nurse’s arms.

“Thank you, ser Willis” the knight smiles at his wife before walking to wait outside the door.

He rolls his eye as he leans to kiss his son’s forehead, caressing his chubby cheek and he smiles fondly at his sight. The little freckles he has that he inherited from his mother, something that Aemond loved. Yet remembering how unnecessary kind his wife is… annoys him.

Kindness and sweetness only helped to enhance her beauty and popularity, and he also loved that. She was beautiful, perfect in any way, tied to a One-Eyed maimed monster, like him. All he could offer to you, that it was worthy, was the luxuries of the royalty, all the kids you want and his unconditional love. He was at your mercy.

He has one eye, but he is not blind. Any man here on the keep, would pull their breeches down if his wife asked so. They would even cut their own throats for her mere delight, and Aemond would be one of them. 

“Goodbye, my sweet love” the sweet motherly tone makes little Daerion squeal happily, extending his little arms for his mother. She kisses both his hands, later to wave to him as they leave the room, arms interlocked.

Aemond always bites his tongue when his lady wife is kind to men. He hates it, yet he knows she does it for the kindness of her heart, and not any ulterior motives.

He was smitten for her, moving the chair for her to sit, and helping her, her dress not getting stuck anywhere or her headpiece, and only then, he sat on his own seat at peace.

“I heard they might have some goose” she murmurs to him, as the room fills. Her fingers caress his arm, and he hears her every word. “I’d eat it all if I could, you know” she teases.

“Mhm.” Aemond murmurs. Even if he is besotted, his facade is still the same; stoic, cold, distant. Yet to her, his gaze was always loving.

“I would only share it with you” she states proudly, leaning to give him a peck on the lips, before standing up once the King is brought to the room.

As he stands, he doesn’t miss how his uncle watches her. Aemond might not know the man personally, but he knew the look of desire in a man’s face. Much more when they looked at her 

The supper is mostly… tense, and awkward. But Lady Tully is charming to everyone and even toasts as well for Baela and Rhaena in their betrothal, congratulating them and speaking nothing but wonders about her own married life, making Aemond wear the slightest, yet most smug smirk on his face.

“Amazing” she says, with her mouth full as she eats the goose, and Aemond nods, a hand rubbing her back so she doesn’t choke for eating so quickly. “Here, my love” she says, extending the fork with a bit of the goose that she adores so much. 

Aemond eats shamelessly, enjoying the taste as he nods softly, approving, which makes her smile. His hand resting on the back of her chair, as he drank his wine quietly, watching his sister and nephew go to dance together. He is highly unaware of the prying eyes that watch them both.

Helaena and Jacaerys’ giggles and the movement of her dress is enough for lady Tully to watch curiously. Her husband was not one for dances, as he had not a good perception of objects with one eye. She never pressured him, and accepted the fact. 

She always would say how Daerion once he would be tall enough to walk, she’d dance with her son all the songs and dances, and Aemond approved that idea. 

“Lady Tully” It was Daemon Targaryen’s deep voice, and she looks at him a bit surprised, leaving her fork on the table as she covers her mouth, her hand unconsciously fetching wine, which Aemond hands her his. 

“Prince Daemon” her melodic voice is a bit confused, and more so when the uncle of her husband extends his hand. The green fabrics from his suit are deep, yet he still wore dragon details on it, and he looked smug about it.

She turns to watch Aemond, his jaw tensing as he looks at Daemon. And he has to physically stop himself from cutting his uncle’s throat when his wife walks with him to join Helaena and the bastard. Aegon and he share a look, both upset and annoyed, as their wives are so freely dancing with other men. 

Aemond watches her beautiful face, frowning as Daemon talks about something, whispering it closely so no one else hears it. His grip on the edge of his seat is strong; knuckles’ turning white as his jaw is tense, not looking pleased at all. And then, he hears her warm laugh, giggling at what he said, as her whole face brightened up.

Once they serve the pig in front of him and hear the little bastard giggles, it is enough to send him through a fit of rage. 

He literally drags his wife by the arm after everything went downhill, after saying that stupid toast, after the Velaryon’s boys attempt to defend themselves (very badly) and both her husband and her good brother humiliate them.

“Dancing with him” Aemond murmurs, walking to their shared chambers, not minding seeing the servants stop and look at them both. “Accepting it, and giggling to his jokes as he shamelessly flirts with you” 

“It was politeness...” her voice is weak when protesting.

“Did he mocked me for having only one eye?” He asks roughly. “Did he told you how beautiful your are and how full your breasts are?”

She opens her mouth a bit taken aback by his lewds remarks. “I am dutiful to what it’s expected of me. I wouldn't have allowed him to mock you”

“You should…”

“My family’s words are Family. Duty. Honour. And you know I care for that very deeply.” she says as she tries to keep up with his long steps “And I did just what was asked…”

“You are mine” he states, walking inside his chambers as his grip does nothing but become stronger. “My wife and you are… putting yourself in display for my uncle, laughing at his flirting. I know your family words are important for you, but this is… beyond that”

Perhaps it was her confused eyes or her angelic face, but he loosened up his grip yet he kept talking. 

“He wanted you! To have you below him and fuck you like a… wench or… or some kind of…”

“I know” 

Aemond turns drastically, eye twitching at his wife's words.

“You knew?”

“It was being cordial. It was duty. To amend broken ties…”

“I will break and burn and turn into ashes any ties from you to him” he says exasperated, insane with jealousy. His eye is wide, twitching in rage as he cannot believe this. She was his wife. 

Seeing Daemon’s hand grip on her hip, almost groping her, made him insane. Because he knew that Lady Tully, beautiful as the Maiden, a beloved goddess amongst the poor and rich, could do so much better than him. Yet, she still chooses him.

“Get naked” he says simply.

“What?”

“You heard me just right. Get. Naked.” He says again, not wanting a negative. 

Her whine is endearing, as she starts taking off little by little. Her gown, the diminutive buttons at the back, her collar, and her hellish headpiece.

“Let me” he grumbles as he helps her take off the headpiece, tossing it aside more carefully.

She is possibly the most beautiful when she is naked. Round breasts, even fuller thanks to lactating, and her body was tempting enough to anyone. 

“Undress me” he says instead. He took delight when she was the one serving him, in this way. He loved to see her desperation, her eagerness for him. His jerkin is out in no time, and she kneels to undo his breeches.

Because she had an angelic face, but it was only he who knew how obsessed she was with his cock. She could spend hours lying on the bed, sucking his cock as she rested her head on his abdomen as Aemond read. She wouldn’t even suck him off properly, his wife would only suck the tip, give kitten licks, and lazily press some kisses. During hours and hours. 

“I forbid you to speak to any one of them. Ever again” 

Confused eyes turned up to look at him, as the careful hands undid his breeches, almost a bit eagerly. “Forbid?”

“Hm. It’s what I said, is it not?” He says, narrowing his eye as if asking to be defied. 

“But it’s mad” she protests, frowning. “I promised Jace and Baela a tour in the gardens, and it would be impolite if I didn’t spoke-”

“Too bad” his voice cuts the conversation, and he is not leaving it up for conversation. 

“You are being irrational...”

“And you are being a fucking brat” he spats, grabbing her chin as he bites his lower lip. “I’ll show you how irrational I can get”

Her eyes watched him, almost too innocent for her own good. It made him hard; he could feel his cock stirring on his untied breeches. 

“Fucking slut, giving yourself to other men” his tone is harsh, but by the way her knees move, to accommodate the weight as he grips her chin, he knows that she is aroused. So is he.

Lady Tully was beautiful, and a box of surprises with everything, he realised with time. He had everyone trapped under her charms, and kept her secrets very private. And he loved it.

“Whore.”  His hand leaves her chin, only to move it to slap her across the face. 

She gasps, her face turned. It wasn’t harsh, yet the sting was burning on her skin, as she placed a hand on her cheek. To foreign eyes, he just slapped his wife. But he has done it before, to her request. Aemond knew that if his wife was enraged by that, he would have been beaten over and over, because she was kind, but didn’t stand for people dishonouring her. 

Aemond, more gently places his hand back on her chin, pulling it so she can look at him. “You will learn your place” Aemond says, as she looks up at him, with those meek eyes of hers. He loved her eyes. “Open your mouth”

 He leaned down, his mouth opening over hers, so near that she could feel his hot breath. His hand goes to wrap the bright red hair of hers, and his firm grip got her head secured. 

Perhaps Aemond would kiss those perfect lips, yet he pulled back and released a strand of saliva directly into her waiting mouth. Aemond’s fingers tightened the grip in her hair, as his other hand came up to wipe away the excess of spit. 

“There is my good girl” he murmurs, looking at her. “Mhm. I’m going to teach you a lesson” 

Aemond lifts his wife to her feet as if she weighs nothing, his grip on her hair almost dragging her to the bed, forcefully as he heard her little whines. He had a moment or two to decide which position suited best, for then to grab her hips and guide her to be on her hands and knees. He grabs the long red hair once again, angling her head to the side, because Aemond needed to see her face the same way he needed air.

She was soaking wet, and that is a satisfaction for her husband. Aemond accommodated behind her, watching her body as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

 “Such a sweet little cunt” he growls, his eye flashing with lust and desire as he thrusts into her from behind, in one swift motion. 

Her whimpers and pants are loud, as she grips on the sheets as her back is arched. She was desperate to be filled and fucked, not something unusual. The unusual thing was that… nothing happened.

“Aemond” She whines, moving her head to watch him from above her shoulder. She had that desperate, pitiful appearance that he loved.

“Yes, my love?” He asks almost nonchalantly, watching her ass, and how his cock is fully sank inside her 

She can barely think straight as his dick is deep inside her, throbbing in her walls as she just needs him to start fucking her. “Eh… move?”

