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impeakcharacterdesign · 10 months

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Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

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dwaekkicidal · 4 months

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Lessons

˚ʚfwb!Bang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Just a regular session of your best friend helping you learn Korean <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, nicknames; ‘honey and good girl,’ pvssy slaps, playful ass&thigh spanking, Chris calls himself Daddy once lol, rough sex, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: max and I spoke about this a few weeks ago and it was soo hot so I wanted to write something for it,,, but then I lost motivation for it for a while😭 anyways hope u enjoy <3

OH and thank you for 700 followers!! (im late so now so ~25 away from 800) :''') I have something planned for if/when I hit 1k hehe, Love u guys :>

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After you had moved to Korea, you made it your sole goal to be completely fluent in Korean as soon as possible. You knew the basics and some vocabulary that got you through day-to-day encounters, but holding an actual conversation past introductions was rather difficult. So, this is how you found yourself in your current situation. Your best friend and fuck buddy of 2 years giving you weekly Korean lessons.

And this? This was a normal thing between you both. Sitting in his lap practicing while he sits there explaining things and kneading your thighs mindlessly. It was a normal occurrence! The only difference is you usually wore sweats or some sort of bottom that would cover your legs more. Today was one of the hotter days of the week, so you disregarded the extras and opted to only wear one of his shirts, nothing else.

His hands rubbed eagerly up and down your thighs, squeezing the flesh like he does with soft pillows. Again, it was normal, but today he seemed to be restless with his movements. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he mindlessly squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh rather roughly while he translated a word you couldn’t figure out. “What is up with you today? You’re more touchy-feely than usual.”

“Sorry haha. Had a long day so I’m fidgety.. And you know I can’t resist you in nothing but my shirt.” You only hummed in response. You believed what he said, but you also knew that he wasn’t stupid and that the apology was not for his roughness as much as it was for how riled up he knew you were getting. He was never actually sorry about being physically affectionate with you, but you both knew how you tended to get very horny when his hands were on you so desperately.

“Mmmm.. Let me play with you a little while you read, okay?” You shake your head and push your study items away, pulling a laugh from him when you mumbled out ‘Fuck that, I need you.’

“None of that hahaha. Focus on the reading, honey.” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaning down and biting into your neck. You groaned and leaned back into him, grinding against him in an attempt to make him fold in your favor. He let the first few grinds pass as he left hickeys along your neck, but the second your hands cupped him through his shorts he grabbed your hips to still your movements.

“Hey.“ The commanding tone in his voice caught you off guard and had your hands immediately stop in their tracks. “Stop that. You’re going to finish reading this text and then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

“It’s not that serious, Chris. It's just a few paragraphs, we can do it after or just skip out this week.. Plus it’s your fault I’m this horny anyways.” The attitude in your voice makes him narrow his eyes, and then he grabs your chin and angles you to look back at him.

“Watch your tone. And I’m not gonna tell you again,” His hand grabbed both of yours and placed them on the table before moving to spread your legs open for him. Then, he finishes his sentence and enunciates each word with a harsh smack to your bare cunt. “Finish. Reading. The. Article.” The last one comes off harder than the others and it pulls a squeal from you, making your hands shoot down and wrap around his wrist while your legs slam shut against his hand. He grabs from your inner knee and hooks your legs over his, keeping you spread for him, and he pulls your book closer again.

You can feel the teasing smile on his face after he places a kiss on your cheek and then speaks against it. “You only have one article left, honey. The quicker you read it, the quicker I can bend you over and fuck you into the table~” You can’t help but whine and nod. Once you look down at the material again, Chris’ hands that were previously rubbing your inner thigh move back to rub along your wet folds.

Then for what feels like the next hour, but was really just 20 long minutes, you slur out the words in front of you as best as you can. Chris’ left hand swapped between drawing circles into your clit and pinching your nipple, while his right hand shoved fingers against your walls. And every couple of minutes he would swap between kissing your neck to sucking hickeys into your collarbone. However, you weren’t allowed to cum and any time you mispronounced something or took too long to read a word, a stern slap was sent against your clit. As long as you continued to read well, he would pump 3 of his fingers in and out of you.

By the time you’re halfway through the material, your mind is foggy and you’re almost drooling on yourself from the constant edging. By the time you’re on the last sentence, your legs are shaking and you're slumped against him letting out quiet moans. Your neck and collarbone were so red from his incessant suckling, and you were desperate to get this over with. And then, when you finally finished, he stopped all movements to place a soft, congratulatory slap on your thigh and massaged your hips.

“Good girl… Now was that so hard?” With that, he hurriedly clears the desk before helping you stand and then standing himself. The chair you both rested on was kicked backwards and your whole world spun as he suddenly pinned you to the desk. You whined as his hand held a tight grip in your hair and pushed your face into the table. His free hand playfully squeezed and slapped at your ass a few times before you heard his shorts and boxers hit the floor.

You sighed out his name as he teased his tip through your folds, silently pleading with him to hurry it up. “Shhhhhh… ‘Atta girl. You did so well, baby. Now let me take care of you, yeah?”

He finally sunk in and nothing but low, whiny moans left your lips as you clenched around him. His free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it in appreciation while he slowly sunk every inch he had to offer. Once he bottomed out he gave you only a little bit of time before his thrusts started, albeit slowly at first but quickly ramping up due to his own impatience. It doesn’t take long for him to change to an unforgiving and rougher pace, his hand still holding your head against the table.

“Fff-fuck.. Christopherrr-”

“Yeah yeah, baby. Daddy’s got you. ‘M nice and deep, just how you like it right?” You missed the way he smirked when you let out a desperate ‘Uh-huh’ in response, but you could feel the way it encouraged him when his hips slammed against yours with more eagerness. He keeps this pace up for a while until he feels you tighten around him, and then he changes to slow, deep thrusts that make your eyes roll into your skull.

