astreamofwishfulthinking

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Doodles for my latest Patreon character, Yandere! Rock Star Demon. Some headcanons can be found here. :)

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Ynghadin (Part 8)

Rating: Mature  Relationship: Female Elf/Male Minotaur  Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Husband, Interspecies Romance, Reader Insert, Minotaur, Manhwa Tropes, Second Person Perspective Content Warning: Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Kidnapping, Death, Murder, Abduction, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Words: 4981

After the ball, a sudden betrayal changes the reader's situation again. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Towns Masterlist

When you told your parents you had consented to marrying Ynghadin, your mother was overjoyed and hugged you excitedly. Your father was less so, but he congratulated you with a kiss on the cheek nonetheless. 

“Attention!” Your father commanded. “Your attention please!”

The room fell silent and the mass of people turned to face your father, who was standing on the dais with you, Ynghadin, and your mother.

“There have been rumors circulating that my young daughter,” He held his hand out to you, and you took it. “And Young Lord Elyngar are engaged. Allow me to set those rumors to rest. This evening, Young Lord Elyngar has earned the right to stand at my daughter’s side as her husband. As of this moment, the debutante ball of Naraiath Leonidas is now an engagement ball for her and her betrothed. Join me and my wife in congratulating them on their new life together and wish them, as we do, a bright and prosperous future!” 

Applause broke out around the ballroom, and though the attention embarrassed you, you were feeling giddy with happiness. Your father joined your hand with Ynghadin’s and the two of you stood side by side. He looked down at you with a joyous grin on his face, looking boyish and endearing.

After the announcement, you danced again with Ynghadin, feeling more at ease and confident in your steps. Then you had a dance with your father. 

“I dreamed of dancing with you at your debutante when you were little,” He told you. “For the longest time, I thought that dream would never come true. Thank you for making my dream a reality.” 

You smiled and ducked your head. “You made my dreams come true, as well. I wished and wished for a family growing up, and you had me found and gave me one. I owe you my thanks, too.” 

“Not at all,” He said. “It was the very least I could do. I love you very much, my child. I always have and I always will.” 

“Even when I’m married?” You asked him. 

“Of course, my dear,” He assured you. “Even when you’re married and an old, old woman, you’ll still be my little girl. Nothing will ever change that.” 

He spun you, and you felt lightheaded but in a good way, like you were floating. You could see Ynghadin watching with a gentle smile and your mother’s joyful, tear-stained face. You saw Aian, Corinn, and Patrina talking with big smiles on their faces as well. Clara and Reice stood at their stations, watching happily. Everyone you loved and who loved you was there, watching you have your first dance with your father and it felt like you couldn’t be happier if you tried. 

Dancing went on for some time, then the banquet was served in the main dining room. You managed to get through dining with the basics you were taught by your friends. After the dinner, the party moved back to the ballroom for desserts and cocktails, and then more dancing. The night ended sometime around midnight and, after bidding your parents a goodnight, Ynghadin escorted you back to your room with Clara trailing far behind to give you privacy. 

“Did you have fun?” He asked you, walking slowly with your arm around his. 

“So much fun,” You said, elated. “I was so nervous at first, but once I relaxed, it was wonderful.” 

“I’m so glad,” He said with a grin. “It almost makes me look forward to the next ball.” 

“Are you looking forward to being married?” 

“Of course!” He replied, looking happy. “I can’t wait. I’ve been preparing for this all my life and I’m downright ecstatic that it’s finally happening. Granted, we’ll still have to observe the customary one year engagement period that’s expected of nobles of our station now that you’ve said yes–that was stipulated in the engagement agreement that your parents filed with the court–but the year starts tonight. I still can’t believe you said yes. I was prepared to court you for years, if that’s what it took.” 

“Should we start planning tomorrow?” 

He shook his head. “No, no, there’s no reason to rush, we can take our time. I’m so happy to just be betrothed for real now. I mean, it’s been a rumor among the nobility since I was a teen and it's been on paper secretly for even longer, but it feels really real now that you’ve given your consent and it’s been publicly announced. Let’s take a moment to enjoy being engaged. We have all the time in the world.” 

You smiled. He was right, of course. There was plenty of time. 

The two of you reached the doors of your room and stood with each other, hand in hand, not wanting to say goodbye. Eventually, he sighed and bent down, kissing you, and excused himself. You bade him goodnight and let Clara usher you into your room. 

“What a night it has been!” Clara said, helping you pull off your gown. She took the handkerchief Ynghadin had given you and laid it on your night table. “You looked just stunning, My Lady, and it was so romantic watching you and Young Lord Elyngar dance together.”

“Thank you, Clara,” You said, letting her unwrap the numerous petticoats from your waist. “Did you get to dance?” 

“I was working, but…” She smiled a little coyly. “I did get a dance with a young groom from the stables. He’s very cute and takes direction well, which I like in a man.” 

You giggled. “He must be a good man if he earned your favor. You’re a good judge of character.” 

“Thank you for saying so, My Lady!” She said, grinning brightly. 

Clara helped you bathe and dress for sleep and tucked you in. After snuffing the lantern, she bade you goodnight and retired to her own room. You lay in bed, turning the events of the night over and over in your head, grinning. As you were about to fall asleep, however, a tapping on your door brought you back to awareness. Standing, you padded silently to the door and cracked it open. To your surprise, Corinn was standing there. 

“I’m sorry to bother you while you’re in your chambers,” She said. “But the girls and I had something planned to celebrate your first ball. Have you ever had a sleepover?” 

“No.” 

“It’s a fun thing friends do to get to know each other better,” She said. “We’ve already cleared it with your parents. Aian and Patrina and I want to have a sleepover with you in one of the garden greenhouses. Want to come?” 

Delighted, you nodded and ran to get your dressing gown. Throwing it on, you followed Corinn down the hall and to the second floor. There was a covered walkway above the garden path that led down to the greenhouses. 

“Look!” Corinn said. “They’re already in there!” 

You looked at one of the greenhouses and saw a person holding a candle, moving around. You smiled, looking forward to a new experience. You wondered what people did a sleepovers.

“Before we go down, though,” Corinn said. “I want to apologize to you.” 

“Apologize?” You echoed. “For what?” 

“I want you to know this isn’t personal,” Corinn said, scrunching her shoulders up almost shyly. “But… I saw him first.” 

“Saw who first?” 

“You know who. Elyngar.” 

You turned back to look at her, and her face had changed. It was sharp, angry, and full of hate. The world seemed to stop spinning suddenly. You sensed that something terrible was about to happen, but your brain wasn’t catching up and you couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. 

“...what?” 

Abruptly, Corinn pushed you. With a gasp, you fell backward out of the window. You tumbled through the air, bracing to hit the ground, but instead you fell on something less hard than the ground but still hard enough to knock the wind out of you. You were fortunate you landed on your back and not your neck or head.

“Hello, bitch,” You heard a voice say. Terror gripped your insides and you opened your eyes to see Marcus standing there with rope and a knife. A sword was slung around his belt, and you recognized it as belonging to one of the knights in the manor: their swords were identical and were part of their uniforms. He knelt down and began tying your hands. “You got away from me for a while, but it was only a matter of time before I got my plaything back. You’ll never be free of me, you little piece of shit. You belong to me forever, never forget that.” 

You managed to get your breath back and took a big, deep breath, preparing to scream, but Marcus grabbed you by the throat, squeezing hard enough to completely cut off your air supply. You clawed at his hands, but he wouldn’t let go. Tears streamed down your face. You stopped struggling, knowing he wouldn’t stop unless you did, and he finally loosened his grip. You gasped for air and rubbed your throat. 

He slapped you hard, disorienting you, and picked you up bodily, walking toward a trunk he had set aside. You saw that you had fallen into a large pile of linens someone had thrown on the ground under the window. Looking up, you caught a brief glimpse of Corinn, who was watching from the second story window she’d pushed you out of, her face stony. Then he put you in the trunk, the lid closed, and the world was dark. 

You felt the trunk being picked up and tossed into something, likely a cart or carriage, and the shifting as Marcus climbed on. 

“You got fat, bitch,” He said snidely. “I almost couldn’t pick the damn trunk up. You must have been living high on the hog with those fuckers. Not anymore. You won’t be perfect again until I can pick you up by the neck with one hand, just like old times.” 

You whimpered from inside the trunk before slapping a hand over your mouth and remembering that he didn’t like it when you made sounds. The cart lurched forward and began to move, taking you away from your home and back toward a living hell to which you hoped you’d never return. 

After quite a long time–you couldn’t tell how much, just that it felt like years–the cart stopped. Marcus hopped down from the cart and knocked on something, you supposed was a door. The door opened, and you heard him speaking in an undertone to someone. 

“Where the hell have you been?!” You immediately recognized Lady Laudmoor’s voice. “I’ve been waiting here for half a day!”

“It took a while, alright?” He said. “I had to slip the guards!”

“You idiot, it was hardly difficult with all the guests there! The guards are stretched thin with the ball going on, you had plenty of time to get away. You’re making excuses.” 

“Whatever,” Marcus said. “I got her. I’m getting her back to the guildhouse and then we’re on a boat to the north continent as soon as I can get to the coast.” 

“You were supposed to kill her!” Lady Laudmoor said. “You were supposed to kill her eighteen years ago, not turn her into some sort of toy for your own amusement! The whole point was to destabilize the duchy and have them fall out of favor with the king. You were supposed to kill her and send her head to the duchy as proof! That’s what I paid you for!” 

Your heart dropped. Laudmoor had paid Marcus to kidnap and kill you? Why? What had you ever done to her? 

“Your vendetta against the duchy has nothing to do with me,” Marcus argued. “Once she was in my possession, she was my property and mine to do with as I wished. That hasn’t changed. I’m taking her abroad this time, so there’s no possibility she’ll make it back.”

“You don’t know that!” Lady Laudmoor said. “You promised me you were going to take care of it and you didn’t!”

“We gotta go,” You heard another voice say. You recognized it as one of Marcus’s men. You’d thought they had all been killed, but apparently some slipped through. “It’s not long till morning, and they’ll figure out the pissant is missing before long and come after us.” 

“He’s right,” Marcus said. “Let’s get moving.” 

“No!” Lady Laudmoor said. “Kill her! Kill her right now!” 