“I don’t think so” he murmurs, his hand moving to caress her ass to his liking. “You’ll have to fuck yourself on my cock” His wife opens her mouth, confused as her eyebrows frown in hesitation. “Show me how much you need me” he says simply, he was fucking teasing her. “How much you need my cock”

Feeling the thick length of Aemond’s cock inside her, she accommodates on her hands, slowly moving away just to sink down onto his cock again. Her slick walls gripping him tightly as she impales herself on his thick cock. 

“Aemond… Fu-uck, you feel… oh, yes…” She whimpers, and her voice is filled with pleasure as her pussy starts getting pounded as she liked so much. If Lady Tully liked something in life, was probably getting fucked until her mind is mush.  

Her hips start moving on their own accord, as she grips on the sheets, trying to keep a stable posture to move her hips better, as her moans are obscenely loud, trying to get his cock deeper and deeper. Aemond leaves a groan, watching how she sinks down on his cock, and it is an image that would make any man cum in seconds. He truly was the luckiest man ever. 

He feels the fire in his stomach tighten, as her moans grew more and more delighted to the feeling of his cock pounding into her. At first, she had thought of it as promiscuous, and asked the maiden for forgiveness, but gods damn her if it wasn’t the best thing in life to get a good fuck from the love of her life.

“So responsive when getting a cock in your needy pussy” Aemond mutters, as one of his hands raises to spank her ass, the sharp slap only serves for the sounds coming out of her mouth to increase, and he spanks her again, and again, and again, to his own amusement and delight. 

“Please, Aemond…” 

“You just love misbehaving with me, because you know I will put you in your place” he says, moving forward to her body to grip his hair with his right hand, his left goes right next to her hand gripping the sheets to hold his weight. “Because you are a needy whore” he states, gripping her hair as she nods forcefully. 

“Yes” she says, in that whiny tone of hers. He knows her reactions yet every time they aroused him even more. “Yes, please”

The grip on her hair only serves to help him push her back against his cock, his hips now making the effort to start properly pounding into her cunt as she loved; hard, rough and at a deliciously good pace. Her body is practically numb as he starts to use her body for his own pleasure, just as she loved.

Who would have said that the most beautiful woman on earth loved being used by her husband? Definitely not him. She was the most perfect creature, in any way. Smart, funny, pretty, a good wife and mother. And yet she always craved his cock, like the filthiest whores of Flea Bottom. 

“Let those bastards hear you, hm?” He asks, as he leans to speak lowly near her ear. “How it’s your husband who pleases you. Perhaps my uncle will get the notion that you are mine. Only mine. Fucking mine. That fucking dodderer will die by my hand if he ever dares to lay his eyes on you” 

The mere thought infuriates him, making his hips slam into her harder and more feral. Rutting into her cunt in an animalistic pace as he has to clench his jaw in rage. His hand on her hair and the other on her waist, he groans at the feeling of her soaking cunt. 

The sobs he hears as his cock keeps on pounding into her sweet spot, makes him smug enough, and even more aroused. His sweet lady wife, so prone to cry when she had too much pleasure when she got overwhelmed with lust. 

“Please, please…” the round of pleas comes up with her tears, and Aemond moans, shamelessly, as he was so close. “I can’t t-take i-it… anymo-ore” 

“Oh, you will” he says through gritted teeth as he lets go of her hair, only for his other hand to go to her shoulder to help her get his dick deeper. “I will breed you. Cum so deep that my seed takes root, and everyone will know who you belong to.” 

Her nods between sobs, pleas and trembling legs help him pound in feral thrusts into her, feeling her cunt already milking him, inner walls attempting to squeeze his dick inside and never let it go.

“Cum for me, my love” he murmurs, still fucking her deep and nice how she likes it. “My beautiful wife” he murmurs, besotted by her as she cries, her tears rolling down her rosy cheeks with little freckles that he adored. 

The little spasms of her body, her wails and the way her cunt squeezes him, it’s enough to drive him to the edge, holding her body down into his cock as he moans loudly, rolling his eye back in pleasure as he cums hard. She whimpers, whining a bit as his seed just keeps on filling her, his balls tensing up as his grip will probably leave her delicate skin with red marks.

He is caring afterwards, as he cleans her with a towel, or when he places her in bed and covers her, lying by her side each time as she snuggles to him.

“You have to know–” she says softly, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. “You are hot when jealous”

Aemond huffs, grumbling about it a bit as he seems reluctant. It amuses her.

“You always find me hot, I could be… Killing a chicken and you would be leaking”

“Get on my place for a moment, please, just imagine how your muscles would flex” she says dead serious and he rolls his eye amused, as the corners of his lips gives him away.

The fixation on his hair would be a problem if he didn’t love her so much. Aemond allows his lady Tully to braid it as they talk in bed. 

“I didn’t really mean it” he says softly. 

“Hm?” She asks curious, her fingers working on a single small braid on his hair.

“You can talk to them” he says through gritted teeth. “Just-... not too much”

Her little laugh warms his heart. “Very well” she says amused. “For each sentence I say to them, I will suck you”

“I retract myself, talk to them very much, all you like” he says, and it has her giggling. “You know I love you…” he says; as it comes into his view her concentrated face, her tongue coming out of her pink lips as she was focused. He could see the freckles that he so adored, and her pretty eyes. How he loved her.

“You know I love you more…” she says fixing his braid to stick to his hair. Her mouth forms a pleased smile as she sits, as she inspects her work. “Yes. Seems pretty nice”

He could feel the hair strand tight, and he moved his hand to touch his head. “What in the Seven Hells you did to my hair, woman?” 

She looks very pleased as she giggles, her body accommodating against his chest as she shrugs innocently, as he keeps on playfully trying to decipher what his wife did to his hair. 

[eff4freddie]

Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

--

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

--

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

--

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.  

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

--

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.  

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.  

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

--

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

[tbaluver]

Can you write the guys reaction to having a baby girl as their first child? (I'm a sucker for papa's little princesses)

Thank you and your works are the best and comforting!

Papa's Little Princess- The Love And DeepSpace Men

synopsis: when your first child is a girl! genre: fluff fluff a/n: omg this was such a cute idea i wish they were real (╥﹏╥) and thank you so much! i hope my works can continuing being comforting for you and anybody else <3 i hope this was okay and that you enjoy this! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

His little star

A gentle father. He's the type to never yell at his daughter but he'll provide positive disciplining strategies with you.

He wants to be in every part of his daughter's life in any way he can. He wouldn't really know how to do his daughter's hair but he was willing to try ! He would watch you tie her hair, braid, and put many accessories in her hair and he would be confused on how you did all that. He tried looking up how to do her hair and his first time wasn't the best.....but after some practice with you, he would be a pro just like you!

Do NOT let these two bake together especially with the easy bake ovens. Nearly set the kitchen on fire attempting to make cookies for you. He couldn't say no to her when she wanted to cook or try baking with him. You don't know how but it ended up burnt or with the weirdest toppings ever and a broken easy bake oven.

Nap time is serious business with these two. They are not to be disturbed. She's either asleep on his chest or in his lap. Whenever you take walks and she gets too tired, he'll carry her around on his back. She'll rest her head on the crook of his neck while he holds onto her tightly.

She would have all the plushies, toys, and snacks she wants! He'll do his all to get her the plushies in the claw machine to make his little angel jump up and down in joy. She could never have enough

Loves to join her in her imaginative play whether she wants to be a princess or an astronaut. It makes playtime full of joy and adventure

Zayne:

You two would have the most polite, well mannered, and kindest daughter ever.

Loves to participate in playing house with her. He'll sit on the floor or the tiny chairs from the tea party set you gotten for her. He'll play the role with no complaints and tell her that the tea is delicious even though there is absolutely no tea in the plastic cup.

He's a doctor but he can't help but sneak a few sweet treats for her. If she wants some before lunch or dinner then she can have at least one before she eats her meal and then she'll have plenty more after. These two would have cavities later on.

He would make her all the mini snowmen and other things she wants from his evol. He finds her reaction to be adorable each time, it never gets old.

If your daughter mentions a boy, he would tell her she can have a boyfriend around 30. She would be happy and so was he. Mainly because she has no concept of time and age yet.

Your daughter loves to hear him read. Even though she was still very very young and didn't grasp everything just yet, he would read her stories and explain them with care and patience, aiming to entertain and nurture her curiosity. She loves to sit on his lap and sometimes she'll fall asleep on him.

He would let her pick any flower she wants to grow in your garden at the backyard. You would all start a small garden together and he would teach her how to care for them.

Rafayel:

Takes playing house a little too seriously. Whatever role his daughter gives him, he's giving it his all.

Oh he was so excited when your daughter first held a crayon. He colors with her a lot and eventually will introduce her to paint. He would tell her that she's doing so well even if they were just blobs. She's going to be an artist just like her papa. He'll even add some of her artwork on his so he can point it out to her if he were to have another exhibition tour.

First time at the beach with his daughter was such an emotional day for him. Hearing and seeing her squeal when her little feet touched the water warmed his heart. He held her so tightly and tenderly, reassuring her that she won't float away because her papa's got her. He teaches her a lot about how some fishes are friendly and one day he'll meet some of his fish friends.

He'll eventually tell her all about Lemuria whenever it was time for bed and he thought it's so cute whenever she wanted to hear more about it.

Would absolutely love to play dress up with her. Sometimes he'll pick some of her clothes out and he would think she is beautiful just like her mama. They'll make a little runway and model the outfits.

He would keep all the little milestones she has made and any memories. He'll keep all the photos, drawings, and any mementos to look back at the treasured memories.

Sylus:

The second person who will ever see his soft side is his daughter. You being the first.

He is protective over his daughter and with you. If anyone were to look at either one of you wrong? Sleep with one eye open.

He does not have fragile masculinity! He will let her apply as much toy makeup as she wants on his face. He'll play dress up with her as much as she wants no matter how obscure the outfits are! He has no complaints, anything to make his little angel smile and happy.