The hand in your hair slides on top of yours on the desk, intertwining your fingers, and he leans forward to place his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Mmmm keep squeezing me, Honey. Fffuck, juuust like that..”

When you’re tipping over the edge, he places a kiss on your sweaty skin and moans against it. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, okay?” You want to nod, but everything hits you at once so you can only cry out against your desk.

As your orgasm starts to fade into overstimulation, he fixes his posture and focuses on his hip movements. A squeaky moan falls from your lips as he suddenly bottoms out and the hold on your hip tightens. He threw his head back and bit his bottom lip as he came, attempting to muffle his whiney moans. He rides out his orgasm by sometimes pulling out and snapping his hips harshly against yours.

“Fuck… If that’s how we end the studying session from now on, I might consider this payment.” He jokes.

You let out a breathy laugh and he starts to pull out slowly, pushing you into the table as he did so. You take the moment to catch your breath when you realize he’s gone quiet and there’s the light feeling of breath on your thighs. Your head snaps back and you realize he was kneeling in order to watch his cum slide down your folds.

“Hey!” you whine and place a hand on his forehead, pushing his face away only for him to resist, so you use your feet to push him harder. He laughs at your embarrassment and stands up, pulling you to sit up as well and lifting the shirt off of you. He uses it to wipe you down before throwing it into your hamper and grabbing one of his spare shirts from your dresser. He steals a kiss before covering you in the shirt, then drags you to the living room to watch a tv show together.

You two spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching tv and relaxing in each other’s warmth. It’s no surprise when soft snores are heard and you look down to see his sleeping face squished into your chest. You huff out a laugh before you snuggle him closer. Then, your eyes get heavy until they inevitably close, and you fall asleep too.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

#sian’s writing #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader smut #bang chan imagines #chan smut #chan x reader #chan x reader smut #chan imagines #skz x reader #skz x reader smut

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

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

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had.

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you.

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.”

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered.

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.”

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse.

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!”

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains.

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest.

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away.

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you.

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive.

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours.

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second.

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds.

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood.

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through.

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did.

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming.

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips.

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest.

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them.

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas.

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar.

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too.

Everything would be done if another city fell.

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry.

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down.

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him.

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another.

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm.

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike.

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that.

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do.

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness.

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up.

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did.

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!”

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock.

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious.

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream.

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static.

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead.

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out.

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t.

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life.

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.”

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile?

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky.

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him.

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine.

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact.

Your face gains heat.

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment.

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow.

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?”

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began.

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died.

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar.

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found.

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.”

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls.

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.”

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around.

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more.

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water.

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering.

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet.

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important.

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything.

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course.

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious.

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years.

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place.

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet.

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds.

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?”

You weren’t going to stop until you found it.

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet.

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him.

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you.

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you.

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard.

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?”

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it.

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.”

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.”

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after.

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question.

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile.

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building.

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told.

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood.

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch.

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago.

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system.

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real.

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three.

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices.

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.”

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible.

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet.

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?”

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years.

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?”

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh.

The man forces a weak huff.

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you.

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same.

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you.

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck.

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?”

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.”

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you.

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon.

TAGS:

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laligraves · 25 days

Text

chp.2 - poolside

morning run series

joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2.7k summary: Your nap is interrupted by Joel. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, dubious consent (i'm so serious, don't read if it makes you uncomfortable), NSFW, pre/no outbreak, some proofreading (not enough so sorry for mistakes), Joel is a tall and very strong man, older man/college-aged reader, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, alcohol consumption, pet names, some degradation, breeding kink (yeah), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: i'm still here <3! just busy with real life :( i don't have a huge plan for this series except to make little one shots here and there since i have a lot of fun with these two characters lol. other stuff on the way i promise <3

You left two days after that encounter with Joel Miller. Your head was still spinning and your pussy still sore, but the semester started and you needed to be back on campus.

The first night back in your dorm, you debated throwing out the roses that now sat on your desk. You lasted 10 minutes just looking at them before you were touching yourself to the memory of him. You could still feel the scratch of his beard on your neck and remember the smell of his cologne.

He’d put his phone number in your contact list and you debated calling him. But what would you even say?

You should be mad at Joel for what he did. Yet somehow, he managed to reach into the deepest corners of your mind and fulfill one of your darkest fantasies.

Now, back in town, you can’t help but feel a little excited to see him again. Even if the more sane part of your brain is trying to convince you to slap him across the face if he comes near.

“Hey, lazy girl,” your sister calls out.

“Hey,” you respond softly, not moving from your spot on the lounge chair.

“I’m leaving. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, knowing you’ll probably spend the entire week swimming and sunbathing by the pool.

“I left money on the counter and the keys to my car in case you need it.”

“Okay, mom,” you say sarcastically.

She throws a pool noodle at you and leaves with her friend after that, promising to text you when she reaches her destination. Any other time you’d be disappointed that your sister was leaving for a full week just as you arrived for summer vacation, but she’s been working so much that she deserves a trip.

The stress from the semester leaves your body with each lap around the crisp pool and the warm sun. You go back into the house to make yourself a tequila soda and make your way back out to the chairs underneath the canopy.

A sudden thought pops into your head as you look around the empty backyard. The fences are tall enough and the gate leading to the backyard is locked. Your sister doesn’t have cameras that face this side of the house yet, so there’s really no reason for you to be so nervous.

You’ve never sunbathed in the nude, there’s just never been an opportunity for it. But now, with the house empty and the tequila coursing through your veins, it would be the perfect time to do so.

Before the courage leaves you, you slip off the strings of the bikini and spread out on the lounge chair.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about,” you whisper.

You eventually doze off, moving around until you’re once again face down. A text message from your sister lights up your screen, but at this point you’ve fallen asleep and don’t pay any mind to it.