“Fuck off, woman,” Marcus said, and you heard the sounds of someone being pushed to the ground. He walked up to the trunk and opened it, yanking you out of it. You were standing on a road outside of the city, quite a distance away from the walls, next to an abandoned shack. Laudmoor was indeed there with you, sitting on the ground looking disheveled and put out. You were on a bit of a hill, so you could see the city walls in the distance, but they seemed so far away. You wondered when they would realize you were gone and how far away you’d be when they did. You wondered if you’d ever see any of them again. 

“We’re taking a horse, it’ll be faster,” Marcus said to his man, and then he shook you by your arm. “You say anything to anyone, you make so much as a peep, and I’ll kill you, you understand me, bitch?” 

You almost nodded. You almost agreed to his demands, but… the thought of going back to the hell you lived before made you want to die. You couldn’t go back. You knew what it felt like to be happy, and you couldn’t live with the memory of it so far out of reach again. You wanted to go home. You wanted your parents. You wanted Ynghadin. If you couldn’t have them, then what was the point in living?

“Do it,” You said. “Kill me. Please just kill me.” 

He looked like you had hit him and seemed struck dumb. You’d never said anything like that to him and it seemed to surprise him. He recovered quickly enough and punched you in the mouth, splitting your lips open. You fell to the ground, and he kicked you in the face, breaking your nose. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He screamed at you. “You’re mine, you little shit! If I kill you, I’ll do it because it’s what I want. And I don’t want that yet. I want you to scream!” He kicked you again. “I want you to feel every pain imaginable!” And again. “You don’t get to die, you get to suffer!”

“Why?” You asked, sobbing, blood pouring from your mouth and nose. “Why do you want me to suffer? What did I do to deserve this?” 

“You were born!” He spat at you, bending over to shout down at you. “You and every other piece of shit noble! All of you assholes deserve pain and suffering! You have no idea what I endured when I was written out of my family! If you hate what I am, you only have yourself and your fellow shithead nobles to blame! You did this to me!” 

“I never did anything to you!” You cried. “I was just a baby!”

He knelt down, straddling you, and began to punch you in your stomach and head over and over. 

“Stop! Talking! Back! To me!” He shouted, punctuating every word with another strike. 

You shielded your head as best you could, but it didn’t make much difference. Your consciousness was wavering in and out, and you were worried he was doing serious damage to your brain, but the concern was secondary to trying to stay awake. You came back to awareness to someone shouting.

“They’re coming, you need to go now!” Marcus’s colleague said, rushing to hand him the reins of a horse. “Go, go!” 

Marcus climbed up on the horse and hauled you up after him. Turning, you saw shining specks in the night moving swiftly and getting closer by the second. Behind those specks was a cloud of sorts, like a swarm of bees, hurtling forward against the dark backdrop of the landscape. You couldn’t tell what it was, just that it was rapidly approaching. You heard someone yelling in the distance, and you recognized Ynghadin’s voice instantly. You couldn’t make out what he said, but you knew he was calling out to you. 

“Ynghadin!” You screamed, shredding your vocal cords in your desperation. Marcus punched you in the side. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He kicked the sides of the horse, and it took off, almost knocking you down from it, but you didn’t stop screaming. You decided that you weren’t going to submit like you used to, you didn’t want to go back to the cubby. You didn’t want to live life in the dark. So you fought. You yelled, struggled, kicked, bit, and slapped at Marcus. He wasn’t used to you fighting him and fought to keep control of you and the horse, slapping and hitting you back. At some point, you managed to throw him off balance and the both of you tumbled to the ground. The horse kept going without you. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, pulling you up hard by an arm hard enough to fracture it. “Let’s go!” 

“No!” You said, yanking your arm in an attempt to break free. “Let me go!” 

“Stop fighting me, bitch!” He said, pulling you toward him and kneeing you in the stomach. You fell to the ground, unable to breathe. 

“Marcus! Stop right there, you cur!” You heard your father say distantly, and you looked up in hope. In the distance, much closer now and coming fast, was your mother, father, and Ynghadin, all riding horses and barrelling toward you as if the devil himself was chasing them. Behind them, an entire battalion of armed men rode at breakneck speed, trying to get to you. You shook off the pain of the blow and got back to your feet, preparing to run.

“Fine!” Marcus said, grabbing your arm and turning you to look at him. “You want to die?! Then die!” And he pulled his sword and, with no hesitation, ran it through your ribs. 

A chorus of voices shouted “NO!” and you fell, your breathing stuttered. You were struggling to get air into your lungs, the one on the left feeling like it had inhaled fire. You felt a sucking sensation in your chest and an inability to get breath in. 

Men jumped out of the trees, roaring and heading toward the battalion, trying to halt their progress. Ynghadin threw men out of his way, trying to reach you. Marcus pulled his sword from your body and rushed him, wielding his it desperately as if making his last stand. Their swords clashed, and Ynghadin was trying to move past him, his eyes on you, but Marcus kept getting in his way, attempting to engage him in combat. 

“Let her die!” Marcus screamed at him. “She’ll be mine forever!”

“Get out of my way, you crazy asshole!” Ynghadin shouted, grabbing Marcus by the face and hurling him backwards. Ynghadin dashed toward you, dropping his sword, kneeling and trying to stem the flow of blood from your chest with his hands. 

“Oh, gods,” He wheezed, panicking. “Stay with me, sweetheart, don’t leave me. I only just got you back, I can’t lose you again.” 

You gasped wetly and heard a squelching sound. Blood bubbled from the wound under his hands. You tried to speak but couldn’t pull in enough breath to form words. 

Ynghadin turned and shouted, “I need help!” to the wall of men fighting each other. He turned back to you. “Please don’t leave me, stay with me, please.” 

Marcus’s face appeared behind Ynghadin, whose focus was solely on you, and he grinned hideously. Your eyes widened and you tried so hard to speak, to move, to breathe, to warn Ynghadin, but nothing worked. As you watched, Marcus shoved the sword into Ynghadin’s back, the tip of which protruded through his stomach. Ynghadin grunted in surprise, looking down. Marcus pulled the sword back out, and Ynghadin fell forward on his face, still careful not to fall on you. You wanted to scream and cry, but nothing came out except for your tears.

Marcus laughed like a madman, holding his sword in the air in triuph. He took a step toward you, raising his sword to finish either you or Ynghadin off for good. Without warning, his head detached from his body, rolling off into the underbrush, and he slid sideways to the ground. Your mother stood behind him, wielding a bloodied glaive, breathing heavily and eyes wide with terror. 

Your father rushed to you and fell to his knees next to you with tears in his eyes, moving his hands strangely over your body and muttering words you couldn’t understand. A light emanated from them and you felt a flush of warmth. 

No! You thought. Not me! Save Ynghadin! Memories of Yngan’s death flooded your vision and you couldn’t bear the thought that Ynghadin would die saving you as well. You struggled and strained to reach him, but your mother and father held you in place, urging you to be still. 

With effort, Ynghadin rolled on his side, able to look at you. He lifted his bloody hand and caressed your face. 

“I love you,” He rasped, and you laid your hand over his, sobbing, willing him not to die. Despite your wishing, his eyes closed and his hand went limp. You wanted to wail in despair but your vision was tunneling. The sound of the battle going on around you tuned out. You could hear your mother and father shouting your name, but it was distant, as if from somewhere far below you. You lamented leaving them behind, but you lost consciousness hoping that you’d be reunited with Ynghadin in death. 

You awoke in your bed. It was dark; the curtains were drawn and only a single candle flickered on the night table. You could breathe but with difficulty, making a rasping sound with every breath. One eye was swollen shut, and you tasted blood in your mouth. Your body hurt, but the worst of it was your chest, which was wrapped in something, and the arm that Marcus kept yanking on, which was in a sling. You moaned in pain, and in a flash, Clara was there. 

“You’re awake!” She said. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. “Oh, thank heavens! I’ll get the doctor!” And she dashed off. You wanted to tell her to wait and ask her how Ynghadin was, but you still couldn’t speak. Did they know about Lady Laudmoor? What about Corinn? Was she still in the manor, or had she fled back home? You needed to tell them about all the players in this scheme, but how would you do that if you couldn’t speak? You didn’t know how to spell their names, so you couldn’t write it down. 

Dr. Reenav dashed into the room and checked you. You tried to sit up, but he urged you to be still. 

“You mustn’t move, My Lady,” He insisted. “You’re suffering from severe pneumonia and a collapsed lung. You have a tube inserted to keep your lung inflated, so you must try to limit your movement.” 

You struggled to speak, tears pricking your eyes. 

“I know it’s difficult, but you mustn’t try to speak, either,” He said. “Your vocal cords are quite raw and inflamed. You could do further damage.” 

You shook your head, desperate to say anything, to get them to tell you Ynghadin’s condition, at the very least. Was he alive? Had you lost him? 

“Young Lord Elyngar is alive,” Clara said, seeing your distress. “He’s in critical condition, but he still lives.” 

You let your head fall back onto the pillow, weeping tears of relief. You nodded, thankful. Clara patted your hand and cried with you. In that moment, you lost consciousness again. 

When you awoke again, your father was sitting next to you. He was sitting in one of your lounging chairs with his elbows resting on the bed, his head in his hands. You lifted your arm to reach for him, but he was sitting just slightly too far away. He did, however, sense the movement and his head shot up. 

“My baby,” He breathed, standing and taking your hand. “My gods, you’re awake. You’ve been asleep for days, we were so scared you’d never wake up again.” 

You were still struggling for breath, but it wasn’t as bad as the last time you woke up. You opened your mouth to speak, but only a squeak and a rasp came out, no words. 

“Try not to speak,” He told you, stroking your head. “Save your strength.” 

You shook your head. Corinn. They needed to know Corinn was involved. She almost got Ynghadin killed, you couldn’t forgive her for that. 

“It’s alright,” He said. “Marcus is dead and Laudmoor is in custody. His Majesty has arrived and will decide her fate soon. You won’t need to testify.” 

You shook your head more fervently. 

“What are you saying, my child?” He asked, caressing your face. “What has you so distressed?” 

You gasped for air and forced it through your vocal cords. 

“Another…” You croaked. “There’s another…” 

“Another?” He asked. “There’s another person involved, you mean?” 

You nodded emphatically. 

“Who?” He asked urgently. “Who else is responsible?” 