She loves hearing him sing lullabies. It puts her to sleep immediately but sometimes she'll sing or hum along with him.

If you tell your daughter no to something then she'll ask Sylus. He can't say no to his sweet baby girl. Just don't tell mom. He doesn't know what true fear is until he meets a mothers anger.

Loves to spoil her just like how he loves to spoil you. Not to the point where she's a brat though, you two would teach her to be better than that. "Just because" gifts to make her feel special without any special occasions

Anytime he would be away for business, he'll always bring you two something back. Something that you both either love or reminds him of you two or maybe both.

BONUS (All): They would all be patient fathers overall. They would never yell if your daughter showed any emotions especially if their daughters were to cry. They’re offering their own patience, love, and comfort in their own way. They would be there for your daughter emotionally as they were with you.

[lovelybucky1]

Little Red

warnings: dubcon, fem!reader, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, age gap, breeding, 18+ minors dni // divider by @strangergraphics

You know it isn’t safe to walk alone in the forest. The trees are dense, the paths are windy, and dangerous animals lurk in the underbrush, stalking their prey. You convince yourself that you’ll be fine; you’re only taking a short walk to your grandmother’s house with a basket of treats. Technically you’ve never made the trek by yourself before, but it can’t be that hard, can it?

You were overly confident when you walked into the woods, but you were quickly humbled when you got turned around. You came to an intersection of paths and you couldn’t remember which to take, so you took your best guess. Unfortunately, you chose the wrong one. As luck would have it, it started to rain during your walk, leaving your cloak, dress, and shoes soaked. You’re cold, uncomfortable, and lost.

After a mile or so more of walking in your wet socks, you stumble across a house. It isn’t your grandmother’s cottage with the lush garden in the front, but a log cabin with an overgrown lawn. You figure that someone inside must be able to give you directions, so you walk up to the door and knock.

At first, there’s no answer, so you try again. You can hear some shuffling from inside and you nervously squeeze some water out of your cloak as you wait for the person to greet you. When the door opens, a large man appears, blocking your view inside the house.

“What do you want?” the man asks with a gruff, slightly irritated voice.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I got lost on the way to my grandmother’s house. Could you point me in the right direction?” you ask. You feel intimidated by the man’s intense eyes, but you hope your nerves don’t come across in your voice.

The man opens the door wider and steps out, allowing you a better look at him. He is in a flannel shirt and jeans, and his face is scruffy like he hasn’t shaved in a week. His hair is a little wild, along with the look in his eyes. He’s undeniably handsome, in a rugged, lumberjack kind of way. You can tell even from under his shirt that he has muscles, and you have to stop your mind from picturing them.

The man raises a thick eyebrow at you as he takes in your appearance. You’re too distracted to notice the way he licks his lips.

“A little girl like you shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” he says.

“I know, sir, but I thought I knew where I was going,” you say, feeling embarrassed to explain your lack of direction to a stranger.

He sighs through his nose and opens the door wide enough for you to squeeze past. “Get out of the rain ‘fore you catch a cold.”

Accepting the kind invite, you walk inside the cabin. It’s cozy inside, with not much more than a bed in the corner, a wood stove, and a dining table. Books, candles, and bottles were strewn around, making the place look well-lived.

The man pulls out a chair at the table for you and you sit down. Wordlessly, he pulls your cloak over your head and drapes it near the woodstove to dry. The cabin is thankfully warm, and your frozen hands start to thaw. You quietly thank him, then introduce yourself. In return, he tells you his name is Logan, but he doesn’t offer any more information than that.

“You want some tea to warm you up?” he asks, and that rough voice is music to your ears.

“That would be great.”

He pours you a cup of hot tea from the kettle on the woodstove and you accept it gratefully. The tea is a bit too hot and burns your tongue, but the warmth inside your belly is still welcome. He watches you intently as you drink it, but you pretend you don’t notice.

“Thank you for the tea, Logan.” He doesn’t smile, but he gives you a soft kind of look. “It’s nice in here,” you say, looking around at the cabin’s interior.

“Don’t get many visitors,” he says.

“I doubt you get lost girls on your doorstep very often,” you joke.

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” he says, finally cracking a smile. “Been a long time since I’ve had something as sweet as you.”

The comment strikes you as odd, but before you can think too much about it, he sits down next to you. You get a closer look at his scruffy facial hair, his slightly wild eyes, and his teeth. When he opens his mouth to place his cigar inside, you catch a glimpse of his sharp canine teeth. They’re a lot sharper than your own, sharper than any you’ve ever seen on a person before. They intrigue you, and you want to get a closer look but your view is blocked by the end of his cigar being put into his mouth.

He must catch you staring at his mouth, because he gives you a small smirk around the cigar as he lights it.

“I really should get going,” you say, putting your empty mug down on the table.

“You only just got here,” he says. He places his hand on your wrist, gently pinning it to the table. “You’re still cold.”

You shiver at the feeling of his large, warm hand on your still-clammy skin but you try to brush it off. “My grandmother’s expecting me. I don’t want her to think anything bad happened to me.”

Through a puff of smoke, Logan says, “but something bad did happen to you.” You furrow your brows in confusion. “You got lost in the woods and wandered into a stranger’s house for safety.”

His grip on your wrist tightens and fear starts to build in your stomach. He grins at you, but it’s not a kind look. It’s sharp and predatory, like he’s about to eat you whole.

“Please let go,” you whisper.

“You’re mine now, dollface. I’m not lettin’ you get away.” You try to tug your arm back, but he’s too strong. “Even if you did run, you don’t know where you’re going. There’s monsters a lot worse than me out there, y’know.”

You chew on your bottom lip as your mind races to figure out how to get out of this situation. You’re in the middle of nowhere, well and truly lost, and the only person around is the man currently bruising your arm.

“Monsters that would rip a pretty thing like you to pieces. Not me, though. I know how to appreciate a delicate little flower.”

Logan stands up and tugs you to your feet. He moves his hands to your waist and holds you in front of him. You don’t bother trying to move because you know your efforts will be futile and likely will anger him. He looks down at you hungrily, and this time, you can’t help the words that come out of your mouth.

“Your teeth are so sharp,” you whisper.

Logan grins. “You like ‘em, sweetheart?” As afraid as you are, you do like them. “You wanna feel ‘em?”

Hesitantly and with a trembling hand, you reach up and touch the point of his tooth with the pad of your finger. The tooth is blunt enough not to pierce your skin, but you’re certain that if he bit down, he’d have no trouble drawing blood.

“You’re shaking,” he points out, as if you weren’t well aware of that fact.

Logan grasps your wrist and brings your hand back down to your side, pinning it there. He holds eye contact with you for a moment before leaning in close to you. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your skin.

His lips touch before his teeth, but the feeling is unmistakable. It’s a hot, painful pinch but he’s obviously restraining himself because you don’t feel a trickle of blood running down your neck.

You gasp and try to move away from him, but his hold on you is too strong. He chuckles against your skin and you can feel the smile on his lips.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs.

Logan’s hands wander from your waist to underneath your skirt. He pushes it up around your middle and he leans back so he can catch a glimpse of your panties. He growls low in his throat when he sees the scrap of pink cotton between your thighs.

He’s not even holding you anymore, but you’re frozen in place. You know you should be afraid. You are afraid of the man who's been threatening to eat you, but your body doesn’t seem to be on the same page as your mind. Fear and a strange sense of arousal mix in your stomach, and the feeling is only strengthened by the hungry look in Logan’s eyes. He sniffs the air, and a smirk forms on his lips.

His fingers toy at the elastic band of your panties before they slip beneath them. Your pussy is traitorously wet and Logan is delighted to learn this.

“You got a needy cunt, huh, doll?” he asks. You shake your head, but there’s really no use denying it. “Seems to me like you do.”

He pushes the fabric of your panties entirely to the side, exposing you to the air. He strokes over your lips with his fingers, and he slowly pushes his middle finger in. You take a shaky inhale at the feeling, and you pray your knees don’t give out.

“She takes me so easy. This isn’t why you came here, is it? Put on this whole act just to get this pussy played with?”

“No!” you whine. “My grandmother really is waiting for me.”

“Forget about her. Just you ‘nd me now.”

He pulls his finger out of you and wipes your wetness on the side of your thigh. He then bends down to lift you off the ground. He’s so strong and you’re powerless to do anything to stop him from carrying you over to the mattress in the corner of the cabin.

He lays you down and covers your body with his own before you can attempt to crawl away. He grabs your ankles and bends your legs so your pussy is presented to him. His finger returns inside of you, thrusting and stroking your inner walls.

You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your moans, not wanting him to hear how much you’re enjoying this. You don’t want to be enjoying this, but he knows all the right places to touch you.

He works a second, then third finger inside you. Your arousal makes the slide easy, but this is the widest you’ve ever been stretched before. If he thinks you need three of his thick fingers to be open enough for his cock, you’re nervous for what’s to come.

“This ain’t your first time, is it, kid?” he asks fondly as he brushes his thumb on your clit, just enough to tease.

You’re afraid to answer his question. If you lie and say it isn’t, then he might go rougher on you. If you tell him you’re a virgin, however, it might awaken a different kind of beast.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, bet no one’s been in here before. That right, baby? You can tell me.”. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, your belly burning with shame and desperation. “Fuck,” he growls. “‘Course you fuckin’ are.”

He removes his fingers from your cunt and works open his fly, not caring that your wetness is getting on the denim of his jeans. He pushes them down far enough to free his cock from his boxers. Your fears have come true, and he is fucking huge.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow,” he says as he grasps his dick and strokes it. “You’ve been so good for me.”

He positions himself at your entrance and hits his cock on your clit a few times. You jolt at the contact, but the stretch of it inside of you is more shocking. Luckily, he stops once the tip of it is inside, allowing you to prepare yourself for the rest of the length.