I forgot to tell you that Joel Miller from down the block is stopping by. He’s going to plant the roses Susan wants, but needs to take a look first. Help him with whatever he needs. Tell him thank you!

You start to dream of Joel massaging sunscreen on your back, trailing his hands over your sides until they land on the soft, plump flesh of your ass.

His hands massage and spread your cheeks open, presenting your asshole and pussy for his eyes. Joel lands a glob of spit right on your little winking star and you flinch slightly.

“It’s okay, babydoll,” he coos.

The tip of his finger circles your asshole just a bit, enough for you to shiver from the sensation.

His fingers trail down to your pussy where he slowly teases a finger up and down your slit, gathering the wetness.

“Joel,” you whimper.

You push back on his hand, overcome with need.

Joel laughs at your desperate attempts to fuck yourself on his hand and moves your thigh to the side, giving him the perfect view of your cunt.

Before you have a chance to complain, he spreads you open and runs his tongue through your folds. Your hands grip the towel and you almost scream in surprise.

At the scrape of his teeth on your inner thigh and the scratch of his beard on your skin, you begin to wake. This isn’t a dream.

“What–”

“‘bout time you woke up,” Joel growls. “Dreamin’ about me, babydoll?”

You lift your head, slightly delirious, still grinding back on his face.

“Joel, whatthefuck–” you whisper, words slurred from sleep.

He tongues your entrance and swipes a finger over your clit, a movement that has you almost seeing stars. Joel ignores your pleas for him to wait, choosing instead to push two large fingers into your pussy. You choke down on your words at the stretch, still confused.

“Can barely fit my fingers in this sweet cunt,” Joel says.

“Wait–” you whimper, “fuck, wait.”

With his fingers still in your pussy, he moves up to lie partially on top of you. He bites your shoulder, neck, runs the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear.

“No waiting, babydoll. Gotta stretch this tiny hole,”

Vulgar. He’s so nasty with his words, still, your pussy beats with its own heartbeat.

“Joel–”

“All this time waitin’ for you to call me,” Joel hums into your ear, “just used me for my cock, didn’t you? Little slut.”

“No, I didn’t. I–”

“I knock you up?”

You give a tiny, jerky shake of your head, no, unable to form words.

“Guess we’ll have to try again, yeah?” he murmurs in your ear. “Gonna’ fill up this pussy.”

“No—“

You mean to say it with conviction. But your voice wavers, and you cum right into the palm of his hand, soaking him.

You grind down on his hand and bite into the towel to muffle your screams.

“Good girl,” Joel groans, “just love makin’ a mess, don’t cha’?”

Your hands slowly let go of the towel and your body becomes limp. Joel stands from the chair and you hear the clatter of his belt and the soft rustle of his clothes landing on the ground.

Your nap being interrupted by Joel is not something you were expecting. In fact, what is he doing here?

“Joel, what are you–”

His hands reach for your hips and he’s flipping you over on your back, making room for himself between your thighs.

“Needa look at your pretty face and pretty tits while I fuck ‘ya.”

“We can’t–”

Joel’s calloused fingers pinch your hard-tipped nipples and as if your body is already conditioned for him, you push up right into his hands.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Joel groans.

Before you know what’s happening, Joel leans down to drag his tongue over each peak. He bites, leaving only a hint of pain and shushing your needy whines.

He grinds down between your open thighs, covering his cock in your slick. You moan and writhe on the lounge chair, twisting your hips with each bump of his mushroom head right on your swollen button.

“Joel, please,” you beg.

But you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for. The sane part of your brain tells you to put an end to this, to send Joel far away from you. But then he sucks your nipple into his mouth and your mind goes blank.

Joel keeps biting, sucking, lapping at your tits until you feel the familiar sensation in your lower belly. As if sensing another orgasm, either from your moans or the way you're grinding up on his cock, Joel stops, placing a soft kiss on each nipple before leaning back.

“I needed to taste those tits before I fuck ya’,” Joel rasps.

You tremble beneath him, laying there in a sweaty heap. Joel’s face is slightly flushed and his chest rises with each ragged breath he takes.

Fuck, he’s handsome. Salt and pepper hair, creases around his eyes, a hooked nose and a huge cock make him the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

The second he releases your hands, you drag your fingers down his hairy chest and over his soft belly. He’s hard and soft, muscular from working outside but with a belly that you want to lay your head on.

He moves your hand away, linking his fingers through one of yours and uses his other hand to bump the tip of his length at your entrance. You try, in a small voice that’s just about surrendered to the lust swirling in your head, to stop Joel, suddenly remembering that this is not your house, but your sister’s.

“Joel, my sister is inside–”

He tsks in disappointment. “She’s gone for the week,” he interrupts, swirling the tip of his cock on your clit, “don’t lie to me, babydoll.”

Your mouth opens to ask how exactly he knows that, but Joel takes that moment to slide right in. A high-pitched squeal claws its way out of your mouth at the stretch of his cock.

Joel groans, sounding almost pained. His eyes shut and his mouth drops open while you fight to push him off of you. You forgot just how large he was, and even if your cunt is slick and this isn’t the first time, it’s still a little painful.

Joel places your hand above your head, still keeping his fingers linked, and uses his other hand to push up your thigh. His nose brushes yours and he gives you a soft kiss.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing his tongue into your mouth and matching the pace. You don’t kiss him back, too preoccupied with the cock spearing inside of you and the loss of air in your lungs.

“Too much–”, you mumble, “too much!”

Joel moves his lips down your chin, the tip of his tongue dragging a hot path down your neck. Goosebumps erupt on your skin as you try to catch your breath. Each thrust of his hips make you lightheaded.

“No,” Joel murmurs into your neck, “you can take it, babydoll. Take it like a good girl.”

With your free hand you try to push at his hips, for him to just give you a moment to breathe. Joel quickly takes your other hand and places it above your head, locking both of your wrists in his grasp.