“Co…Cor..rinn…” You managed to say before losing all your strength and falling back against the pillows, exhausted. 

“Corinn?” Your father said, his brow furrowing. “Your friend, Corinn?” 

You nodded, and your father’s face hardened and he stood, letting go of your hand. 

“I’ll take care of it, my precious girl,” He swore. “Rest easy. She won’t get away with this.” 

You nodded again, and passed out once more.

Opening your eyes, light was filtering in through the curtains in your room. The first thing you saw out of the open windows were the miniature roses in their pretty pots, dancing in the breeze. Tears came to your eyes. You could breathe, and the pain was greatly reduced. You coughed, and the taste of blood was absent. Carefully, you tested your voice. 

“Hello?” You said, your voice scratchy.

“Miss!” Clara said, coming in from the closet, carrying a long nightgown. “Oh, thank goodness. You’ve been asleep for so long. I was just about to change you.” 

“How long was I unconscious?” 

“Six weeks,” She replied, laying the gown on the bed and coming close to feel your forehead. “You’ve had an awful fever for ages. The mage had to put you in a sort of stasis to allow you to heal; you’d have starved otherwise.”

“What about Ynghadin? Is he alright?” 

Clara grimaced. “His injuries were much worse than yours. Many of his internal organs were cut through and he contracted a terrible infection. If not for the efforts of both Dr. Reenav and the family’s mage, he’d have died.” 

“But he’s alive?” 

“Yes, but he’s still in terrible condition. He’ll need months of recovery.”

“Has he awoken at all?” 

“A few times,” She admitted. “But only long enough to ask after you.” 

“Can I see him?” 

“I’d have to ask the doctor,” She said. “Wait here.” 

Dr. Reenav came to examine you at Clara’s urging. You were cleared to get up and move around for the first time since being returned, as long as you were careful and didn’t exert yourself. Clara and the doctor helped you make the trip toward Ynghadin’s room. 

He lay in his bed, shirtless, covered with blankets and the curtains to his bed pulled back to allow sunlight to hit him. He seemed much smaller than he had when you last saw him, having lost some of his muscle tone during his recovery. He didn’t wake when you arrived or when you touched his face or when your tears fell against his bare chest. Clara sat a chair next to the bed for you and you fell into it. The doctor and Clara stepped out to give you privacy, although the door stayed open.

You felt so helpless since all you could do was sit next to him and weep. You took his hand in yours and pressed it to your lips. 

“I love you, too,” You whispered to him. “I love you so much.” 

“And aren’t I just the luckiest man in the world?” You heard him say quietly. 

You shot up and looked at his face. His eyes were half open, squinting with pain, but he was awake and looking at you. You dissolved into tears and sobbed on his chest. 

“Hey now,” He said, lifting an arm to drape over your back, though he had no strength to hold you. “Shh, shh shh. It’s alright. You’re not rid of me yet.” 

“I thought you were dead,” You wept. “I thought I got you killed. I was so scared I would never see you again. Like Yngan.” 

“It’s alright, my love,” He said. “It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. None of them can. You’re safe. Look at me.” 

You stood up straight so you could look him in the face, and he smiled at you, cradling your face with his hands. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” He said. “It’s been so long.” 

“Me too,” You told him, bending down to kiss his lips. “I missed you.” 

“Likewise,” He replied, returning your kiss. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m better,” You said. “You have to get better too.” 

“It’s a promise,” He said with a smile. “And I always keep my promises.” 

You nodded, laughed through your tears, and kissed him again.

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My Masterlist

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[astreamofwishfulthinking]

I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEADING—NO BEGGING FOR MORE LANGUAGE BARRIER STUFF.

a/n: okay, okay! inspiration hit, here it goes! a little addition to this snippet. @bingeingtillie you asked to be tagged for this! content: angst, dark fantasy vibes (a bit of beauty and the beast, too?)

You are left imprisoned for who knows how long, and an invisible servant gives you food three times a day to keep you alive. Why? For how long? What are you punished for? You have food, water, and a comfortable place to sleep. But this is no life to live.

You wait for your opportunity. Once the next tray of food is pushed inside your room, you desperately wedge your leg to stop the door from closing. "Wait! What is going on? Let me out!"

The monster on the other side pushes your foot away so that they can close the door again. You bang on the door, screaming, but in the end, it's all futile. You lie on the floor and cry yourself to sleep.

At some point, the door opened again. You raise your head, alarmed, and see him - the one who tried to violate you. It's hard to read his expression. He closes the door behind him and kneels in front of you. Slowly, like you're an unfamiliar animal, he tries to touch your shoulder. You pull away, even though you are aware he might negatively react like the last time.

As you expected, he growls. But instead of doing something violent, he hides his face in his palms, his shoulders dropping. You can hear some words, too muffled to grasp. You bite your finger; he was rough the last time, but not exactly aggressive. Maybe he was trying to—

As quick as lightning, he grabs you by the wrist. You yelp, startled, and try to break free, but his fingers are too strong. However, instead of a cruel or bloodthirsty expression, there is a dejected one.

He pulls your hand onto his thick neck, just below his apple. His skin is hot under your fingertips, blood rushing through his arteries in fast beats. His hold on your wrist is strong, and he doesn't let you move away; he firmly presses your palm against his windpipe. You look at him.

He is... worried. Makers, is he scared of you? No, it can't be. Still, he grips your wrist adamantly, with anxiety in his eyes. There is something so... intimate about this. You are holding his neck like you want to hurt him, and he lets you. He seems so torn, so vulnerable. He doesn't fight or snarl; he's not angry with you. Is that what he's trying to tell you?

After swallowing hard, you take his other hand, so big and callused, unsure of what you're doing, and place it against your neck. You are now kneeling, facing and mirroring each other, in this delicate pose, like lovers. Something changes. He exhales before releasing your wrist. You do the same, and his knuckles gently brush against your jaw, down your shoulder, and arm before touching each of your fingers individually. There is an excited glimmer radiating from his alien face. Does he want you to... touch him?

You start playing with his fingers, just like he did, and move your hand further up his arm. He observes you patiently as you explore his strange body and muscles, and he doesn't object to anything you do. To the contrary, the more you do it, the more pleased he seems. As if your touch is magical, he removes pieces of clothes and fabrics to give you access to his skin. He is handsome, strong, so different than any human you've ever met. As if you are involved in a strange ritual, he is stripping before you, exposing himself.

Why is this exciting to you? Why do you feel warm? Why do you want to caress every part of him, no matter how obscene it seems? Especially now that his excitement is visible beneath his clothes.

"I think I know what you want from me," you say, and his ears perk up, "but I'm not sure I can give it to you." You pull back, hiding your fists against your chest, cowering from him.

The surprise, the disappointment, the sheer devastation break across his face. His clawed hand surges toward you, but stops once he sees something in your eyes. The monster's head falls down, and he snarls wildly, exposing his sharp teeth. His mighty wings flare out, covering your room from wall to wall, and he howls from anger. The next second, he's gone, his clothes abandoned on the floor of your cell.

But the door is left open...

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Jersey Yikes

Preview— Patreon Exclusive

Orc x fem!reader— many many orgasms, breeding, semi-public sex, marking, scenting, bondage (w/jersey), oral (receiving), gentle choking, gagging (w/jersey), overstimulation, dumbification, light degradation and praise, knotting, creampie

Orc Hockey Player rustles through the mess on his desk, cursing under his breath, the minutes ticking down faster and faster till he’s officially late for practice. Hes never late. And as captain that wouldn’t be the best look if he started now.

He briefly notes the soft click of the bathroom door behind him and the way the hair on the back of his neck stands up, prickling in awareness. You’ve just walked in and yet his body already calls for you again— which is the whole reason he’s about to be late to begin with.

“Hey, baby, have you seen my jersey—“ he asks as he whirls around to face you in a panic.

Only to stop short once he sees you standing there in nothing but said jersey. The long fabric falling just above your knees and hugging your plump curves so beautifully. Saliva pools in his mouth and his cock twitches with a renewed interest that’s hard to ignore.

Alarm bells ring in ear, reminding him again that he’s about to be late. How could he deny you looking like this though? Which is more than likely exactly what you intended with this little stunt of yours. His brow quirks as he sends you a hard look and you mirror it in a silent challenge.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, naughty girl,” he growls, slowly stalking toward you.

You lift your chin with an air of indifference but you’re stepping back till he slams his hand against the wall next to your head, caging you in with no chance of escape.

The sharp sound makes you jump but then his body is right there, pressing tight against yours. You feel him everywhere and the desire to have him back inside you claws at you, making the tension so much hotter.

“And fuck me for being unable to resist you anyway,” he snaps as he finally breaks down.

With that he swoops down and steals your lips in a claiming kiss. You shiver against him, moaning wantonly, clenching around nothing and pushing more of his last load out of your spent cunt as if making room for another. His hands immediately go to your body, groping and squeezing at your breasts, marking every inch of you.

When you think he’s about to take you into his arms he wraps his jersey around his fist as fast as lightning and jerks the fabric back, making your large curves all the more prominent before using his hold to throw you back on the bed. You squeal as you bounce against the soft surface; then you blink and suddenly he’s back on top of you.

“If I’m missing practice for this then I better make sure to get my workout in.”

This is a Patreon exclusive fic so you'll only be able to read it there! Check it out if you're interested in reading the entire fic and many more. I have a ton of other exclusive and early access fics that you can read there too!!

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

need to catch my breath

it seemed like a nice idea going swimming with your nieces. they’d just built a new slide at the local water park and it’d give your sister a few hours free to herself for the first time in too long.

it’s just once you got there, it felt like someone was watching you as soon as you stepped through the door.

you tried to shrug it off when you payed and again when you got the girls in their own changing room, but you couldnt help how it got you feeling self-conscious in your swimsuit. floating in the lazy river you’d felt the need to cross your arms over your chest and stomach and again while watching the girls from the side as they played on the smaller slides; you wished you'd brought your towel out onto the chair to lay over your lap.

you caught sight of a lifeguard walking past more often than you’d thought was usual or necessary given your spot at the shallow end of the pool, but the thought didn’t linger when your nieces tried to start a splash war. if the staff were being extra vigilant while it was busy over the holidays then you wouldn’t be complaining, and the required uniform consisting of red shorts and a tight white tee were particularly flattering on the tall, tattooed worker you’d seen lingering around most.

by time the kids were pruny and tired, you were just as ready to leave, so you herded them to the changing rooms to get dressed.