“How’s it feel, dollface?” he asks.

“Good,” you squeak out. It does feel good, but it’s not enough. You’ve felt empty since he pulled his fingers out of you and you need to be full again.

“Can you take the rest or do I need to fuck you like this?” he says, pulling the tip out just to push it back in. You let out an involuntary moan which encourages him to do it again. He gives you shallow little thrusts which don’t do much for him, but have you whining pathetically. “All this just for the tip? The whole thing’s gonna blow your fuckin’ mind.”

“Please give it to me,” you say hurriedly, before the humiliation can catch up with you.

“Yeah?” he asks, cocky. “You were so scared before, but now you’re beggin’ for it?”

He slowly pushes in further, feeding your hungry pussy the rest of his cock. His tip hits your cervix before he bottoms out, and you whimper at the contact.

“Little puss can’t take all of me. Fuckin’ adorable,” he says as if he’s talking to himself.

He begins to fuck you, making sure not to go too deep and hurt you. If your mind wasn’t so clouded with pleasure, you’d find it odd that this monster is making an effort to be careful with you. You expect him to push in without any prep or worry for your comfort.

“Squeezin’ the fucking life outta me,” he growls. His hands grip your hips possessively and he uses them to control his thrusts. “Virgin cunt’s always been my favorite.”

You wonder how many times he’s done this; taken a lost girl’s virginity just because she wandered up to his door. You wonder what kind of state he’s going to leave you in, if you’ll be able to walk away or if you’ll have to stay in his bed while you recover.

“Fuck,” you curse, accidentally letting it slip when he bumps you cervix.

“That’s a dirty word, sweetheart. Am I making you feel that good?”

He’s making your fucking head spin, that’s how good he is. You don’t have more than your fingers to compare him to, but having someone else bully their way into you is so much better than your own fingers that can’t reach deep enough.

“Yes, fuck, Logan.”

“Keep fuckin’ begging for me, angel. I’ll give it to you good.”

He moves his hand onto the mattress next to your head and he braces himself on it. The new position gives him leverage to fuck into you, rutting quick and hard. The slap of skin against skin sounds like thunder in your head, and the flash of his white teeth is the lightning.

His cock is reshaping your pussy, making room for him to sit comfortably inside of you. He is claiming you in every sense of the word, and you’re happy to surrender yourself to him as long as he keeps making you feel this way.

“You were fucking made for me. My little girl, feelin’ so fucking good around me,” he mutters.

Logan’s pace gets progressively quicker and rougher, and he’s getting more animalistic. He’s growling and panting above you, and that wild look in his eyes is back. Like this, he looks exactly like the monsters from the stories you were told as a kid. Feral, aggressive, preying on innocent girls, taking virgins from their families. You’re not scared anymore, though. You’re being throughly fucked by the big bad wolf, and you’re feeling the best you’ve ever felt in your life.

Logan moves so his elbows are bracketing your head and his chest is flush against yours. He fucks you hard and fast, chasing his orgasm. You manage to slip your hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, and it only takes a few touches to have you cumming around him. Your pussy clenches down on his cock and he curses under his breath at the feeling.

“Good girl, keep cumming for me,” he praises. “Knew you were gonna be the perfect mate.”

His words don’t register in your hazy mind until it’s too late. He’s grunting, growling out your name as he shoots his seed as deep inside of you as it’ll go. Your over-sensitive, aching pussy twitches at the feeling of his hot cum inside of you.

He rides out the waves of pleasure, but he doesn’t pull out of you even when he’s finished. He’s still on top of you, pinning you down but having enough mind not to crush you under his weight. His cum is plugged inside you, prevented from spilling out.

For the first time since arriving at the cabin, there is silence. The rain outside has stopped, and the only sound from inside is the mix of your breathing, both quickened from exertion.

You’re not sure how long it is until Logan sits up and pulls out of you, but it feels like ages. You’re boneless and tired, having had every bit of energy and pleasure drained from your body.

“You did so good for me, doll,” he smiles down at you. He moves to lay next to you on the bed, turning your body so he can slot himself behind you. He pulls you flush to his chest and you allow yourself to relax in his arms.

“So good,” you attempt to say, but it comes out a slurred mess.

He chuckles softly at that. “Get some sleep. You’re gonna need your energy.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but you decide you don’t care right now. You fall asleep listening to the loud, steady beat of his heart.

And what a stupid little lamb you are, turning your back on the wolf who’s wanted to eat you since he first laid eyes on you.

[beloveds-embrace]

Sooo much angstttttttttttt 😭

I need the boys to wake up and do whatever it takes to fix it, please, I can't take the angst 😭😭😭

Does this count as fix-it? 🤔 hope you enjoy, anon! Also this turned out far longer than i thought it would lol

First Part

Another shift slowly happens within the duchy, palpable. The whispers of servants echo louder than ever, growing sharp and cutting in the empty halls you once used to frequent. They still avoid you, but now they wonder and whisper of your health. It’s not just them; the men you’d once hoped you’d at least be on an amicable basis with slowly change as well, the longer your absence haunts the halls and galas.

John is the first to act. It’s hesitant at first, awkward even, as though he can’t figure out how to approach the shattered remains of what he’s ignored for so long. He stands outside your door one evening, his shadow stretching under the flickering candlelight, fist raised to knock. But he doesn’t. Not at first. He falters, as if the weight of his guilt roots him to the spot.

When he finally does knock, it’s tentative, barely audible.

“…Are you awake?” His voice carries a softness you’ve never heard before, but it grates against your numbness.

You don’t answer. Your eyes barely flick towards the door, not moving from where you are curled on your side.

He lingers, sighs, and leaves.

You had intended to let yourself waste away, in all honesty. Only your mother doesn’t let you; she bursts into your room one day, sneers at the miserable sight you make, and insults you to the high heavens. Nothing new, even if her digs hurt, even if she says she isn’t surprised by no one loving you when you are like this, but she forces you to eat some nibbles and then into a shower; she doesn’t care. She is simply tired of having you be an embarrassment and hiding away from the public eye.

Thus, you no longer stay in your room. You don’t bother with jewelry, with heavy gowns or complicated hair styles or even clearing the layer of dust off your furniture, you just leave your room. Thankfully,

Unfortunately, that means passing by the maids and servants. It means passing by them. It means interacting with them again, though no longer initiated by you.

Simon is the second, and less direct. He lingers in places you begin to re-frequent; the library, the gardens, the corridors near your room. He doesn’t speak, just watches from the periphery, eyes heavy and intense. Once, when you brush past him without acknowledging his presence, he mutters something under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. But he doesn’t try to stop you and you don ask what he said.

He probably didn’t mean you, anyways. You doubt he wants to speak to you, the obstacle.

Johnny falters the most. Though your interactions with him were few, you’d occasionally hear from the servants about how fun he is in general. His smiles, though they’ve never been aimed at you, look quite fake to you, jokes half-hearted and dying on his lips whenever you pass on rare occasions.

One day, he brings a tray of food to your room himself, hoping to coax you into eating with something he’s cooked just for you. You answer the door, see him holding it, and shake your head without a word. Even if it looks delectable, like the dishes John would get.

“Please,” he says, his voice cracking. “I- just try a bit, hen.”

But you close the door before he can say more. He will try again and often, sometimes just leaving the tray, but you never touch it. You’ve lost weight, you know, and the only reason you are getting some nutrients at this point is because you occasionally sneak into the kitchens late at night for tiny snacks to tide you over. If Johnny knows it’s you, he’s never said anything.

Kyle is quieter, yet more present. The guilt eats away at him the most; he knows that his lack of care and respect had a part in the way the rest of the maids and staff treated you. He spends his evenings pacing the hall outside your room, his head bowed, mumbling apologies that you’ll never hear, wondering which one is best.

Once, he catches you in the garden alone, his mouth opening as if to speak, but you pass him without so much as a glance; you already know he won’t care for you have to say or ask for, he’ll just say he is busy, so you just don’t bother.

He stays frozen in place, his hand half-raised, the words stuck in his throat.

The servants, per Kyle and John’s orders, begin to change. Their guilt is slower to manifest, but it’s there and it’s evident in the way they rush to fulfill your needs despite your reluctance. They clean your room with quiet efficiency, no longer treating you like a burden, even though you hadn’t asked it of them. They leave fresh flowers on your desk and vanity, extra blankets on your bed, and freshly pressed gowns in your wardrobe.

You ignore all of it. It’s a waste of everyone’s time snd effort. You aren’t worth it.

Yet despite their heavy guilt, they return to and continue serving you.

But nothing changes the heaviness in your chest, the emptiness that refuses to leave.

One day, closer to the date of the annual winter gala hosted by the emperial family, you step into the dining room unannounced, your presence startling them all. It’s the first time you’ve joined them in weeks. You move slowly, your posture rigid and tired, your expression unreadable.

“Duchess,” John starts, his voice uncertain, rising from his seat.

“…John,” You sit without meeting his eyes, your movements slow and deliberate. The table is silent, the tension suffocating as John, Simon, and Kyle exchange uncertain glances.

John clears his throat. “It’s good to see you, wife.”

You don’t respond.

The meal is awkward, stilted, but it’s necessary for you; you need to get reused to John for your eventual reappearance in high society. Johnny offers you dishes with a hesitant, hopeful look in his eyes, and Kyle pours your wine with an unsteady grip. John and Simon try to start a conversation, but their words falter and fade when you don’t reply.

Still, they try. Over the following weeks, their efforts grow.

John begins carving out time to spend with you, awkwardly hovering near your door, waiting for even a crumb of acknowledgment. He starts leaving small notes for you- apologies and quiet promises to be better. They pile up on your desk, untouched but not thrown away. You want to believe, but you feel jaded and tired.