Your tits are in Joel’s face, pushed up by the arch of your back. Joel takes full advantage and runs his tongue over your swollen nipples.

You’re not speaking coherently anymore. Between your pleas for him to slow down, please you whine with each hard thrust into your pussy.

“Fuckin’ greedy,” Joel groans, “pussy keeps suckin’ me right back in.”

“You’re so fucking nasty,” you mumble in half-hearted anger.

But he’s right. Your pussy flutters with each slide of his cock and your thighs bracket his hips, keeping him as close as possible.

The thick head of his cock bumps your womb and you’re almost certain he’s growing bigger inside of you. You can smell him, his cologne and sweat, the scent of a man who spends his time working outside with his hands.

If Joel were any other man, you’d hate the smell. But with him, it’s intoxicating.

The first time together was quick, in his front yard where you were forced to stay quiet and take whatever he gave you. Now, your whimpers are loud and he’s in no rush to finish quickly.

“Gonna breed this little cunt,” Joel slurs, “gonna make you a mommy.”

His hips move faster and tears begin to fall from the corner of your eyes. Joel invades your space and kisses every inch of skin he can reach. Imprints of his teeth and his saliva are left on your neck, tits, and mouth.

“You want that babydoll? Wanna make me a daddy?”

Any other man, especially one who is practically a stranger would make you cringe. But Joel’s breeding kink doesn’t phase you. You fall into the fantasy of him cumming inside of you and giving you a baby.

He pushes his tongue almost down your throat while he fucks you. You kiss him back and suck his tongue on instinct. He whimpers, a sound that makes your pussy tighten in response.

“Jesus–,” Joel groans.

“Joel, please,” you whimper, “m–more, please!”

The chair shakes with each of his thrusts, just about able to hold your combined weight. Joel lets go of your hands and leans back to watch his cock slide into you, seemingly mesmerized at the sight.

Your hands reach for his sweaty chest, arms, caressing his heated skin. Joel pushes your thighs open and you hear every sticky, wet slide of his cock.

He’s suddenly sliding a hand underneath your neck.

“Look, babydoll,” Joel gasps.

You don’t pay him much attention, your eyes barely able to focus on his face.

“C’mon–fuck.”

You lean up on your elbows with the little energy you have left and watch his length, veiny and large, covered in your slick, piston in and out of you.

If it didn’t feel so good, it would be almost scary to look at. Joel, so much larger and stronger than you, somehow able to fit so perfectly inside of you.

You fall back on the lounge chair and Joel places your ankle on his shoulder. He turns his head to nip your soft skin, leaving another imprint of his teeth on your body.

He pushes his thumb inside of your mouth and doesn’t even flinch as you bite down.

“I almost drove down to that college of yours,” he moans, “wanted to drag you outta the dorm and fuck you in the hallway.”

You moan around his thumb, lost in the fantasy of big, broad Joel dragging you by the hair and fucking you out in the open, in front of everyone to see.

His words are slurred at this point. But he's so drunk on pure lust that he can’t help himself but keep talking.

“Wanted to show everyone who owns this slut pussy.”

The way he speaks to you should make you angry, but you pussy only flutters and squeezes as he calls you his little slut.

He removes his thumb from your mouth and gently slaps your cheek before swiping his spit-covered thumb over your clit.

He swipes over your swollen bud, once, twice, using your spit and slick that now covers both of your lower bodies.

Your orgasm tears through you, washing over you in warm waves of bliss.

Joel keeps fucking you, moving faster until his hips piston and you're being used as a toy while your orgasm courses through your body.

He lays on top of you, keeping your thrashing and whimpering body bracketed onto the chair. Joel’s moans grow loud in your ear and you know he’s close.

“Not inside–” you whimper, “don’t cum–” your words not having any real meaning behind them except to add to your fantasy.

“Fuckin’ mine, my little cunt,” Joel snaps, “gonna cum in my babydoll–”

He swells impossibly larger inside of you and then you feel it, the hot splash of cum. Ropes and ropes fill your cunt and he grinds his cock into you, buries his head in your neck and groans your name over and over again.

Your body, still recovering from your orgasm from only a few moments ago, trembles once more. The warmth of his cum painting your womb shakes another one out of you.

You’re not sure how long it lasts. Joel continues to whisper in your ear about how fuckin’ sweet you are and how you have the tiniest cunt ever, babydoll while his cock fills you with cum.

Joel continues to lay on top of you and while he’s larger in every sense of the way, his weight is comforting. The setting sun is blocked by the canopy which you're grateful for because you don’t want him to move.

“How are ya’ feeling?” Joel asks.

You’ve almost fallen asleep at this point.

“Full… and sore,” you whisper.

“Maybe this time I’ll actually knock you up,” Joel whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.

You roll your eyes and push him off of you.

“Not going to happen, old man. I’m on birth control. And we just met!"

“Shame,” he sighs dramatically. “How about I grill us some steaks?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #dark joel miller #dark fic

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mysteryfleshpit · 2 years

Text

FAQ & General Update

“Why haven’t there been any new posts in a long time?” “Is this project dead?” “Trevor get off your ass you lazy hack”

This project isn’t dead! Two major factors have contributed to the relative silence of updates:

1) For the past year, I’ve been taking care of my infant son as the primary at-home caregiver. That won’t mean anything to people who have not been parents, and it wouldn’t have meant anything to me before having a kid, but it turns out that keeping a baby happy, healthy, and entertained is a major drain on your time and energy. Additionally, my office/studio/workspace is also the room he sleeps in (I live in a two-bedroom apartment) so I am limited with how much I can do at night.

2) As many of you know, in June, Fleshpit fans showed up in force to fund the TTRPG kickstarter. In response, I’ve been busy working through a multi-page list of illustrations for the TTRPG book, including wildlife, tools, vehicles, maps, and other ephemera:

“I missed the Kickstarter, can I still pre-order the TTRPG book?”