“dry off as much as you can girls, we don’t want your clothes getting soaking wet,” you said and then muttered quietly to yourself. “or my car seats.”

“can we go to maccies on the way home?” your eldest niece asked. you could already picture her wide eyes and exaggerated pout.

“pleaaaaseee,” the youngest added, whining through the thin walls of the changing rooms.

you snorted, remembering doing the same with your sister when you were their age.

“fine. if you’re done quick, i’ll get you both a mcflurry,” you said, knowing you’d take them even if they were in there messing for another hour.

you pulled out your dry clothes and set them aside on the bench, looking for your underwear first. you frowned when you couldn’t see them even though you remembered putting them near the top. oh well, maybe you’d shuffled it all around when you grabbed your wallet from your bag to buy a snack for the girls halfway through the swim.

you set everything out of your bag and felt a bit of panic build when your panties simply weren’t there. a pang of embarrassment filled you as you imagined they’d fallen out without your realising; you ducked and looked at the floor outside near the lockers you’d used, but couldn’t see anything lying in a little clump.

fuck. part of you was tempted to stay in your full swimming costume just so you weren’t going bare beneath the flowy summer dress you’d worn out, but it was a full one-piece and it’d soon soak through the top half of your dress as well as the arse when you sat in the car.

you could just go through the drive-thru at mcdonald’s but you knew the girls would like the extra time out of the house, an added excitement of getting to gab over their happy meals toys, and it’d give your sister that precious extra half an hour.

going in soaking wet at the tits and arse wasn’t an option, and if you suddenly felt too self-conscious winnie the pooh-ing it - even when it was a knee length dress and not a little red crop top like the yellow bear rocked - then you could go drive through last minute and at least your swimming cozzie wouldn’t be visible through the top half.

you swore under your breath as you made the decision and got changed quickly when you heard your nieces giggle in the stall next door.

——

simon noticed the tense way you held yourself as you left. the scrunch of your shoulders and the quick, small steps you took were an easy clue as to what decision you’d made after he’d broken into your locker while you’d been busy swimming.

he grunted a quick, “goin’ on break,” to johnny as he passed the front desk and scanned his card on the way out of the side staff exit. grabbing his pack of cigs from his locker, he moved quick to make sure to catch you at the front in time.

the sound of his lighter flicking gained your attention as the two girls ran ahead to the car, excitedly chatting with one another.

you smiled politely at him and waved when he lifted one hand, the other shoving his lighter back into his left pocket. at the same moment that you lifted your hand from where it had been stiffly held by your side, a brisk wind picked up and lifted the front of your dress, the flowing skirt flashing him for two seconds that felt closer to an eternity before you slapped your hands down over the material.

he bit hard into the butt of his cig to keep from smiling too wide at the clear view of bush and cunt and thighs that he’d gotten, knowing you were mortified from your wide eyes and the swift duck of your head as you quickly made your way back towards the car the two girls were now stood next to. your hands were clenched tight in the skirt holding it close by your sides until you pulled your car keys from your bag and got the two sisters settled in the back.

simon closed his eyes and rested his head back against the brick, trying to replay the memory over and over in his head until it was burnt into his eyelids. the drop of your mouth, the gasp he heard on the wind, the flustered movements of your hands as you scrambled to right yourself in front of this hulking stranger.

he could be happy with the memory alone if he had to be. and he would have to be.

his plan of calling over and offering swimming lessons for your two brats was kaput after you practically sprinted away from him, the humiliation too much for you despite how delicious he’d found it. he’d have to trade in the possibility of seeing you again any time soon for the immediate satisfaction of seeing you bare in the sunlight.

he let out a long breath, smoke furling between his crooked, teeth.

“i’m so sorry.”

his eyes snapped open and he lifted his head from the brick to look down at you.

skittishly you shifted from one foot to the other, your hands still held firmly at your sides, keeping your dress stable, though your bag was no longer hooked across your chest. his eyes flicked to the car and back.

“i-i just wanted to apologise an-and explain,” you continued when he stayed silent. “i didn’t realise it was windy and i’m not purposely… i don’t do that. not weari—“

“you don’t go ‘round flashing ya cunt to every stranger havin’ a fag?” he asked caustically, smile just bringing to peel at one corner of his mouth.

“no,” you answered, still meek from the ebbing embarrassment, but slowly and visibly growing pissed off at his less-than-sympathetic response. “i don’t.”

“hmm. just for me then.” he smiled around his cigarette when you sputtered and frowned, doing your best to reiterate that this was an accident, and that your underwear had gone missing, and you’d just meant to wave at him politely.

the pair of knickers you were missing burnt a hole in simon’s back pocket as you spoke and he had to resist the urge to stick his hand in and rub the silky material between his fingers, to pretend the warmth that had seeped from his own body was fresh from yours instead, as though you’d only just taken them off.

he could imagine the outrage that’d twist your features if he brought them out to take a deep whiff in the car park right now. he’d originally thought you’d get upset, rush back to your car and ring in a complaint from the safety of your home, but the fire hidden behind your eyes when he’d barked at you had him thinking now that you’d maybe try to snatch them back from him.

he stayed still.

“that’s bad luck that, love. y’should keep better care of your things in the future. wouldn’t want this happenin’ again, would we?”

he could see the way you seethed as you stood facing him, hands in fists by your sides, no longer flat against the material of your dress but scrunching it up in order to keep calm. cute.

“i’m not usually so clumsy,” you found yourself explaining. you don’t know where the need to defend yourself to him came from, but the words kept forcing themselves from your mouth before you had the chance to think, to just leave again.

he hummed and dropped the fag to the floor, scuffing it under his trainer without taking his eyes off of you.

“might be able to help you out. we’ve got a lost n’ found. could be in there if you’ve got five minutes,” he said, his eyes drifting back to your car again. “we find all sorts.”

you checked over your shoulder but both of your nieces were watching their ipads in the back seat still. you pressed the lock button on the keys and watched the car lights flash and nodded to him. “five minutes.”

you moved to walk back to the front entrance, but he huffed and nodded over his shoulder to the staff exit around the side of the building.

“this way’s quicker,” he said and turned around the corner into the shade, knowing you’d follow him. he subtly checked over his shoulder to see you were within arms reach and not in the immediate eye line of anyone in the car park and turned around in your path so you had to stumble to a stop or smack into him.

“what’s—“

his broad hands spanned your ribs and pushed you towards the wall of the building. you let out a soft oomph as your head grazed the brick and gasped again when simon dipped down to kiss you before you could say a word.

the sting of pain was quickly forgotten in lieu of his tongue forging its way forward between your teeth and carving a place for itself beside your own, as if it belonged in your mouth just as rightfully.

your fists beat against his heavy chest and pushed to gain some breathing room, but he crowded further forward and slipped his hands towards your front, pinning you in place and giving him access to your breasts.

he pawed at you, squeezing heavy handedly and thumbing roughly at your nipples beneath your dress. he swallowed your moans with a panting desperation and groaned wetly against your lips when he pulled a nervous squeak from you, pinching a touch too hard.

your own hands had stopped attempting to push him away and had twisted into the stretched material of his lifeguard shirt, tugging him forward as you arched up into his hold. all thoughts of ‘just five minutes’ had left you.

simon’s hands trailed lower, down your ticklish sides and towards your plentiful arse. he tugged the dress up roughly, but when it caught on the wall, he span the pair of you so he was the one leant back with you stood between his legs.

with your dress hiked up around your waist, your lower half was bare and free for anyone that may walk around the corner to see.

he’d kissed you stupid, keeping you pliant and wanton in his arms enough that you didn’t smack his hands away and cover yourself back up, you didn’t even spare a thought to the possibility of one of his coworkers stepping out of the door directly to your left.

simon squeezed your plump cheeks and chuckled when you tugged at his shoulders in response. one of his hands slipped lower, between your legs from the back, and he ran two fingers through the drenched lips of your pussy, skirting pressure at the entrance just to hear you whine.

you sucked on his lower lip, running your tongue over the rough texture of the thick scar that ran through it and continued down his chin and hummed in pleasure.

you were hot and sticky between your thighs just like simon had imagined and as badly as he wanted to fall to his knees to catch a proper taste of you, he knew gaz would come looking for him after he heard simon had gone on break from johnny, so he needed to hurry this up.

his fingers dragged a glob of your arousal back up to your arsehole and he pressed insistently for moment, listening to you keen and pant against his neck. your hips pushed against his, trying to run from his probing finger and rub your clit against his thick bulge.

he let you go, pulling his hand back to slap your arse with a resounding crack and laughing at the low, surprised moan you let out against his damp skin.

“you should probably get the brats home, yeah? need to get back to their dad, d’ya?” he crooned, a touch condescending and mean, the thought of another faceless man getting to touch you only serving to rile him up.

you shook your head and dragged your nose across his shoulder as you tried to gain steady footing. “they’re my sister’s,” you explained croakily. you shook your head again, this time to clear it, and pushed away from his chest.

he took the opportunity to duck down for one last all encompassing kiss, his tongue slipping back into place alongside yours in a flash. he pulled back with a bite to your lip and a string of spit connecting you.

he could feel the flustered heat coming off of you in waves from your face and you mumbled against his lips, “i should go. i’ve got the kids in the car. i should—”

he pet along your side, digging his fingers into your soft curves.

“aren’t y’sweet for caring for ‘em, taking ‘em out like this,” he cooed. “shame i can’t pamper ya for it right now, eh? i’ll just have to do it another time.”

you sucked in a shaky breath as he sucked his two glistening fingers into his mouth with a loud slurp before he hammered in the final nail to your coffin.

“could maybe be convinced to put one of your own in ya even.”

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

At a motel rn, the guy at the front desk was really nice and pretty charming so I think it's worth imagining a monster motel. For monsters and a human who can afford nothing else

I'll take it one step further and propose to you a Monster Hostel.

Your holiday location seems to be unusually popular and expensive. Everything in the area is borderline unaffordable, and the constant traffic of visitors is unexpectedly high. To ease your financial burden, you decide to go for a hostel instead, and pray the dozen people you'll be sharing a room with turn out reasonable enough.