Simon offers you quiet companionship, instead. Standing at your side in the garden or library, saying nothing but ensuring you’re not alone. He speaks softly when he does talk, a one-sided conversation with only the occasional hum or noise from you, but he’s undeterred.

Johnny keeps cooking for you, leaving trays of food outside your door with little notes attached: Eat a bit, bonnie. Just for me. You don’t eat much, still have very little appetite, but you do start taking bites here and there, and it’s enough to keep him trying.

Kyle offers small acts of service- holding doors open for you, keeping anything you might need available at hanf, ensuring your rooms are kept warm and comfortable. His words are rare, but his actions speak of endless guilt and the quiet hope that he can earn even a sliver of forgiveness.

The maids and butlers follow suit, their movements quieter, their service more thoughtful. They stop muttering, their eyes full of remorse whenever they see you. They bow in respect, and no longer treat you as if you aren’t a part of the duchy.

But you keep them all at arm’s length. Their guilt is evident, their efforts genuine, but the wounds they’ve left on your heart are deep. Forgiveness, if it ever comes, will not be easily earned. For now, you let them try, watching their clumsy attempts with a mixture of numbness and quiet satisfaction (that you do feel guilty over, but truly can’t help).

Several weeks before the gala, John comes to your office. He sits down, and waits until you are finished with your paperwork before he speaks. You are in a beautiful dress- Simon’s gift- and your hair is in a delicate style, done by your maids. You look pretty. You feel nice, even if the numbness remains. These days, it’s less.

“Duchess, I was thinking,” he began, voice soft and patient. “it might do you some good to get away for a while. A change of scenery.”

You turned to look at him, the suggestion pulling you from your numb reverie. His blue eyes searched yours, and for once, there was no coldness, no distance. “Somewhere quiet,” he continued, “where you can rest… away from all of this.”

The idea of leaving the suffocating walls of the manor, and the heavy tension of the duchy was tempting. And yet, you hesitated, unsure if you could trust the gesture or if it was just another attempt to smooth over appearances.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he added quickly, as if sensing your doubt. “You won’t have to worry about a thing. You can choose who you’d like to go with, or even if you want to go alone. It’s entirely up to you, Duchess.”

Johnny and Kyle appeared in the doorway then, Kyle holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea, Johnny with a small, hopeful smile and a plate of your favorite biscuits. Even Simon lingered near the threshold, his gaze steady but tinged with something softer than usual.

They were all waiting for your answer, their expressions almost pleading. You could feel the weight of their guilt and the sincerity of their offer. It wasn’t much- not enough to erase everything that had passed- but it was something. A step forward.

“…I’ll think about it.” you said at last, your voice quiet but firm. And for the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of relief in their eyes.

[kaiijo]

HOT THINGS HE DOES — [WIND BREAKER]

characters: sakura haruka, suo hayato, kiryu mitsuki, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo  content: gn! reader, reader has smaller hands than hiragi notes: i love them, your honor 

sakura haruka ✶

runs his hand through his hair. sakura doesn’t know why you watch him so intently when he cards his fingers through his hair. in his mind, he’s just trying to get his bangs out of his face but to you, he looks so effortlessly cool

he’ll definitely get flustered if you voice your thoughts to him while giving him a long once-over. he definitely starts blushing and stuttering and looking anywhere but your eyes with crossed arms. he’s actually short circuiting and you take the opportunity to run your own hand through his hair, feeling the smooth flow of his locks between fingers. 

nirei akihiko ✶

very perceptive of your needs. it’s like he can read your mind. you need a bottle of water? nirei’s already handing it to you. you want a sweet treat? nirei’s already bought it from your favorite bakery. you wanted to get a limited-edition keychain but they ran out at the store? don’t worry — nirei’s already bought matching ones for you

there’s something about how in-tune he is with you that has your face warming and a smile breaking across your face. you’re just as in-tune with him and his needs as he is with yours 

suo hayato ✶

always smells good. suo takes care of himself and has a nice natural scent, but when he wears his favorite cologne, he smells nice and clean and good. it makes your heart jump when you catch the notes of his cologne and you like to bury your face in his neck when he wears it (and maybe kiss his neck a little too)

his cologne also lingers on many items of clothing — shirts, sweaters, coats — which results in you stealing a bunch of his things so that you can keep his scent around you when he’s not with you 

kiryu mitsuki ✶

hand on the back. kiryu guides you around with a hand on your back, making sure that you are with him and comfortable and safe. it makes your heart skip a beat when he places a hand on your lower back, his palm warm even through your clothes

you especially love when you’re on a romantic dinner date and his hand in on your lower back as he leads you to your table, still holding you as he slides your chair out. you can’t stop the little giggle that bubbles in the back of your throat 

umemiya hajime ✶

gardening shirtless. there are two parts to this — one, you love that umemiya gardens and how attentive he is to his plants; two, you love when he does it shirtless. umemiya looks like he was carved by the gods and it’s always hot to watch him pull weeds, water the plants, and hum to them the sun’s making his bare skin glow 

you also like when he stands up to wipe sweat off his brow and you get to see the way the sweat glistens on his skin. it makes you contemplate dragging him away from his gardening for some personal time 

hiragi toma ✶

 comparing hand sizes. hiragi hands are so big and nimble and you especially love how big they are compared to yours. he doesn’t understand your obsession with grabbing his hand and pressing your palm against his

he indulges you whenever you ask him to compare hand sizes, fingers curling over the tips of yours. you know that his hand is bigger than yours but it makes your light-headed to see the real thing 

kaji ren ✶

stands up for you. kaji is the one to advocate for you when you won’t do it yourself and there nothing you find more appealing. there’s something so attractive about him when he tells your waiter that you didn’t order a certain item or something else like this. he’s not mean or aggressive, simply direct and firm when he does so

it makes you feel cared for and that someone is looking out for you. kaji also holds steady eye contact when he makes his request and there’s a steel to his gaze that sets your face aflame 

togame jo ✶

casual lean against the doorframe. but not just any door frame lean; togame does the book boyfriend lean, with a forearm braced against the doorframe and him slanting toward you to best listen to whatever you’re saying. he so attentive and confident when he does that you can’t help the way your heart skips a beat and your eyes involuntarily flutter when you meet his eyes. 

he also knows the effect this has on you so sometimes he’ll cage you in between the wall and his body, one arm above your head. he gives you a small lazy smirk and it has you pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss

[monstersflashlight]

Chasing the bounty hunter (Day 5/8 of the 10k followers event)

Griffin x gn!reader || primal play, chasing, breeding, cum inflation, size difference || tw: kidnapping

When he captured you, you were surprised about it. You followed him for days, tracking all his movements, being on his tail until you were almost ready to catch it… But he got to you first. You weren’t expecting him to turn around and chase you down. And above all, you weren’t expecting the rush of adrenaline and heat that the chase gave you.

He captured you and brought you to his house in the mountains, you didn’t know what you were expecting but a cottage-core cabin with enough greenery to be a botanical garden wasn’t it. You were surprised about it, too. And what shocked you the most was how nice he was. He captured you because you were following him, because he knew there was a price on his head and you were a bounty hunter. He knew all of that, but instead of killing you on sight, he captured you to keep you around. It felt a bit insulting that he treated you almost like a pet… But it also made something inside of you burn hotter than the sun.

He insisted on you going away, but you didn’t want to. If you went back to the village, you would have to explain why the griffin wasn’t with you, how you let him escape… And someone else would end up trying to catch him. So you stayed. (You didn’t think too much about how it just felt right to be with him, how comfortable you were in his house…)

You spent there about two weeks by the time you wanted nothing else but to climb him like a tree. The house was immense, perfect for his big body but a bit difficult with your human size. He didn’t mind though, he helped you get everything, he cooked for you, and he let you his nest to sleep at night. It took you four days to convince him you should sleep in the nest together, there was enough space. If you woke up sprawled over him, it was just an unconscious thing… right?

But without realizing, feelings started to grow. You became tender of him, every little quirk he had made you melt inside, and you knew he felt the same way. He kept looking at you with fire in his eyes, but also with a fondness so deep that made your heart beat faster and faster.

It took you two a month to kiss for the first time. His beak was a weird feeling against your mouth, but in a way… it worked. It worked and it felt great and made you moan against him, your body melting as he grabbed your waist and pulled you up against his body. It was exhilarating.

“I want us to fuck,” you blurted as he took the weeds out of the garden. You were sitting in the shade because he was worried your fragile skin would get burned.

He didn’t even turn around to answer. “We can’t.”

But you weren’t having any of his nonsense. “Oh yes… Yes, we can. Definitely can. I want to. You want to. We can.” He turned around then, his eyes tracking your every movement as he checked for your reactions. You bet he was checking for your vitals signs with his super-senses.

“You are so tiny. I would break you,” he told you, his voice leaving no room for argument.

But if you were something was stubborn as fuck. “And I would say thank you after,” you teased, being more than okay with him squeezing you if that meant getting him to fuck you senseless. “Come on, dude, you want it. I want it. Let me have that good, good griffin dick.” You knew he would appreciate your bluntness, but also that it would make his proper self get all blush-y.

He looked so flustered that you wanted to giggle. “You were sent to capture me.” Well, he had a point there, but at the moment you wanted nothing else but to be chased. And to be captured.

“But you captured me first. And now I don’t want to capture you anymore, I like you… I- I might love you,” you confessed, your heart beating fast. His face was unreadable, but you didn’t leave him room to say anything before you continued talking. “And I want to fuck you until we are both breathing hard and covered in fluids.”

“That- That sounds disgusting,” he said in a joking tone.

“Stop being a lying liar who lies. Don’t you want me?” You asked, analyzing his body for any response to that question. He nodded intensely, his big body moving with the inertia. You giggled and nodded, too. “Have me, then.”