Yes! Here’s a link to the pre-order store: https://mysteryfleshpitrpg.backerkit.com/hosted_preorders

“When is the coffee table art book coming out?” “Are you finished with the book?” “What still needs to be finished?”

The main Mystery Flesh Pit coffee table-style book is, like many other projects, paused while I’m working on the TTRPG book. Paid projects take priority! I will continue working on it as soon as I can; much of the art I’m working on for the TTRPG book will also be featured in the coffee table book. The biggest missing piece of the big artbook is the writing. I have much of it finished, but there is still a lot of editing that needs to be done.

“Is spectral haptics still continuing?”

Yes, but see the answers above. Paid projects take priority, and right now Spectral Haptics is third on the list behind the TTRPG and the coffee-table book. There is a possibility of me making time to create a small video for SH if for no other reason than to avoid burnout, but I’m not going to promise anything.

#mystery flesh pit

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emchant3d · 4 months

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siren steve and pirate eddie, part 2 pt 1

Steve heals slowly.

He’s irritable and restless, bedridden, and he doesn’t have the strength in his injured tail to support himself if he were to be tossed back into the ocean.

The crew helps him to the deck for a change of scenery and some sunshine - he seems more settled when he can hear the waves and feel the sun on his skin. He’s less snappish, at least, those sharp teeth tucked away behind his pink lips instead of bared in Eddie’s direction.

Eddie had panicked briefly about how much saltwater Steve needs, and he’d rolled his eyes at him. “Keep it near and I’ll be fine,” he tells him. “Half human remember?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “but the fish part is looking a little dry, sweetheart.”

Steve slaps him with a tail fin.

He finds himself spending most days with the Mer. Part of it is pure fascination - it’s difficult to not want to spend time around a story come to life. And if he neglects his duties as Captain a little, well - that’s what his crew is for.

Slowly, he pulls more from Steve. He finds out what caused his injuries - “the deep holds a lot of creatures that like the taste of Mer,” he tells him. “I swam right into a nest. By the time I realized, they already had me by the throat and were dragging me to the seabed.”

“Gods,” Eddie murmurs, and Steve hums in agreement. “Evil little things. Razor sharp claws and teeth, and their tails are like whips. They move in schools, so if there’s one, there’s dozens others.”

He speaks of these kinds of creatures so casually, monsters that have worked their way into human lore and others that are unknown to them, but the idea of them still makes Eddie’s skin crawl.

It’s like Steve has a sixth sense for his discomfort. He’s lounging in a long basin Freak and Jeff put together, a shallow amount of salt water in it to keep him comfortable, and he rolls his head to the side, peering up at Eddie.

“They probably wouldn’t turn down a human, either,” he muses, dragging those unnervingly deep eyes up and down him, “but your little lungs wouldn’t survive that deep down, so you’re probably fine.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie snorts, and Steve breaks into a laugh.

As friendly as they’re becoming, Eddie knows Steve still doesn’t fully trust him. He’s excellent at reading people - he knows when someone is keeping secrets, and Steve is locked tight.

He doesn’t blame him. He knows it’s difficult to believe Eddie’s help doesn’t come with strings, and he catches Steve watching him and his crew sometimes, tense and on edge as if he’s waiting for someone to lash out at him.

Eddie hates it. But he doesn’t know how to settle him, not fully, and so maybe the solution is to craft those strings he’s looking so hard to find. Let him find what he’s looking for, but show him that they aren’t as bad as he’s built them up to be in that pretty head of his.

“So what other gifts are you blessed with, Highness?” he asks one cloudy day, the sky gloomy and overcast. A little rain won’t hurt them, but he’s hoping the darker clouds on the horizon will dissipate before they reach them and upend a true storm.

“Divination,” Steve says like he’s bored, and Eddie’s head whips around to stare at him. Steve holds his gaze, his own a little hooded, and he yawns softly.

“What,” Eddie asks flatly. Steve waves a hand dismissively.

“Just about the ocean,” he says, like that isn’t still one of the most incredible things Eddie’s ever heard. “I can tell when danger’s near. When something isn’t quite right. Whole lot of good it did me,” he snorts, glancing down at his scarred torso.

The bandages have been removed, and pink skin is healing slowly where there used to be gaping wounds. His tail is faring much the same, scales missing from where he’d been bitten and ripped at, but the new flesh is beginning to blend in with the bright shades of his lower half.

“Everything was dangerous down there, I just tried to pick the safest option. I’m still pretty sure I chose right.” Eddie frowns. “You were almost eaten alive,” he says, can’t help it, and Steve cuts him a lazy smile.

“Almost,” he repeats, and Eddie supposes that’s an answer.

He takes a breath, calms his heart, and tries to act like the Captain he is. “So, if you stuck around, you’d be able to tell me what I’m heading towards.” Steve closes his eyes and lets his head hang back, arms resting on the sides of the basin.

“Yes.” A cloud sweeps over them, blocking the sun from shining on Steve’s face, casting him in shadows. “I could tell you if you were sailing into an ambush, or if the waters were acting up, or any number of other useful little tips that could keep you and your crew alive.”

“You’ve thought about this,” he says, and Steve snorts.

“Of course I have. I have no home. No family. Going alone almost got me killed. I’m pretty but I’m not dumb, Eddie.” He opens his eyes, fixing his gaze onto Eddie’s. “So how about we make a deal?” he offers, and Eddie grins.

It’s an easy negotiation. Steve wants freedom. He wants to see the world. And he wants safety while he does it. Eddie wants an advantage, wants to keep his crew safe, wants them to thrive in this difficult life they’ve chosen.

They shake on it. Steve moves lightning fast as their hands meet, a sharp claw nicking his own palm and then Eddie’s, making him hiss.