Unbeknownst to you, the place you've picked is only really popular with monsters. So it's not just you who is surprised by the encounter: as you open the door to your accommodation, several beastly creatures turn to gawk at you. A human? Here?

Now, you're free to choose which outcome(s) you prefer:

The wholesome route. You return home with brand new knowledge of monstrous board games, inside jokes, and promises of reunion. Your roommates kept you entertained, showed you around, and told you all about their forbidden realms. Several of them have begged you to keep in touch, already bragging to their friends back home about the new human they met.

The NSFW route. You almost have to return home on your fours, worn-out and stuffed. You feel like you've just starred in the sloppiest debauchery of the year, being passed around by a handful of horny monsters who were eager to see how a human works. It's just a couple of nights, you told yourself at the time, but now you stare at your phone in horror and faint arousal: it appears that your unholy suitors would prefer to see you again, and soon.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Imagine you’re looking back on childhood photos only to realize that there’s a weird smudge on one of the pictures. That sucks but whatever, right? Only it sticks with you. You keep going back to that picture and you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong and this it’s more than just a black mark on an old picture. You look at it long enough and you can finally articulate that it looks like the sort of motion blur you get when you take a picture of someone running but on a shadow.

You look at more pictures the same black shape is visible in multiple pictures seeming to get larger the more recent the picture is. Most of the time the shadow is in motion, hard to make out the exact outline of whatever it is. You find some pictures where you aren’t sure if it’s even there or if you’re actually going crazy looking at blurry corners or parts of a natural shadow that just looks a little too dark. You find one. Only one. Picture where the figure is clear. It’s clear that whatever this thing is, might be humanoid, but it’s certainly not a person.

Anyways that’s my pitch for a shadow monster childhood friends to lovers plot line.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Margaritaville

For days now, you’ve been seeing the same broad-shouldered man lounging around the resort. Or: the knocked up on vacation au Part 1 masterlist

-

A familiar voice rouses you from a daydream that was just getting good. “Are you going to spend our entire vacation by the pool?”

“…Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”

You lift your sunglasses to meet your friend’s eyes, no need to squint against the sun because the way she’d stood in front of you blocks it from blinding you with your sunglasses off, inadvertently blocking the one thing you’d been hoping to keep your eyes on. 

Irritation prickles at the base of your spine, but you resist the urge to snap no matter how tempting it is. You’ve been getting away with murder these past couple days and throwing a fit won’t get you anywhere but in more hot water. 

“You’re supposed to be spending time with your friends,” she says, emphasizing the last word to communicate that you’ve been slipping in your duties. 

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize begrudgingly, leaning up on your elbows. “We’re you, um…do we have plans that I’m forgetting about?”

“We’re taking the shuttle down to the beach,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder to where the rest of your friends are waiting with their flip flops and tote bags by the archway leading into the resort, the shuttle just through the double doors at the other end of the main building. “Are you coming”

If you give yourself any time to deliberate, you’re worried that you’ll end up saying no, so instead you sigh, pushing yourself up from your elbows onto your hands. “Alright, give me a sec. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

She nods, appeased, heading back to the rest of the group with a thumbs up. 

Leaning over the side of the chair, you gather up your belongings, stuffing everything into your tote apart from the greasy, half-finished bottle of sunscreen that you keep in your hand, conscious of how it keeps leaking from where the lid broke the other day. 

It takes you a second to muster up the willpower to stand up and join them, your id screaming at you to turn around and plant yourself back in that pool chair to keep admiring the view. You have to be strong though. No breaking now after you just gave her your word that you’d come. 

One last surreptitious glance over your shoulder is all you allow yourself, biting your lower lip when you catch him stretching his arms over his head to grab the back of his pool chair, hairy pits on full display and lats stretching with the movement of his arms. 

Fuck, you nearly whimper, teeth pressing deeper into your lip. He slings one leg over the edge of the chair so his foot is planted on the floor, making his shorts pull tight across the thick bulge of his crotch.  

Fuck. 

For days now, you’ve been seeing the same broad-shouldered man lounging around the resort in various states of undress, your stomach a mess of both butterflies and knots every time you see him on the treadmill when you pass by the fitness centre or getting breakfast at the buffet in the morning.

Typically though, you can find him lounging on one of the poolside canopy beds with his boonie hat pulled down over his eyes, hands folded just under his pecs, clearly using his vacation to actually relax instead of running all over the resort like you and your friends. It affords you ample opportunity to stare unabashedly, eyelids going heavy the longer you stare at his strong chest and legs, thigh muscles making his swim trunks seem almost a size too small. 

Your friend wasn’t wrong to call you out for being less than attentive. You’ve been a lost cause since you first laid eyes on him, your thoughts a thick slurry of pent up horniness, tongue all but swollen in your mouth from how little you’ve been using it this trip. 

(if only you could pull down those shorts of his and use your tongue on him instead—)

In your defence, you haven’t been making an active effort to pick him up because you know that you're supposed to be enjoying your vacation with your friends. You’re well aware of how shitty it would be of you to try and hook up with another guest when you’re supposed to be spending time with them. 

But you also can’t help but linger when you realize that the same man (the one that has to be a decade your senior—the one that's built like a man, hirsute and tall, always a head above anyone else in the room) is nearby. It’s like he has some kind of magnetic pull on you.

You’re not proud of it, but at least part of your attention has gone towards figuring out whether he’s on vacation alone or with someone. No ring on his finger could mean anything. Lots of people commit without the ring; he could have a girlfriend and two kids back in his hotel room and you’d be none the wiser.

Then two days become three and you’re almost positive that he hasn’t come with anyone else. He eats alone and poolsides alone and you’ve never seen him so much as smile at someone who wasn’t wearing a resort uniform. The false hope that thought imbues you with is downright delusional. 

Your daydreams become increasingly oriented around following him back to his hotel room and slipping inside after him. You’ve never had a vacation fling before, but you think he’d make it good. Something about the way he walks like it’s heavy between his legs makes you think that he’d treat you right. 

You sit up and wipe the corner of your mouth, catching yourself drooling again. 

There are plenty of other things to do besides ogling the hot guy trying to enjoy his vacation alone though, so you force yourself to do things with your friends before one of them finally lays into you for zoning out the whole trip. Beach excursions and karaoke after dinner; you spend two hours dancing with two of your friends at the silent disco while your other friend goes upstairs for a shower and nap. Anything to show up and be present with your friends instead of languishingly in daydreamsville. 

Despite your best efforts though, you’re clearly not as subtle as you’d tricked yourself into believing. 

Rain is coming down in buckets outside. The four of you play Uno in the hotel room to wait it out when one of your friends asks if you’d be down to go on a snorkeling tour with the rest of them when the weather clears up. 

You open your mouth, about to respond, when your other friend cuts you off. “No, she’ll be busy making moon eyes at that guy with the weird hat.”

Your other friends cackle. Your cheeks flood with heat, so caught off guard that you can barely defend yourself, sputtering out something that only confirms her words. 

One of the others shrugs, putting a +2 down. “I get it. He’s really hot.”

“He’s like forty.”

“So what?” you sputter.

“You two want to fuck an old man?”

The friend that supported you rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, grow up. Forty’s not that old. Also I only said that he’s hot. No one’s getting married to him.”

The four of you share a laugh at that. If your laughter happens to come out strained, borderline forced, no one calls you out on it. 

The ribbing gets under your skin more than you’d like to admit, but instead of throwing a fit, you tap your nails impatiently against the back of your cards and roll your eyes, stacking the +2 with one of your own. “I can’t wait to get rid of you bitches and get home to the package that I’m waiting on.”

“I know what package you’d like to wait on,” someone mumbles.

“Shut up!” you shriek, mortified, snatching a pillow from the couch behind you to launch at her head and sending the others into hysterics. 

The problem is that he’s just always there. 

It’s a small resort—of course you’d cross paths with him every now and then, but somehow it feels like no matter where you go, he’s somehow nearby, either already there before you arrived or not long after. You’ve come to almost expect him because of that, meaning that on the rare occasion where an hour goes by without him pulling up a chair across the pool from you, your thoughts start to spiral and your mood goes sour. 

Glancing around the pool for the umpteenth time elicits no new sign of him though, much to your frustration. Not that you’ve made a habit of keeping tabs on his movements or knowing where he might be at any hour of the day (your conscience whispers staaaaalker under her breath and looks pointedly away), but it’s unusual not to see him sleeping in one of the free cabanas or sitting in the pool with both arms braced behind him on the coping. 

Greedy. You’ve grown so used to him always being around that it’s made you spoiled. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you announce to the group, already toying off your flip flops and getting ready to slip into the pool. “Anyone wanna come?”

A couple of them let you know that they’ve heard you, but no one offers to join. Makes sense; it’s somewhere between two and three in the afternoon and the sun is at its highest, the air so hot that it’s an effort to not doze off in your chair, the heat making you lethargic. Your skin reminds you when to reapply sunscreen, the last layer sloughing off with the sweat constantly dripping down your body, ever in need of replenishment. You smooth a little more into your legs and arms before throwing the bottle back onto the floor next to your sandals, skin nice and sheeny again. 

The only swim-up bar is on the other side of the pool, so you float over slowly, wading through deeper and deeper waters until you almost have to cling to the side of the pool. It’s slow going, giving you ample opportunity to scan the poolside for your mystery man’s telltale red pinstripe swim trunks.

No dice. Just chairs and cabanas filled with people that you swear you’ve never seen in your life (not like you’ve been paying attention to any of the other guests). 

At the bar, you order a margarita and sit on the stool welded into the bottom of your pool with your elbows planted on the damp counter, your lower half still submerged. Frustration ebbs only for a dejected mopishness to flow back in.  

It might’ve been easier to push your disappointment down if any of your friends had bothered to join you for a drink, but you can’t blame them for taking advantage of the beautiful weather. 

The resort is nothing short of heaven. Thick palm fronds dangle over the pool chairs and sway back and forth with the gentle breeze. Light chatter from the people on the other end of the swim-up bar is just barely discernable over the sound of the music playing from the speaker overhead. 

The clientele at this resort is a mixed bag: some small groups of folks roughly your age and a multitude of families, the buffet practically a warzone with kids chasing each other around tables and through the halls, excited screeches following you all over the resort. There’s another pool a short shuttle ride away more geared towards kids though, thankfully, so this pool is relatively quiet apart from the music blaring from speakers placed strategically throughout the property, a mix of acoustic covers and lounge beats in the morning, and upbeat pop in the mid-afternoon to liven things up.  