He was doing the freaky vital signs again to look for some kind of signal that you were lying, when he didn’t find any, he asked: “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t look that convinced, always worried about your humanity. “But what if…” You didn’t let him finish that thought.

“I’m gonna stop you right there. I’m gonna run, and you are gonna chase me, and when you get me, I hope to be pounded into the ground until I’m full of cum and my legs don’t function anymore.” His face was like a poem, a filthy, filthy poem. You could see his nostrils dilating as he imagined the picture you just formed for him. You were so ready to be fucked senseless. “Okay?” You asked again, wanting to make sure he wanted it as much as you did.

“Yes.” He agreed, his eyes burning with desire. “Now run.” His growl was enough to send hot lava through your veins, excitement and arousal filling your insides until you were trembling as you bolted from there.

You ran through the forest like a soul followed by the devil. First you couldn’t hear a single noise over your heartbeat, but as the house disappeared in the distance, the forest around you became alive. You could feel everything. The sound of little animals, the sound of the breeze moving the leaves and the flowers, the smell of dirt and spring in the air… and the metallic taste of your fear and arousal. You knew he was behind you, you could feel him following you but couldn’t see him. The excitement of the chase was making you all kinds of turned on.

Your heart was beating so hard you feared he could hear it, he probably could. And you knew his scenting was a lot better, so he could probably track you just by arousal alone. You were so horny at the moment that you could scream.

“I can smell your arousal, smells like honey.” You could hear him inhale behind you, growling at every intake of breath. “You want to be caught that bad?” His voice was teasing, like nothing you’d heard before. He was always so proper… But right then he sounded like sex and wildness, and that made you even hotter.

You kept running, but you didn’t get too far. When he caught you, he pushed you to the ground, his big body covering you. His breathing was labored behind you, and you smirked, knowing he was as affected as you with your little chase-scene. He ripped your clothes off and you groaned, mourning the lose of your shirt and pants for a total of three seconds before you felt the tip of his dick against your hole and you cried out.

He pinned you to the ground and started entering you, bit by bit until he was settled so deep inside you could feel him at the back of your throat. So big, so wild. “You okay?” He whispered, always the gentleman.

“Yes. Fuck me.” He didn’t have to be told twice.

He fucked you like a madman, in and out at the speed of light as he grunted and growled and went feral over you. Telling you how good your hole felt, how amazing you were and how glad he was he captured you that day. You were dizzy with desire and pleasure.

He made you come twice before he came inside of you, just like you asked. You knew it would be a lot, but you weren’t expecting the sheer amount of cum… He filled you until your stomach was bloated and you were a messy drooling body over the forest floor. You were drunk on his cum, and you didn't want to analyze how much of a cum-slut you discovered you were in that exact second.

He didn’t pull out. His dick still hard was nested inside of you as he breathed hard against your ear and you whimpered. Your stomach felt too big, your hole too raw… But that didn’t stop him from fucking you full over again, making you cum twice more in the process, the filthy sounds of his cum dripping around his dick were exhilarating.

And when he said: “I might love you, too.” Your world shattered into a million pieces once again.

[7s3ven]

SINGLE DAD! X BABYSITTER! READER HAS ME FROTHING OMGG. Even better when the rest of TF 141 is involved

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon - rest of tf 141 introduced)

master list

MDNI 18+

Warnings: big age gap, babysitter! reader, reader is in medical school (but still legal guys)

You told yourself it was just a temporary summer job, something to fill your pockets over the Summer break as you moved into another year of university. Medical bills were not easy to pay off and your old job that paid the bare minimum did not help you in the least. All it taught you was that you had a nasty uppercut (from the time you actually hit someone and got fired).

So, you found yourself standing in front of John Price’s house. You stared up at the tall building, brows raised in surprise. He had understated how big his house was… it even had a garden and a pool. You may as well consider it a mansion.

You quickly rang the doorbell, smoothening out your tight blouse. Your much more appropriate one was in the wash so you prayed whoever answered the door did not notice.

It was a tall middle-aged who greeted you, beard cleanly trimmed and… a hat on his head. “Y/N L/N?” He asked you. You swiftly nodded, softly smiling when he stepped aside.

“So, medical school, huh? Training to become a doctor?” He asks as he brews you a cup of tea while you read over his terms and conditions.

“A surgeon, sir. Not much better, though.” You offer him another smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension.

“Right. Next time I need surgery, I’ll call you up.” He takes a sip from your tea, which you notice but you say nothing. “Just checkin’ the temperature. Wouldn’t want ya to burn yourself.” He hands you the mug, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment too long.

“I assume this is only a quick job for you? Just away to gain a bit of money to pay those student fees off?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you nod. “Yes, sir. I know I should have clarified it but I’m a little desperate at this point. Besides, no retail places want to hire me… after I hit someone.”

Your words intrigued him. He let out a low chuckle as he sat across from you. “Now I’m interested.”

“Well… there’s not much to it… a guy kept staring at my chest. He said some vulgar stuff and next thing I knew, I was punching him.”

Price shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “The lad was askin’ for it. So, what do you think about the job? You’ll honestly be a glorified babysitter. Just do some cleaning and cookin’ here and there and make my baby happy and you’ll get a nice pay check every week.”

It all happened in a blur. You agreed to the job and weeks later, you found yourself at Price’s house more than your apartment. You hadn’t stepped foot into your apartment since two days ago, Price generously allowing you to use one of the guest rooms.

“Lila has a sleepover tomorrow.” Price mentions as you’re reading the instructions on how to make cookies for Lila’s bake sale.

Based on the cooking skills you had seen from Price, you doubted he could bake very well. In fact, all he could cook was steak, which was general knowledge for dads.

“I can drop her off if needed.” You offer while opening the packet of flour only for it to explode in your face. You smacked your lips together, grimacing. “Not a word.” You mutter to Price who’s chuckling under his breath.

“Wasn’t gon’ a say anything, love.” He helps wipe the flour dust off your face, still grinning in amusement.

In all honesty, your relationship with Price felt a little too domesticated, especially right now as you wore a frilly apron he had bought just for you.

“Your skirt’s too short, by the way.” Price grumbles, attempting to tug it down. “You sure no creeps stared at you on your way ‘ere? Wouldn’t want ya in danger.”

You push his hands away from your hips. “Even if people were staring, I’ll just punch them.”

You had tried to maintain a professional relationship with your boss but it was hard when he carelessly manhandled you and treated you like his wife rather than his daughter’s babysitter.

And all professional behaviour came crashing down when he unexpectedly stood behind you as you whisked the cookie batter.

“You look like a coke addict.” Price jokes, referring to the flour that still stained your face. “Like you got it everywhere but up your nose.”

“I can assure you, sir, I have never tried coke unless my friend daring me to snort sherbet counts.”

Price grins at your biting remark, his heavy hands falling to your waist. “Yeah? Heard it doesn’t feel too good with sherbet.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His hands trail dangerously low but you don’t have the courage to ask him to stop… nor do you really want him too. He seems to sense your willingness as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, body pressed up tightly against yours.

You feel more like his spoiled wife than a medical student just trying to pay her bills.

“You’re pretty, ya know that? Surprised you don’ have a boyfriend… or girlfriend. Or partner. Dunno what your label is.”

With shaking hands, you place the bowl filled with cookie batter to the side, afraid you’ll only spill it.

“Never met a woman as soft as you… most think I chased Lila’s mother away. But nah. Her mother ran off, leavin’ me with a baby. Not that I’m complaining, I love Lila… and without her, I wouldn’ have met you.”

You’re reduced to listening to Price’s words, stuck between his larger frame and the marbled kitchen counter.

“Sir.” You whisper but it reaches his keen ears. Everything after that is a distorted blur and you find yourself bent over the counter, clad in nothing but the apron, with Price right behind you.

Price was a mystery to you. How could a man be turned on by something as simple as an apron? Though, he was a single dad so it made sense.

Price is muttering praises in your ears as your knees tremble, threatening to buckle. You never imagined you’d be in your employer’s kitchen, having your back blown out by the man himself.

His hands were hungrily climbing your body, gripping every bit of exposed skin he could find. If it wasn’t for him holding you upright, you would have toppled to the ground in a heartbeat.

You feel Price lift a hand to grip your hair, tugging at your locks. He’s in a desperate stupor but you’re not any better, pushing back your hips to meet his harsh thrusts.

“Gon’ a fill ya up. Give you a baby of yer own. Fuck… be so pretty just like you. My perfect little wife.” He grunts in your ear. You have no energy to correct him; that you’re not actually his wife but you’d have no complaints if he bought you a ring.

If anything, his words spur you on more.

Your chest is heaving by the time you near your release. You’re whining like a damn dog, high pitched noises slipping past your saliva-slicked lips. And you only grow in volume as Price speeds up, pressing his body against your back.

He’s older than you, that’s a fact you knew from the start, but he’s definitely more experienced as well. His well thought out words have the desired effect on you as the coil in your stomach snaps.

Your fluids drip down your exposed legs, hitting the tiles kitchen ground in thick droplets. You hear Price swear under his breath, quickly pulling out and staining your back white.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. Then he leads you towards his bathroom, ushering you inside and handing you a spare set of clothes.

“Imma place your old ones in the washing, yeah?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you to wash off.

You sit on the shower floor for a good five minutes, replaying the moment in your head. When you finally cleanse yourself of sweat, you slip Price’s shirt over your head, inhaling the intoxicating smell of his cologne. It was the one you liked too.

His clothes engulfed you as you stumbled back into the kitchen, hobbling a little.

“I guess I’ll… get going then.” You murmur, fidgeting with your hands.

Price reaches out a hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Then he nods. “See you tomorrow night, lovie.”

Right, you still had to finish those cookies and pick up your clothes.