“Fuck–” he grunts. A burning sensation shoots through him from hand to chest, fire hot and searing. He gasps, fingers locked around Steve’s, who stares at him impassively. “What…?”

“You’ve made an oath with a Mer,” Steve says simply. “You’ll be held to your word, Captain Munson.”

Eddie pulls his hand away and looks at his palm.

A black mark surrounds the cut from Steve’s claw, a swirling spiral that snakes from the center of his palm in three little loops. Steve holds his hand out without being asked, showing the matching mark on his own skin.

Eddie’s no stranger to ink and tattoos, but this is decidedly different. It hums with an ancient kind of magic, a connection that he doesn’t - can’t - understand. Something unnameable settles into his bones.

This is a test, he realizes. Or maybe it’s insurance. Either way, it’s something Steve felt necessary to take Eddie at his word, and so he won’t ask questions - not yet, at least.

“Well, I’ve had worse deals, I guess,” he says, and when he meets Steve’s eyes again, some of the caution has seeped out of them.

Eddie’s sure there’s more to be found out about this creature in front of him, but contrary to popular belief, he can be patient when it counts.

For now he’ll take what he’s offered - a wary friendship. A slow-growing understanding. And a certain type of care, of gentleness, that curls warm within him and grows with every smile and soft look that Steve throws his way.

part 3 coming soon 💕 no tag lists, sorry!

#steddie #mermay #merman steve harrington #siren steve harrington #pirate eddie munson #steddie fic #steve/eddie #stevexeddie #mine

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fishermanshook · 5 months

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ASK: pretty pretty please… fools gold.. smut if you can.. I CANT KEE EDGING TO HIM WHENEVER I MATCH AGAINST HIM 😞💻 I GOTTA TAKE HIS CRYSTAL ROCK COCK

ROCK HARD!

( fools gold sex h/c’s ) + gn!reader

# MINOR WRITING SMUT , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

I suppose it is your fault, you shouldn’t have underestimated your boyfriend's ability to fuck you raw in his bedroom, not caring who hears either of you or if his Survivor counterpart walks in as you do it on his bed.

His opposite shouldn't be back for a while though, as he's stuck in a match against that Ivy chick. Guess you'll just have to stick it out for a while, huh? Don't worry, he'll make it worth the wait.

꒰wc꒱ 535

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who is undoubtedly rough with you in the bedroom. Leaving marks in their wake decorated across your soft and delicate flesh unlike his own. Bruises from your last session have only just started to fade away to make room for more to come. (He doesn't mean to hurt you, it's just that you're so much tinier than he is and he can't help but toy with you a bit.)

↳ on top of this, jealousy runs through the Hunter's veins. The cuts and bruises and hickeys and whatever else he does to mark you up is an indication of who and what you belong to. He can’t stand watching you interact with the other Survivors and, hell, that pesky Prospector who takes up far too much of your time. Time that could be better spent splitting you in half.

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold is such a tease too. He'll mess around with your tiny little body and force you to leave for your match all hot and bothered. It's all part of the plan though because it means you'll just come crawling back to him for relief, not realizing what you're getting yourself into.

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who loves to get messy in bed and uses his hands and fingers to make you cum 1, 2, 3 too many times, leaving your body overstimulated and all too sensitive to his rough touch. It doesn't matter how many times you beg or whine or claw at the rocks on his back, he doesn't stop.

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who is always the one on top. It doesn't matter if you start it or end it, you'll always manage to find him towering over you with that same devilish smirk that adorns his face.

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who has the stamina of a 10-time gold place Olympian runner. He can go all night and then morning and then night again if called for. But know that once he starts, he won’t stop. The little sympathy he has goes toward calling it a night after round 5 or after you've passed out in his arms. He gets it, it's hard having a boyfriend who could last longer than he could. (Norton.)

The sound of keys unlocking the door pulls you from your aroused state as both you and Fools Gold turn your head toward the door.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Norton sighs while turning his head up towards the roof.

"Speak of the devil, could you leave? We're kind of in the middle of something." Fools Gold says, still halfway inside you as you cover your body in embarrassment.

"That’s it, both of you, OUT!"

note: I picked this up b/c I thought it'd be interesting especially because I've never written for him before,,,also annon im going to haunt your dreams now b/c you didn’t read rules (I’m calling you rocky annon now if you ever decide to send in something else)

also you guys help I have 37 (36 after this post) drafts

(2024) ©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

#⋆౨🎞️ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ PLAYBOY NOW PRESENTS...#fools gold #fools gold idv #idv #idv x reader #identity v fanfic #identity v x reader #norton campbell x reader #fools gold smut #fanfiction #identity v #identityv #fanfic #fools gold x reader #fools gold x you #smut #idv smut

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rivatar · 6 months

Text

“Love Bites”

Pairing: Adult!Neteyam x fem!human!reader

W/c: 1.2k

Warnings/content: MDNI smut!, biting/marking, blood thirsty neteyam, a lil somnophilia but not much, established relationship, fingering, demon Teyam

A/n: this is prompt 6 for Pandora’s Bloody Moon, I’m sorry it’s 2 days late, I was so busy this weekend😩 also I’m sorry if it’s not good, it’s def not my best work but still hope you guys can enjoy :)

“I’ll see you tomorrow, paskalin,” Neteyam sweetly bid you goodbye with a peck on the cheek.

“Okay, Teyam,” you softly smiled in return.

He had walked you back to the lab and as much as you both stalled already, it was time to part ways. The upcoming Blood Moon tonight meant an early goodbye for the day. You two have been dating for months now, and the future Olo’eyktan has made it clear he wants to be mates with you, only when you were ready. However, it is not always easy handling your differences between your two species. Like tonight, for example; all the other Na’vi could participate in the night of the Blood Moon but you couldn’t, you’d be ripped apart and possibly killed. So, Neteyam made sure you were safe and sound back in your room in the lab complex well before nighttime settled in. He couldn’t have his little paskalin get eaten by the wolves.