It’s nice. Definitely worth the fifteen hundred dollars and definitely worth coming back next year if your friends don’t boot you from the group chat the second you touch down back home. 

That’s what you’re thinking about when you casually glance around the pool again and feel your heart nearly jump out of your chest when you spot him. 

He appears from around a palm tree like the red sea parting, so sudden that all you can do is stare wide-eyed, discretion the last thing on your mind. It’s not that you don’t care if he sees you staring unabashedly, it’s just that you physically can’t look away from him. 

He must have set down his stuff on one of the pool chairs nearby because he walks over barefoot, slipping into the water almost gracefully for a man his size, biceps bulging when he lowers himself from the edge into the pool. You spend so long staring at the faint pink sunburn on his shoulders and the undulating muscles of his chest that it takes a second for your eyes to meet his, a jolt going through your body when you find him staring right back at you, his gaze even heavier.

You go stock-still when he wades over to the swim-up bar where you're waiting on your drink and takes the seat directly beside you. The seats are arranged close together to fit as many as possible in front of the bar, so it’s not totally his fault that his thigh presses against yours. 

But you also can’t help but notice the three empty stools beside him. All that space, free for the taking, and yet he sits so close to you that anyone swimming by would naturally assume you were here together.

The smell of his skin is like sun and salt; if you inhale too deeply, you know it'll just make you dizzy. This close, you can make out every mind-numbing detail: the dense brush of hair on his forearms, the old school anchor tattoo on his shoulder, the thick band of a watch on his right wrist. The drawstrings of his trunks floating in the water, aglet the most buoyant. 

Your hands shake in your lap when he turns to the bartender and orders a drink too, the sound of his voice rolling over you, gruff in a way that almost makes you melt. 

A voice that makes you look up at him all doe-eyed and dumb when he finally looks down and says something to you for the first time.

“Haven’t I seen you around?” 

The shudder you manage to suppress, but the way your skin goes tight with goosebumps is out of your control. In all of your daydreams, he’d been more of the silent, grunting type—the type to huff and puff through every thrust, no appetite for sweet, sugary words. You never thought to imagine a voice to go along with his face. 

He’s handsome in the way that some men are—almost effortlessly. Sea blue eyes and strong nose; thick neck and bristly jaw. He wears his age well. 

And then his question registers, the gears in your brain slow to start chugging along again, overwhelmed by his proximity and attention, neither of which you ever expected to be on the receiving end. 

“Um…” you start, tripping over your words and swallowing them back up. “Maybe. Have you?”

His lips stretch into a fond, crooked grin, cheeks dimpling with his smile. “Yeah. Pretty sure I have.”

“Probably. I mean, I’m, um—I’m staying here. At the resort, I mean.”

“Here alone?” he asks. 

“No, I’m with them—” You turn and point over your shoulder towards your group still lounging in the cabana. “My friends. We got here a few days ago.”

“Right,” he says, not bothering to look over to where you’re pointing, eyes not shifting from your face. “Liking it so far?”

You’ll have to check later for burns because your face feels like it's on fire. The shock of the cold glass in your hand when the bartender passes you your drink helps to ground you at least. 

“It’s been nice,” you croak, smile feeble when you finally coax your slack lips into working again. “…How about you?”

You wish your conversation would come out less stilted. Hard to play it cool in a hundred degree heat.

“Getting better every day,” he replies, as smooth a line as you’ve ever heard. 

You take a sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol helps settle your nerves. You’re conscious of the way his eyes follow your tongue as you lick the salt off the rim of your glass. Someone off in the distance shrieks and there’s a splash from the other side of the pool, but it barely registers as background noise, all of your attention focused on the blue of his eyes.

“That any good?” he asks, voice gruff. 

“You want some?” you ask, instantly mortified when you hear what just came out of your mouth.

“Kind of you, love, but I can’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

You don’t know what he means by that until the bartender puts a beer down in front of him, a lime garnishing the rim. The man thanks him, big hand wrapping around the bottle and fingers easily overlapping. The mental image of that goes straight into your spank bank for later. 

The lime gets dropped somewhere on the countertop and he takes a long pull from the neck, eyes locked on you the whole time. 

You’re not so naive as to not know what this is, but—

Someone calls your name from the other end of the pool and you turn instinctively at the sound, grasping onto the edge of the countertop and leaning back until you see one of your friends standing at the edge of the pool, waving you towards her. 

“Friends want you back?” he asks, sounding vaguely disappointed. You’re not sure if that’s just in your head or not. 

“Uh…I’m not sure—” you answer uncertainly. 

The same friend calls your name again, louder this time, garnering the attention of some of the other people sitting around the pool, and a surge of annoyance rushes up your chest. Weren’t they dozing off just a few minutes ago? Now all three stand at attention, sandals on and tote bags slung over their shoulders, the brims of their hats shading them from the sun as they gesture for you to join them. You nearly groan out loud. Of all times to call you back. 

You made a promise though, at least to yourself. The possibility of good dick, while tempting, is not enough to get you to switch your allegiances. 

(just yet, something in you whispers)

(give it enough time)

The smile you give him is rueful, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry—I should get going. They probably planned something at the beach. It was nice to meet you though…” There’s room at the end of your sentence for him to wedge his name in, a little dangling participle of pleasantry. 

A chuckle flows out of him like the chuff of a bear. “John.” He gives his name like a gift, offers his hand the same. 

You think it’s an offer anyway, until John just takes your hand, his damp, warm palm practically swallowing yours. Doesn’t wait for you to give him what he wants—just takes it like he’s owed it. The thought makes your head spin. Coarse, callused fingers wrap around the underside of your hand, long enough to nearly engulf your wrist as well. The hair on his knuckles is as dark as the pelt on his chest, and you wonder what it would feel like for him to drag a knuckle down the line of your jaw. 

Your throat pulls with a swallow, breath shaky on the way out. 

“Nice to meet you, John,” you say, all raspy-voiced, giving him your name as well like he pulled that from you too. 

It takes him a beat to let go of your hand, the intent in his hold so clear that he might as well say it right to your face. You have to leave before your resolve crumbles like papier-maché. 

“Since you’re not sticking around,” John says, finally letting go of your hand, “think I will have a taste.”

A taste. The word makes you clench up but you don’t register what he means until he curls his fingers around your margarita and brings it to his mouth, taking a sip from where you last had your lips. 

Oh god. You’re smart enough to get it. You’re smart enough to see that gesture for what it is. 

You send him one last thin, watery smile before beating a hasty retreat, his invitation still at the swim-up bar with him. Water sloughs off your body as you take the stairs out of the pool instead of swimming back to your friends, swimsuit damp in more ways than one, and you swear you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back as you walk over to where your friends stand. 

One of your friends peeks over your shoulder while handing you your stuff, eyes going wide when she notices him sitting where you just left. “Oh, did you see the hot guy was sitting at the bar too?”

“Yeah,” you reply, shaky hands slipping your sunglasses on. “I noticed.”

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: protective Simon Riley, brief sexual content

It was an accident, and your fault.

You weren’t paying attention when Blue swung her head into yours, when she shook her neck out and brought her skull crashing into the side of your face, hard enough to make you stumble, sending you gasping out of the stall while she snorted an apology.

“Fuck.” Her halter had clipped your skin, and you don’t need to touch the side of your face to know you’re bleeding. One hand over your eye, you close her stall with gritted teeth and make for the house, silently praying it’s not as bad as you fear.

It’s pretty bad. It's already tender, and your skin is open across your cheekbone. You’ll be able to get away with two butterfly bandages instead of stitches, thank god, but it looks awful, though not nearly as awful as your eye and its broken blood vessel.

Shit.

The cut stings as you clean it, and your entire face aches even after you’ve swallowed down two Tylenol. You’re not sure which is worse, the injury, or the anxiety it’s giving Riley, who clings to you for the rest of the morning, right up until you drop her off, her hug nearly choking the life out of you.

“I’m okay, I promise.” Her eyes are wide and worried, and you tap her nose. “I love you.”

“I’ll see you after work?” You get home a few hours after her on work days. Her sitter, Callie, hangs out with her after school, or during the day if needed, and she does it for free in exchange for free boarding of her two horses. She’s a college student, very sweet, and takes good care of her. You’d be screwed if she wasn’t around.

“Of course ladybug. Now give me another hug and then you’ve gotta go okay?” She nods reluctantly, and wraps her arms around your neck until she’s satisfied, before taking off into a sea of kids.

“Holy shit!” Key’s mouth drops open, and you groan.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Isa startles as she comes around the corner.

“Oh my god what happened to your face?” This is exactly what you did not want. A scene.

“It’s not a big deal, I swear.”

“What’s going on?” Doctor Riley appears out of nowhere, and you force your breathing into a steady rhythm.

“Daisy got beat up.” Key sounds almost happy, pleased with herself, and you briefly think about murdering her. When you shoot a glare her way, she only raises an eyebrow. His usual gruff tone turns to ice.

“What?”

“No! I didn’t. She’s just making shit up, I-” Pressure closes around your jaw, your chin, and it takes a split second to realize it’s not a some phantom limb but him, his fingers holding your face, tilting it to the light.

“Who did this?” There’s a red flash of anger in his voice, and it settles oddly in your stomach, almost like its heat could keep you warm through a winter. You try to speak, try to spit it out, but the feeling of his skin against yours is overwhelming. “What happened?” When there’s more silence, he gentles his tone, shifts it into something safe and coaxing. “It’s okay Daisy, tell me what happened.”

“A horse.” You croak. You try to pull away but he refuses to let go, holding you firmly in place. “My horse. She smashed her head into mine, and the metal of her halter cut me.”

“A horse.” He deadpans like he doesn’t believe you. The girls, you realize, have mysteriously disappeared, leaving you alone with him, the man who still has not let go of your face.

“Yes, a horse. I have horses. And I’m fine, really. It’s just a bruise.”

“And a cut, and a broken blood vessel in your eye.” He snaps, and again, you try to move away. “Hold still.” He’s scrutinizing you, focused on the blossoming tender skin, the angry red splotch stretching across the white of your eye. This focus, the contact, its all making your heart race, turning its steadfast rhythm into a gallop, one you can’t control. You lick your lips.