[wandaslittlepsycho]

Precious

pairing: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢!𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊 ༝༝ 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

summary: your bunny slips through the crack of your front door and you run after her in hopes of catching the pet again. You get lost but your time still ticks, nightfall inching closer and closer as you inevitably sink further into the woods. Luckily, your eyes spot a cabin, and you become acquaintances with the unusual redhead that resides there.

warnings: dubcon, filthy smutty smut smut, HEAVYYYY dacryphilia, groping, dry humping, praise kink, thigh riding (r receiving), mid writing, wanda is lowkey a sadist, slightly unhinged crazy yet loveable and sexy cabin wanda, age gap > r is 20 w is 32

A/N: first fic!!! hi… im very new to writing fics so please be nice ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀིა (i wrote this listening to a true crime documentary idk)

kind of a messy plot but I still hope my little freaks enjoy…… and I’m also sorry this took longer than expected I just kept contemplating if it was good or absolute shit </3

+

this is a dark fic. 18+. wlw. men & minors dni!

⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘

It’s getting pretty late…

You think to yourself, hugging your shoulders as you look up at the overcast sky.

How did I end up here in the first place?

✦

You move a leaf to the side and pick the fresh strawberry that was stashed there, rinsing it in your small bucket of water and taking a mouthful of the delicious treat.

You hear a shuffle beside you. Turning your head, you see a white bunny hiding behind one of your sunflower pots. You smile and place another strawberry onto the ground before slowly walking away. Your eyes relish how cute the little animal is as they chomp away at your colourful fruit.

You stand in the corner of your garden and decide from then on, you’d feed the hungry bunnies that would stroll into your neighbourhood.

A few days pass and you quickly became friends with two specific bunnies who you named Clover and Daisy. You eventually took them in as your own, rottenly spoiling both of the creatures. You loved having them around because living alone in a small town that was an hour away from the city can definitely become lonely.

“This tastes like candy to you doesn’t it Daisy?” You say as you hold out your hand and watch her nibble it up. The fur around her mouth is stained purple, you laugh at the sight.

“Okay that’s enough blueberries for tonight! You’ll get sick if you keep eating those.” You click the plastic container shut, standing up and walking into your kitchen. You place the container in the side compartment of your fridge for tomorrow and stroll back into your living room.

Your brows furrow. Daisy is gone. Daisy and Clover are such good bunnies, they never leave your sight for more than a minute. You assume she ran to her sister Clover, but your eyes widen in horror when you see your front door slightly more cracked open than it was before you left.

You anxiously open your phone and dial your best friend Frankie. You ramble to her about how stupid you felt for leaving the door open, like you are an irresponsible parent who’s no smarter than a bag of rocks. She calmly tells you to go look for Daisy and that she’ll come over as soon as she can to watch Clover.

“Thank you so so much, Frankie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sigh in relief, a hand pressed over your chest. You feel your heart jump underneath your palm and your lips trembling with every breath.

“It’s no problem, Y/N/N. Now go look for that bunny, I’ll be over in 5.”

“Bye, thank you again..” You hang up the phone and dart out the door. You frantically look through your shrubs and call her name, but a bright white spot in your peripheral steals your attention.

There she is, bouncing her way into the open forest across the road from you. As soon as she hops out of your view you race towards her, carelessly running past two moving cars. You ignore the frustrated yelling and the beeping horns, continuing to boost into daisies direction.

“DAISY! WAIT!!”

You yell, but your shouting only seems to spur her on. You run after her and neither of you lose pace. You turn corners, run through mud and almost slip doing so at least two times. The animal suddenly picks up it’s speed, turning abruptly and disappearing into a thick bush. You get on your knees and practically rip this bush to shreds, but she was already long gone. Daisy is no more.

You feel tears sting your eyes, ears and cheeks becoming hot from your stress. You sniffle and wipe your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. You knew it was impossible to look for her now. That bunny became your life in just a couple of days, she felt like a childhood pet. The thought of never seeing her again made your heartstrings tie themselves into knots.

You lose the path you were on but you couldn’t care less. You lost your beloved bunny baby; life is no longer worth living. You wonder if Clover’s okay, and how exactly you’d break the news to her.

So lost and full of woe, mind not even switched on, you didn’t notice the thick tree root in front of you until you stub your foot against it and fall forward. You wince and slowly stand up again. Dusting the crunchy leaves off of your clothes, you use the back of your hand to wipe the dripping bead of blood from your cheekbone.

Great, a cut. I’ll have to clean that up when I get home..

You wonder aimlessly with your head hung low. A brisk breeze that brushes past you is what makes you finally look up.

You hug your shoulders as you stare at the gloomy airspace. The sun isn’t beaming, only a variation of different grey clouds flood the sky.

A person? This far out on in the woods?

Wanda thinks. She watches you with a deranged, curious look as you weave yourself through the webs and bushes, seemingly extra careful about tree roots.

You look up from the ground, scanning the area around you and pause when you see the warm glow of her cabin.

My god, she’s gorgeous.

She takes a swift step back so she’s not in the frame of the window anymore, her brows furrowing. She stares at the wall, she hasn’t seen an actual person in so long.

What is a girl like you doing traipsing in the woods?

She peeks again and now you’re making your way over, big wary eyes cautiously examining your surroundings. A shiver rocks through you as you cough into your elbow, then using that arm to place three firm knocks on the door.

You sigh while you wait for someone to answer the door. You switch from tippy toes to the heel of your feet in a nervous manner. The cabin looks great, almost pristine, there’s no way it’s abandoned.

You feel stupid for going into a cabin in the woods. It’s like some dumb movie; you’re just hoping you don’t end up dead. You expect to see an old, wrinkled man the size of a third grader, but your eyes widen when a tall red headed woman swings the door open. You stutter, stunned that a woman like her would live in a place so isolated.

Holy shit, she’s fine.

“Hi, um.. I know it’s a lot to ask but can I stay here for a little bit? I… got lost.” You fiddle with your fingers. She chuckles as she crosses her arms, biting her lip and letting her eyes run up and down your fidgety figure.

“No it’s not asking anything at all. It’s not like I get visitors very often.” She moves to the side and welcomes you in. You look up at her and mumble a small thank you, slowly stepping inside her warm homestead.

The smell of firewood burning and sweet lavender conquer your senses. The comforting atmosphere relaxes you despite how unfamiliar it is. You kick off your boots and grab them so you can neatly place them next to the door. She shuts the door and clicks it locked, quietly making her way over to what looks like her kitchen.

You drink in the sight around you. A tall, cobblestone fireplace lined up against the wall with wood already burning inside of it. A soft lounge suite with a fluffy mat sitting right underneath it. There’s a short hallway and two doors, one you assume leading into her bedroom and the other probably being her bathroom.

One thing you notice in particular is a painting, one with two women sitting on a red velvet couch. One is dressed in white, the other is dressed in black and they both have lace blindfolds wrapped around their heads.

Their Victorian dresses were detailed and long, their lips so close but afraid to touch and give in.

You look away and clench your fists. Your face is now hot, when you entered a remote cabin in the woods, a gay victorian painting was the last thing you expected.

“Take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” The woman’s hoarse voice echoes through the room. Your ears perk up when they catch a touch of an accent.

Is she some type of Russian? That’s hot.

Your anxious form shifts over to her couch to sit down. You sigh in relief, your aching bones melting into the man made cloud that was this woman’s sofa.

“So what’s your name, milaya?” The woman hands you a cup. Your cold fingers feel fuzzy against the hot mug, shuffling back further into her couch so you can sit up comfortably.

“Y/N. You?”

“Wanda.”

A small smile sits on her face that is on some level, disturbing. It’s such a beautiful smile but you can feel something is not right with her. Your intuition has never made itself more distinct, it was less noticeable when you were walking alone outside.

The room feels like it’s getting smaller, the claustrophobia whips the air right out of your lungs. Your eyes flicker between hers. The room starts to spin. Your ears start to ring. Before you could pass out cold, she cups your chin, the gentle gesture pulling you out of your panicked state.

“That’s a nasty cut isn’t it? Would you like me to take care of that?” She says, her tone coaxing. Your curious eyes linger on her,

Why is this stranger being so generous?

If someone entered your home and needed to stay the night, you’d tell them to get lost. She caresses your face softly while she stares at the wound.

“No it’s oka-“ She suddenly pushes a finger to the fresh cut, forcing you to wince and pull away from her. She looks at you in a way you can’t describe, your reaction seemingly piqueing her interest. Her pupils dilate but not enough for you to notice. You look at her with fearful eyes and think to yourself,

Who would do that?

“Actually, that would be nice. Thank you..”

~

Your eyes switch between the steaming drink in your hand and the obviously unhinged redhead sitting next to you. Her aura is intimidating, but you convince yourself it’s paranoia.

I’m in a remote cabin deep in the woods.

Who wouldn’t be unsettled? She’s nice and she helped you…stop being dumb Y/N!

“Thank you again for cleaning my cut, Wanda.” You try to strike up a conversation, but all you’re met with is painful silence. She watches your lips touch the ring of the porcelain teacup, then moving her eyes up to meet your own.

“You’re very observant aren’t you?” You refer to her endless stare, disguising your discomfort with a small chuckle. Her smile widens.

"Fascinuješ ma, miláčik.” “You fascinate me, darling.”

Your brows squeeze together. You wish you could understand what she said, but it felt rude asking her to repeat that in English. You result in shyly looking away and focus on your dangling feet.

Her hand occasionally runs down your back or strokes your arm. Her icy featherlight touches cause goosebumps to ride over your skin. She notices your eyes following her fingers, a mischief smirk hiking up her cheeks.

“You’re so lucky I’m here to help you, dear. What was a girl like you doing in the woods all alone?” Her hand lands on your knee, slowly climbing up closer to your heat and lightly massaging the flesh there. You squirm when she inches closer to your mound, but you’re in her home. She could do anything to you if you said something that upset her.