…

Neteyam missed you at dinner but he knew it was for the best. He wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. Safe from the others and even himself. He didn’t know what he would be capable of doing to you. He didn’t even wanna be anywhere near his family, so he set off deep into the forest.

It was now eclipse and the Moon made its appearance. The moonlight made his skin tingle and he watched in bewilderment as his skin faded from azure to a milky gray. Though this happens every year, it never fails to bring an unsettling feeling of not having control over the effects. His breaths quickened and he felt strength and power spread through his limbs, creating the urge to break something. His little bioluminescent freckles turned to red speckles, much like the red irises he now possessed. His brain was processing the physical changes to his body as well as the feelings and urges that flooded his mind. His tongue felt his sharper canines and he thirsted for blood. Not just any blood though, your blood. He imagined your human blood would be much sweeter than anything else here. He knew his right mind was slipping away when his body naturally started carrying him in the direction of you.

…

He forcefully entered the lab and went straight to your room. Opening the door carefully, as to not wake you.

You were peacefully sleeping away, probably having sweet dreams. In the very back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t disturb you— knew he shouldn’t wake you and then watch you be terrified of the way he looked right now. But his instincts consumed him and controlled his thoughts now. He had to have you.

Walking over carefully, he noticed you were wearing a loose tank top, exposing much of your skin. He slowly lifted the cover off of your body and was met with the precious sight of you only wearing panties for bottoms. You were so sweet and small to him, your dainty little night clothes driving him absolutely insane. You were too good to be true in his opinion.

He gently slid his hand over your legs and arms, loving how soft and plush your smooth skin was. You moved some in your sleep, still not noticing him yet. He tried to keep his breathing in control by breathing in his nose and out his mouth quietly.

“So beautiful, yawne,” he whispered admiringly.

He started kneading your flesh, getting extremely aroused by you. He wanted nothing more than to dig his sharp canines into your skin and bite you—hopefully drawing some blood. But he needed you to wake up first so you wouldn’t be scared and flee from him.

He softly shook your form, beckoning you to wake up. You slowly stirred out of your slumber and your eyes blinked open—only to see those red eyes staring back at you. You jumped back at the sight of him and gasped.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay baby, it’s me!” He tried to calm you.

“T-Teyam?” You choked out weakly, “You’re n-not supposed to be here” your mind quickly registered.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stop myself from coming to see you… you’ll have to forgive me for what I’m going to do”

Your body was stiff and your eyes were full of concern for what he meant and what he might do to you in this state. But you slowly nodded as you relaxed some because it was still your Teyam and you trusted him.

“You look so pretty, baby,” he cooed while stroking your cheek tenderly. You smiled in return, still feeling a bit hesitant.

Then suddenly he leaned back down to your thighs and latched his teeth onto one of them.

“Teyam!!!!” You flew up to sit upright on the bed and looked at him. The pain of his canines impaling your skin combined with the pleasurable feeling of his warm mouth overwhelmed the nerves on your skin.

He only hummed and moaned on your flesh in response. You slightly winced, still staring at him in bewilderment. Then he smoothed his tongue over the wound, licking away the blood from the little pricks he made. He pulled back to admire his work, loving how his bite now marked you as his.

“Don’t think I can’t smell you, sevin. You liked it, didn’t you?” He smirked.

You blushed, still feeling confused at the mix of pain and pleasure and how it really did turn you on. You nodded and got out a weak “yeah..”

This only aroused him more. He wanted to see how you’d look writhing under him as he pleasured your pussy while marking other parts of your body. So he lifted your legs up to your chest and slid your panties to the side to see your glistening little cunt.

“Fuck baby. I might have to bite you more from now on,” he gloated.

He slowly pushed a finger into you and you moaned at the sensation, your head already swirling from the intense pleasure he gave you. He started pumping the digit, stating in awe at the mess you made and the loud squelching sounds.

He hovered over you and positioned himself closer to your face, connecting your lips in a needy kiss. You greedily took the kiss, tongues swirling and your lips getting all puffy. He moved down to your neck and latched onto it, pulling out a guttural moan from you. He hummed in the satisfaction of tasting your sweet blood again and it turned him on more, so he mindlessly dry humped your side and the bed, dying to get some kind of friction for his cock.

His efforts made you cum on his fingers, spewing out whimpers and moans in the process. He was still cleaning your neck wound while you were coming down from the high.

It seemed that having a taste of you only made him want more.

It was going to be a long night.

Taglist: @neteyamssyulang @bambithewriter @professional-yapper @property-of-neteyam @hidden-snow @live-laugh-neteyam @nonamevenus @loakstahni @ikeyniofthetayrangi @sugarsong78 @inolaphoenix @strongheartneteyam

#avatar smut #atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar #neteyam #avatar fanfiction #neteyam smut #james cameron avatar #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x you #pandorasbloodymoon

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loaksky · 1 year

Note

Hi I was wondering if you wrote or if you will write a part 2 to neighbour Ellie x reader, cause I would love to see how their relationship will progress and maybe there can be a bit of jealous Ellie and insecure reader, in like maybe they meet their exes or something like that

neighbor!ellie x sunshine!fem reader, hurt + comfort / fluff / smut MDNI!! or we’re beefing!! / established relationship, wc: 5.2k

synopsis: things between you and ellie seem to be going great! that is until you pay her a visit at work to drop off lunch and find that the threads that tie her and an overfriendly coworker tangle too much for your liking.

content warnings: language, slightly mean!ellie makes a return, reader isn’t necessarily insecure, but a little unsure of the circumstances, 18 + content / filthy make-up sex that consists of: brief shower-sex, scissoring, fingering / oral (reader & ellie!receiving), thigh-riding, so much kissing and mushy feelings.