“Doctor Riley-” You don’t need this, you don’t need him holding you, exposing your weakness.

“Any problems with your vision?” His fingers trace the curve of your cheek, carefully palpating the swelling and you hiss.

“OW. No. Like I said, I’m fine it’s-”

“Headache? Dizziness? Did you lose consciousness?” Jesus christ. You shake your head with what mobility you have while still trapped in his grip. “Did you clean this?” Does he think you’re an idiot?

“Of course I did.” He hums, blatantly ignoring your annoyance to inspect your injury until he’s satisfied.

“If I told you to take the day off, would you listen?” What? Your thoughts run dry, but somehow he doesn’t need an answer. “No, I know you wouldn’t.” His touch eases, and with his free hand, he strokes the backs of his fingers across your cheek. The room spins, and not because you took a horse’s skull to the face. This moment has gone from intense to intimate, all of it still intimidating. He’s trying to shatter you, trying to break you. He must be.

“I can work, I’m fine.” You need distance. You need his anger, his temper, his impatience, not this. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m okay.” His hand falls away.

“Are you?” You blink.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” His voice is still soft, soft enough to seep into your bones and spread like a disease, poison your marrow until you can’t stand. It will make you sick, weaken you, and it's not like the situation with Beckert, where you knew well enough you didn't have the power, when you accepted you had to acquiesce.

This is different, and you won’t let it in. You won’t let him in.

“Yeah I’m…” No. You’re not okay. You’re not fine. You’re failing. This weight is crushing you, and you can’t hold it up any longer. You’re not strong enough. The flame is back, the one that wants you to let go, to fall, the one that will burn your control to ash, and you're forced to extinguish it, shove it down. “I’m fine.” His expression shifts into indifference, eyes turning to stone, all of it happening so fast you get whiplash. He shrugs.

“Alright then.”

“I can’t.”

“Come on you said Riley is at a sleepover.”

“She is. But I still can’t.” Olivia stamps her foot like a petulant child. “Liv, listen. I can’t. I’m on a tight budget this month, I can’t spend any money, and I can’t just be going out to bars nowadays.” You have chores to do too, and going to bed while sun is still up sounded so nice, but Ava is grinning at you from across the table, and you know it means trouble.

“Who said anything about spending money?” You roll your eyes, and Olivia doubles down.

“You need to get out Daze, you go to work, you go home. That’s it. You need a break, just for a few hours. It’ll be us three, low key, and I’ll buy your beers.”

“There will be plenty people who want to buy you a beer, Daisy. Trust me.” Olivia is hopeful, and you sigh.

“Fine. But two rounds at most.”

Before Riley, you used to come to this bar often. It’s a hospital hang, they have live music on the weekends, and the beer is generally affordable (if you’re drinking Coors.)

Now, you can’t remember the last you were inside. Here, or any drinking establishment, or even a restaurant.

“How’s the new hire?” You sip your beer. It’s cold and tastes like weekends past. Far, far past.

“She’s good!”

“She sucks.” They both answer at the same time, and Ava scoffs. “What? She’s a new grad. It’s like having a toddler.”

“Everyone is new at some point.” Olivia chastises her, and you smile, enjoying the rarity of this entire night even if they’re bickering.

“Oh shit.” Ava’s eyes go wide.

“What?” Olivia scans the room, confused.

“Two if by sea.” No.

“You’re joking.” She shakes her head.

“Looks like they’re all here too. And the radiologist, what’s her name?” Your stomach swoops. You’ve been avoiding Doctor Riley since the incident with your face, dodging him in the hallway, and trading OR duties. The few times he’s managed to catch you, he’s seemed less than pleased.

“Laswell.” Ava smiles at whoever she sees past your shoulder, but judging by the seductive tilt of her lips, you’d lay money on it being John. That’s your cue.

“I should go.”

“What?! We just got here.” You can feel Doctor Riley in the room, his eyes on you, examining, studying, and you shiver.

“She doesn’t want to see Riley because she’s avoiding him.” You grit your teeth.

“Thanks Ava, I think we’re all well aware.” Olivia grabs your hand.

“Stay. Please. We’ll pretend they’re not here. Ava will keep her daddy issues in her pants. Come on, we never see you at work now. I miss you.” The guilt trip is obvious, but she does have a point.

“Fine. For a little while.”

Olivia practically screams. You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears that have wet your cheeks as Ava struggles to breathe. People are staring, and you couldn’t care less.

“You’re insane. Did you get in trouble?”

“No! I never heard about it. I think he probably didn’t report me because he knew he was in the wrong.” The three of you try to tamp down the laughter, and you take a deep breath to alleviate some of the burning in your stomach.

“I miss you guys. The NICU is so fucking serious. They’re all nice but it’s like if you breathe wrong your baby could tank. It’s terrifying.” You leave out the obvious, he’s terrifying, and let your eyes wander instead. You tell yourself you’re not looking for him, but that feeling is back, and the draw is too insistent to ignore.

You get what you’re looking for.

He’s watching, clearly waiting for you to find him, and your vision tunnels as you lock eyes. The room fades away. You’ve been mixed up over him, turned upside down and inside out. The memory of his hand on yours, how he cradled your face, that simple, stupid contact, is playing on a loop in your head, in your dreams.

Except it’s worse in your dreams. It’s out of control. It’s not just his hand on yours, his fingers on your face, it’s his everything on yours, it’s you bent over his desk with your pants pulled to your ankles and his cock buried inside of you. It’s him telling you he knows what you need, and it’s his fat cock shoved inside you so deep you can feel it in your stomach. And then it’s you waking up to a wet pussy, your fingers already circling your clit and on the verge of coming.

Worst of all, it’s him telling you to fall, and promising to catch you. It’s him holding your face in his hands and telling you everything is okay.

Nothing about any of it makes sense, and you chalk it up to the obvious tension and the fact that you haven’t had sex in years. That’s what it is. That’s all it is.

You force your eyes away. It’s too much to even think about, let alone try to compartmentalize, and you polish off your beer.

“Alright. Sadly, my carriage is going to turn into a pumpkin soon. I’ve gotta go.” They whine, but they know the reality. They understand.

You’re halfway across the parking lot when you hear him.

“Daisy.” The grit and the grind of his voice is your ghost now. It lurks in the darkness and between your ears. You can’t evade him, and you’re so fucking terrified of him being so inescapable and shredding your control, adding fuel to the fire that is already threatening to engulf you, encouraging those flames of need to burn brighter and brighter. You try for a deep breath, but it comes up short, and your courage fades as you face him.

“Hi, Doctor Riley.” He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, plain black, no logo or lettering, all of it seemingly stretched just a bit to fit across his chest, his thighs. Your heart pounds.

“We’re not at work. It’s just Simon.” Simon. You’re sure your swallow is audible. “Headed out?”

“Yeah I’ve gotta get home.” He takes a step forward. His one is like three of your own, and he’s close now, too close, so close you have to tilt your head to look at him when he speaks.

“It’s good to see you laugh. Thought you might not know how to for a minute.” The world stops turning. You trip over his words in your head. “I haven’t been much help with that though, have I?” You’re frozen. There’s no rhyme or reason for this, no explanation. Why does being this close to him make you so dizzy?

“I have to go.” You fall back on your instincts. Flee. “I’ll see you at work on Tuesday?” It shouldn’t be a question, but for some reason you’re lingering in the unknown tonight.

“Daisy… ” he trails off, and your breath gets caught in your windpipe. The parking lot is silent, and you stare at him, waiting, wondering, and when his fist clenches at his side and he steps back, a twinge of disappointment pinches beneath your ribs. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“You too Doctor Riley.”

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

The swordsman

(HE/HIM) 🐇🏳️‍⚧️🗡️

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Thinking of 141 who all watch the same cam girl…

(NOT EDITED OR PROOFREAD) (MDNI MDNI MDNI)!!

It started off with johnny (because of course it did), johnny who can’t shut the fuck up when he’s jacking off his leaking chubbed up cock. Johnny who holds up his dick close to his screen as he desperately and pathetically jerks off his cock, his wrist starting to cramp from the speed he’s going.

On his screen is you, tits bouncing, nipples pinched, mouth open while you ride your dildo, sweet little moans leaving past your lips. Johnny who moans so loud, he’s woken up about half the barracks before, it gets to the point where Price sends in a request for sound proofing equipment.

Gaz who gets so fed up that after another one of Johnny’s “sessions”, he quite literally corners Johnny

“Mate, the hell are you watch’n that makes you cum bout 5 times a day?”

Gaz asks johnny as he enters the common room after his “private time”. Johnny who doesn’t shy away from the opportunity to show off his one and only favorite cam girl, immediately pulling out his phone and sitting himself next to Gaz on the couch. Gaz who honestly didn’t expect johnny to pull out fucking receipts of who he called “the hottest fucking lass he’s seen”.

Johnny pulls up a video with you laying on your bed, towel under you to protect your sheets. One of your hands being busy with ramming a dildo into your pussy, vibrator in your ass as your other hand is wrapped around your neck applying light pressure. Johnny holds the phone up with a proud and smug little smirk on his face as he watches Gaz stare in almost disbelief. Johnny watches as Gaz tries to adjust himself in his position as he grabs the phone from Johnny, continuing to scroll through your video library. Gaz screenshotting your profile and sending it to himself before shoving Johnny’s phone into his chest and mumbling a “thanks…” before hurrying off to his barracks.

The interaction with Gaz now had given Johnny the bright idea of getting the rest of his mates hooked on his dear cam girl. Johnny's next victim was a bit more difficult and overall more of a danger approach, lieutenant Simon Riley! To overcome this obstacle Johnny thought the best idea was to blatantly, out in the open, watch his porn where he could get easily caught. He sat on the couch in the barracks blasting his porn and waiting for his lieutenant to walk in after his training session. Johnny, being as inpatient as ever started to palm himself through his pants.

Soap accidentally (purposefully) getting caught with his hands down his pants by his lieutenant. Said lieutenant looking very stern while looming over his Sargent, arms crossed over his chest. “What ya watching there mate?” Johnny’s head goes back to look at Simon in his eyes, “she’s just too perfect Simon” he almost moans out as he brings his focus back down to the video playing in his hand.