What if she’s just being nice? I don’t want to offend her…

“I- uh- I was hunting?” You try to paint yourself as tough but fail spectacularly; you can tell by the way she squints her eyes when she hears your answer.

“If that were true, you’d have hunting gear on you, sweetie.” She moves your hair to the other side of your neck to expose the milky skin there. She gawks at your neck like a predator creeping on her prey, ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

The thought of kissing and licking at your silky skin and the vivid image of you biting your plush pink lips made her tremble with desire.

You shrink, staring at the drink in your hands and feeling a strike of vulnerability as you quietly say the words, “I was chasing a bunny..”

“Aww aren’t you precious?” She praises. She toys with the soft threads of your hair, your cheeks glowing a rosy pink from her comment. Her hand squeezes your thigh more roughly, the unexpected act making you jump.

“Such a pretty thing.” She whispers to herself. You don’t catch her words, so you hum and tilt your head, showing your confusion in hopes she would repeat herself.

“Oh… nothing.” She quickly replaces her shock with a crooked grin. Your lips stretch into a small and nervous smile, slowly putting the cup to your mouth again.

A few more moments of silence are present. The crackling of burning wood and the crickets chirping in the distance gave you a chance to finally breathe, although you still struggle to ignore her invasive presence.

“Put the drink down.” You look at her in surprise. You stutter, taken aback by her orders but don’t dare ask any questions. You lick your lips and shuffle, leaning forward to sit the drink on her coffee table. You then move back against the couch and stare into the orange flames in front of you.

“Do you like when people are rough with you, angel?”

You freeze hearing her question. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear ever so gently, grinning when she sees the sheer terror written on your face. There was something eerie about the way she had asked you, a corrupted little twinkle beaming from her eyes.

“Well, no.. N-Not really why?” Your voice is shaking. You know for sure now that this woman is not in her right mind. She could be capable of doing anything and you wouldn’t expect it. She flashes you a charming smile as she continues to twirl and play with your hair, leaning closer to you before whispering,

“Can I tell you a secret?” Your breath hitches softly and your body tenses at the close proximity. You refuse to look at her. You cement your eyes to the flickering fire in front of you. Her hand smoothly travels from your thigh to the zip of your corduroy jacket, slowly pulling down at the metal teeth to reveal your white v-neck shirt and ruby necklace. The sound of your zipper in the unsettling silence makes your skin crawl. You could almost hear the ominous, suspenseful background music. You don’t know what would happen if you deny her, so you hesitantly nod your head.

“I like hurting people… Especially pretty toys like you. I haven’t done it in a long time though.” Her eyes hungrily take in your chilled expression. You gulp when she pulls the jacket off of your shoulders and throws to the side.

“I love to see girls cry, tears running down their sweet little faces…” Her hands rub your upper arms soothingly as she rubbed her nose into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent. You found yourself unable to move or respond, giving in to her game and listening to her sick train of thought.

“Can I make you cry, please, sweet girl?” She mumbles into your neck, gently nipping at the sensitive skin there. Your breathing becomes heavier, needing her so very badly you start to tune out the blaring alarms in your head.

“Wanda listen-” She moves on top of you. She situates herself between your legs giving you no chance to close them, running her hands up and down your thighs. It all happened so fast.

“Pretty please? You’d look so good..” She becomes breathless at the thought, lunging forward and forcefully pushing her lips onto yours. Her lips feel pillowy and soft against yours, she smells of sweet vanilla and a smoky but subtle cinnamon; the mix makes your brain go dizzy with want. She tangles her hands with yours so she can pin your frantic ones onto the couch. Butterflies dance in your stomach, adrenaline rushing through your veins. Her kiss is rough but somehow so soft at the same time, the conflicted feeling makes your heart flutter.

She puts all her body weight onto you, grinding her crotch into yours as she murmurs praises into your mouth. “You’re so fucking cute,” “It’s gonna feel so so good, just let me touch you..”

She slides her tongue across your lip, silently telling you to open your mouth. She angrily tightens her grip on your hands when you groan and clench your jaw shut, forbidding her access.

“Open your mouth, or I’ll find another way to make it stay open.” You whine quietly, slowly opening your mouth and letting her slide in. You whimper and squirm when her hands land on your hips, guiding you to grind against her knee.

“There you go, so so pretty grinding on me like that..” You grab handfuls of her sweater, the fabric of your cotton panties rubbing against you creating the perfect friction. You softly moan her name, back arching while hiding your face in her neck, ashamed how riled up you are from being taken advantage of. One of her hands move from your hip to your thigh, exploring the rest of your body before snaking up your stomach to grope at your breasts.

“Fuck,” She whimpers before biting down on your lip. She twists and teases your nipples between her fingers, feasting on the sight of your pathetic writhing.

“Wanda!” Your movements against her thigh become more frantic, so blissed out you couldn’t care about how needy and dumb you must look.

Your hands advance to her biceps, clutching onto her as you try reach the high you so deeply crave. Your heart thuds in your chest, sweat glistening on your forehead and gasping for air. Your tears soak her shirt, hating yourself for giving in to her but also not willing to stop.

“Cum, make a mess for me bunny..” Her hand grabs your chin and holds it still. You foolishly kept trying to turn your head, but your actions cease when her hand moves from your chin to wrap around your throat.

“Look at me when you cum.” She forces her face impossibly closer to yours, jutting out her jaw and admiring the sparkling tears falling from your eyes. Her breathing becomes ragged listening to your whines and sobs, the throb between her legs intensifying.

“I don’t want to..”

“I don’t care if you want to or not. I won’t let you move until you do.”

Your mouth falls open and your eyes roll to the back of your head, her cruel words somehow pushing you over the edge. Everything becomes white, your thighs shake and your body tenses. Waves of pleasure crash down on you, the euphoric feeling pulsing through you from head to toe.

She eagerly watches you fall apart from your first climax, knowing that she’s not even halfway done with you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes struggling to stay open and arms spread over the couch.

She carefully pushes her knee further into your pussy, your pleas and protests only making her more excited for what she plans next.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, angel.”

⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘

[yvvxs]

Quality Time...

↪ ft. argenti. aventurine. blade. boothill. caelus. dan heng & imbibitor lunae. dr ratio. gallagher. gepard. jing yuan. luka. luocha. sampo. sunday. welt.

Cleaning Argenti's ship with him, getting the dust out of the finer details alongside him. It would be a hassle usually, but it was much better when he was with you. You who were like an Emanator of Beauty to him, he could never get sick of you, or your presence.

Sitting beside Aventurine in the casino as he wins his 54th game of Blackjack that night. His arm wrapped around your waist, smiling and having fun together as you watch the endless riches flow into his bank account.

Going on a late night stroll with Blade. The city was busy and bustling, but that wasn't going to bother either of you. Just the two of you, no script to follow. No guards to seize him, he's in disguise anyways. No one will notice him through his... Sunglasses and mask. It'll work.. Neither are his companions or mara there to annoy him. Not now, as you enjoy each others' presence.

Running through the ships of the IPC with Boothill. The men shooting at the both of you. He has your back, so he won't let you get injured by some bullets. He even has time to taunt them with some famous dance moves as the two of you evade their attacks.

Digging through trash cans together with Caelus. He could care less about the crowds of people watching this. He was enjoying it, giving you little small trinkets he thinks you'd like. A toy that someone threw away, a bouquet from a rejected man.. A golden trash bag? Well, it's the thought that counts, right? It was cute just watching him dig through the bins to find something for you.

Staying up and updating the data bank with Dan Heng. The faint sound of machinery and typing the only sounds in the room. Other than the sound of pen on paper from when he writes something down. Alternatively, laying beside Imbibitor Lunae in his supposed bed. But it was so much comfier, especially when you were wrapped in the arms, and tail, of your boyfriend.

Reading a book with Dr. Ratio at the local library. A small treat for the both of you as he had just finished his lecture. Refreshing his own mind with both the intelligent writings, and your presence. At least he didn't have to deal with any idiots at the moment.

Learning to brew up some nice drinks with Gallagher. He shares his favorite brew with you, and you share your own concoction with him. Clinking your glasses together in a toast, drinking one anothers' mix of flavors.

Adopting some new plants with Gepard. Trying to get a nice flower to take care of together. Placing it in a nice flowerbed with some ferilizer, and watering them thoroughly. You'll have to teach him some tips and tricks to gardening. Or maybe you're learning alongside him too. Either way, it'll be fun taking care of a little plant baby together, don't you think?

Napping with General Jing Yuan at work. Sneakily giving him an excuse to slack off for a bit. They wouldn't dare disturb your slumber, would they? How cruel of them if they tried. Inhaling your scent as he buries his head into the crook of your neck. Drifting further into sleep in the comfort of your arms.

Watching Luka as he trains for his next match at the Fight Club. A moment just for the two of you to spend together. You motivating him to keep going and get stronger. To win even more battles. He couldn't do it without you.

Walking around the different stalls the Luofu offered with Luocha. Buying a few things from some merchants just for you. Away from any prying eyes, in a world made for just the two of you.

Carrying a few supplies for Natasha's clinic with Sampo. Being able to help the Underworld with him being an enjoyable task. Especially with him, who wouldn't be entertained by his presence? You knew you definitely were.

Having afternoon tea with Sunday. Away from the responsibilities of being the head of the Oak Family. Just a small quiet moment between the you and the halovian. Some sugar cookies going along with the drinks. He can't help but feel much better with you.

Sitting in the Astral Express carriage with Welt. Watching the stars fly by, the meteors go past the windows. Maybe looking up at the light shaped like a whale, reaching out for it while you lay your head on his lap. It was nice spending mundane moments with him, alongside the more fun and action-filed ones.

↪ I think having some quality time with them is nice :)

Masterlist || Do not repost nor feed to AI. Reblogs & Comments are much appreciated.