Simon who’s finally fed up with interaction steps around the couch and in front of Johnny. Johnny go now takes the opportunity to shove his phone in Simon’s hands. a video of you on your knees sucking a dildo suctioned to your wall as you grind on a boot, tears rolling down your cheeks from the gagging and the overstimulation. “The bonnie is doin’ it for ya, ay Lt.” Johnny hinting at Simon’s growing bulge in his pants. “I could help ya out if ya like~” he grins up at Simon.

Johnnys head was bobbing up and down the shaft of Simon’s cock, his hand coming up to squeeze his balls as Johnny takes him all the way to the back of his throat. Simon stands looking down as johnny sucks him off only he’s not looking at Johnny, the video, your video playing in Simon’s hand him watching you grinned and suck as johnny does the same below him. Simon comes without warning as the video plays you squirting all over the boot as your body shakes.

He grabs onto Johnny’s mohawk pulling him down as he cums down Johnny’s throat, pulling out as a bit of his cum dribbles out the side of his mouth. Simon shuts off the phone tossing it on the couch as Simon leans forward, his thumb wiping the cum from Johnny’s mouth. He puts his cock away before patting soap on the cheek and walking away to the showers. Johnny smirks as he slumps back against the couch regaining himself.

Captain John price was an easier plan, he’d simply “accidentally” send his dear ol’ captain a link or two, send a message along with it as if he was talking to a buddy. However this plan was also the most stressful for Johnny, simply for the fact that he didn’t know which videos to pick that would get his Captain going the most. It took Johnny about half a week to decide, after hours of scrolling, before he finally landed on two videos of yours.

One was titled: “ILL BE A GOOD GIRL AND NOT TOUCH MYSELF FOR DADDY <3”

It was you in a skirt with two pretty pink bows in your hair a vibrator in your pussy, you showing the camera how soaked your panties were without you even touching yourself. The video was 20 minutes long of you continuously overstimulating yourself with tears in your eyes.

the second link was one of your only videos with another person, the man never appeared on screen. Only his arms and cock, with his voice sometimes being heard, a thick southern accent. You would play with yourself as you fuck yourself on a dildo. As the man grabbed your face speaking filthy words to you, telling you to open as he spit into your mouth. He’d tell you when to slow down and when to speed up, when to moan and when to shut up. Titled: “DADDY TAKES GOOD CARE OF HIS OBEDIENT LITTLE SLUT <3” the video being on the longer side of 45 minutes

Johnny sends them with a small smirk growing on his lips, his smirk growing wider when he gets a message back from the Captain himself.

———————

(NOT EDITED OR PROOFREAD)

a/n: has been sitting in my drafts unfinished foreverrrrrr

Did you notice my little graves mention!!?

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Your neighbor, a carpenter that's been helping you fix up with house you just bought in the secluded small town surprising you one day when he shows up at your door nearly panting, as if he is fighting to hold himself back.

"Darlin' I'm gonna be needing you to close those windows. Only so much a man can do when a pretty lady is making the whole block smell like heaven in heat."

You are way too slow on picking up what he means even as he pushes you through the door pinning you to the wall, his fingers flexing, is he growing claws?

"Moving to a supernatural town was already risky. Not being on anything to stop you from smelling like everything in a mile should come an' breed you? That's just foolish."

You try to ask what he means, you were relocated here for work, you knew nothing about the town but he stops you. Makes the words and questions die in your throat when he grabs your wrist with a vise like grip, those were definitely claws, bringing your hand up to his face and inhaling deeply. You go instantly red, he can't possibly smell the fact that you were just knuckle deep in yourself moments before be came pounding on your door.

"Please. Tell me I can taste you." He pants, his teeth growing longer, his fingers ending in what are definitely claws, his body seeming to grow.

You'll definitely need to talk to your main office about being relocated into a shifter town without warning. But who are you to say no to this when the bear shifter next door asked so nicely.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

been trying to push my art to be a lil more dynamic...

I think I might be cooking idk

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

idk about dash but me myself and i am ready for werewolf!cowboy. waiting (im)patiently with eyes, ears, arms and legs wide open

"I'm sorry it has to be like this, sugar." He's so obedient, sitting there patiently as you lock the chains around his wrists. They have a bit of slack now, but once moonlight hits, they'll be snug. "I'm just not very good at behaving myself, it seems."

You give him a sympathetic look. He's a good guy, really: a sweet neighbor, a helpful hand around the yard, and not to mention nice to look at. He'd probably be your husband,

If you wasn't for the werewolf thing.

"We'll make sure you stay put this time," you sigh. "I can't have you running around the woods looking for me again."

"I can't help it." he whines. He's sat on the floor, shirt off, jeans on. His legs are spread wide enough for you to sit between and fix his bindings. His body is already starting its change: his chest has a dusting of hair, his shoulders are broadening, his cock is hard and heavy in his pants-

"I just want you so bad."

His eyes are heavy with lust- still human and controlled.

"I can behave when I'm just a guy-" he continues. "But the other guy can't help it, 'specially since you're always-"

He pauses. You shift away to study his face.

"I'm always what?"

"I'm keeping my mouth shut so you don't smack me."

"Tell me."

He hems over it for another second.

"I'm just saying that fuckin' monster in my head wants to make babies with the prettiest girl in town." He sniffs the air pointedly. "And honey, I can taste that you are fucking ready for it."

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

omg Caleb and Maeve's story (Willow Creek Werewolves, book 2) is over 20k words long now. And I haven't even finished Ben and Tanner's story yet (Bk1)

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

The comic is on a short hiatus so I can get some more pages done. In the meantime here's all the pages so far in one convenient post! Please follow on Tapas too where I always post new pages first!

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

nsfw. bouncer!minotaur x fem!reader (two) – monsterfucking, smut, oral sex, very quick blowjob, MESSY pussy eating (emphasis on messy), squirting, size difference, bodily fluids (mentioned heavily), he still has a country accent, some possessiveness, horn stimulation (Is that a thing? guess it is here!) – dedicated to one of my beautiful besties @clubsoft

<– previous part | next part –>

he’s been thinking about you, and it's not even on purpose. your dress, your tongue, the way you drank him down like he was fucking water.

even his roommates noticed that something–someone–was taking up all the space in his mind. just as big but a few years younger fellow asterions pressing when they caught him staring out into space and drooling into his food.

the bouncer didn’t tell them anything about you. not yet, at least. he’ll do it, eventually, but for now, you’re his.

his to rub. his to squeeze. his to lap his slobber-soaked tongue against for so long that he’ll taste you for weeks.

he’s got you halfway propped up on his shoulders as he sits slumped against the couch. growling and stuffing his face deeper every time you try to pull away and inhale a lungful of air. mumbling something about how there’s no sense ‘n runnin’, darlin’. told you i was gonna eat ‘til i was full, didn’t i?

the bull proves the declaration with such vigor. chuffing and panting against your hole with messy sucks of your clit and beyond. he’s close to inhaling you at certain moments. tongue flicking so fast, so messily that the slick your slit is drooling out gathers in amounts you didn’t know to be possible. all of it leaking to douse past his chin down and drip down his neck. not that he minds.

what he really can’t get enough of is how soft you are… just a sweet thing of honey-flavored puddy who’s gripping at his horns and tugging his hair with a grip he’s sure you think is doing something.

“oh my… god, you’re fucking crazy,” you breathe out and he smirks around your clit. it makes sense to him that you think that, him being your first bull. he thinks he would’ve figured it out even if you hadn’t told when he asked, ‘cause you’re trembling like a leaf in his grip. “how’re you… shit–how’re you doing that? that thing–yeah, yeah. that…”

instead of answering you, he does it again. and then again just ‘cause he can, letting out a groaning cheer of victory when a gush floods from you and onto his face for the fourth time tonight. he gulps down what he can catch in his mouth, letting the rest stain his shirt. your groans tail out into pleasing-sobs, hands clutching him at the base of his horns just as your body starts another round of involuntary twitches.

“okay, okay,” you whine, just barely managing to unlatch yourself from his mouth. ropes of spit and slick appear when you pull away, his hands helping you slide down the steep journey to his lap. collapsing with heaving breaths, you slump against the bull’s broad build. he waits for you to catch onto the fact that you’re sitting right atop the denim-clad bulge of his cock, swallowing the grunt he wants to let out. when you finally do, you tilt your head and look up at him. sleepy but eyes brightening at the size of him.

he just shrugs the wide of his shoulders, face still wet with your juices.

“what’d you expect? got a gorgeous thing like you grabbin’ at my horns like you wanna tear ‘em off. you know they’re ‘bout just as sensitive as the cock you were suckin’ on the other night, right?”

hm. he’s thinking tell you that fact what a mistake, especially with the way you’re stare lights up the same way it did the first time you tasted his cum.

a few seconds of electrified quiet pass between the two of you, and he doesn’t stop you when your hand reaches for the button of his jeans. it pops open with no more than a tampering of your fingers, his cock literally bursting past the zipper you lower with a heavy plap onto the low of his stomach.

your next move surprises him… and he revels in the feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen next. you grin at the way he gazes down at you, the bouncer scooping you up and releasing a long exhale at the ghosting touch you reach and touch one of his horns with. his body accidentally shudders when you match the caress with a similar hand at his leaking tip.

“...what happens if i touch them at the same time?”

huffing warmily, the bull grips your hips. squeezing at the soft he can’t get enough of.

“why don’t you try, ‘n see what happens…”

biting back a smirk, you place one palm at the protruding keratin, and the other at the base of his cock. three strokes of each and he’s letting out something similar to a choking roar. face scrunching as a thick rope of cum spurts from his tip. before he can blink, you’re back on your knees. tongue dipping into the slit that squirts out what looks to have become your favorite sap.

“just can’t get enough, can you?”

your head shakes without letting him leave your mouth. cheeks blown wide once more as they refill with his seed.

“fuckin’ cute when you’re all greedy like this,” he puffs, curses spilling out under the rough of his breath. “drink all you want, yeah? ‘til that belly’s nice ‘n full.”

you were so generous with him, letting him lick you stupid, and it’s only right that he does the same.

the awe from before returns as he watches you, completely mesmerized. his stomach flipping at the fact that he’s only been with you twice yet already knows he’s not planning to let you go anytime soon.

BOUNCER!MINOTAUR TAG <3 | a/n: emergency –> i desire him terribly. even worse emergency –> he is not real. let us mourn this fact in the tags :(