author’s note: in love with this idea ! been mulling over how to expand on their relationship & i feel like this is a great segue ! hcs below; leave some more scenarios for existing couples (emt!abby, collegebff!ellie or others) and i’ll answer them ! (also not proofread well like usual lmao)

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jealous!ellie & jealous!reader are SO different, but i feel like the outcome would be so…YUM.

feel like you’d be more reserved about being jealous.

like lately, it seems like things between you and ellie seem like they can’t get any better.

the two of you spend so much time together, whether it’s having picnics in the park with some pastries you make, testing out recipes after close at your cafe or having sleepovers at one or the other’s apartment.

ellie’s lowkey obsessed with you and at times it makes you blush because after the initial stages of feeling your relationship out, you find that ellie’s extremely vocal and outright with her affection for you.

and for the longest time, you don’t question it. don’t really say much because ellie’s particularly good at reassuring you even if you don’t ask.

it’s why you think you’re overreacting when you decide to surprise her and bring her lunch on a random afternoon in the middle of the week.

the top half of her coveralls hangs around her hips, dirtied white tank exposing tanned, inked flesh and lean muscle when you enter the lobby.

she’s leaning against one of the tool carts with her arms crossed over her chest, gaze unwavering.

when you trace her eyeline, you realize there’s another girl nearby bent under the hood of a shiny red car.

she says something imperceptible and suddenly ellie’s throwing her head back with a laugh, sound muffled by the sliding plexiglass.

“hey, receptionist is on break, can i help you with something?” a mechanic is poking his head into the lobby from an adjoining office.

“uh, i’m here for ellie?” the mechanic’s glancing through the glass into the main garage before standing from his rolling chair to dust his hands on his coveralls.

“yeah, she’s supposed to be watching the front,” he laughs. “too busy flirting with her lil girlfriend to pay attention.”

he doesn’t notice the way your face falls or how you almost drop the little canvas bag altogether.

you chance another glance at the two, find that the girl has emerged from under the hood and you swallow hard because god, she’s so fucking pretty.

doesn’t help that seeing her and ellie side-by-side makes you wonder if the two of you look that good together.

they look like they were made for each other and they even share similar interests! you don’t know a damned thing about cars and ellie’s gaze nearly glazes over every time you’re talking about your recipes and coffee pairings.

“uh, actually,” you stop him. “i don’t think she was expecting me, so i’ll just drop this off.”

he pauses.

“you sure? i can get her real quick, she’s not busy.”

ellie still hasn’t clocked you, so you shake your head.

“it’s fine,” you assure him. “i’ll talk to her later.”

he merely shrugs, meets you halfway for the canvas bag, and you’re quickly ducking out of the garage.

“babe?”

ellie’s right on the dot, you realize, when you hear her through the cracked sliding door to the balcony.

you’ve just finished watering your plants and now you’re jotting down a quick brainstorm for the upcoming spring launch.

through the window, you see ellie kicking her shoes off at the entrance before assessing her surroundings and poking her head into your bedroom for good measure.

“babe?” she calls out.

you stand, tucking the little notebook under your arm before sliding back inside.

she seems to light up when she sees you, crossing the living room to meet you halfway.

“hey, els.”

you’re letting her engulf you in a hug, arms wrapping around your waist as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“missed you today,” she hums, rocking your weight from side to side.

“missed you too,” you say gently.

ellie’s pulling away a short distance, finger bumping under your chin so you’ll look up at her.

“why didn’t you say hi when you stopped in today?” she nearly pouts. “zack came in when we were slow and said that someone dropped something off for me.”

you shrug, unable to tell her that insecurity was rearing its ugly head and you didn’t know how to deal with it in that moment.

“my girl didn’t wanna eat with me?”

“sorry,” you mumble, burning up under the heat of her gaze. “i couldn’t stay long.”

her brows are furrowing, hands coming up to smooth your hair from your face and brush over your shoulders.

“everything okay, babe?”

you nod once, then twice.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?”

ellie’s watching you closely, fingers cupping your neck.

“talk to me,” she encourages softly. “did something happen?”

you swallow, shake your head, and put on your most convincing smile before leaning up to give her a peck on the lips.

“m’okay,” you tell her.

she doesn’t look convinced, but she also doesn’t wanna pry.

changes the subject instead.

“so does this mean, you’ll swing by and actually hang out with me soon?” she asks, body relaxing when you start smoothing over the wrinkles in her coveralls as a distraction.

you nod, smile widening when she starts peppering kisses all over your face.

for a little bit, you forget about ellie’s coworker and you forget about the comment that zack made, but then you’re popping in again almost two weeks later.

they’re shoulder to shoulder in the body shop, looking at something under the hood of a silver pick up truck. ellie’s engrossed, but the girl’s fullblown staring, paying no mind to whatever ellie’s explaining in the engine bed.

makes you sick to your stomach thinking that if ellie so much as chances a glance, their noses could brush.

“hey receptionist is— oh.”

it’s zack, the same mechanic from last time.

he’s wiping his hands on an old towel as he emerges from one of the bays.

“ellie!” he shouts past the propped open door.

she nearly jumps out of her skin, parting from her coworker as she throws a cross look over her shoulder.

“your girl’s here,” he announces.

ellie’s straightening up, craning her neck even more before her face splits into a bright smile.

she’s abandoning the girl by the truck, jogging across the body shop to duck into the lobby.

“hi, angel.”

your cheeks warm when she slides her arm around your waist to pull you into her.

“gonna go on lunch break, don’t wait up,” she calls & you’re sparing the girl near the truck a glance.

her name’s emma if the stitching on the right breast of her coveralls is anything to go by.

she makes a show of taking you in from head to toe before her gaze cuts to zack and they seemingly share a wordless exchange.

oh.

you have no clue what to make of that, but ellie’s steering you from the lobby and out into the crisp air.

it’s still a little chilly outside, but you’re wearing one of ellie’s favorite sweatshirts and she’s shrugging on a hoodie hanging from a coatrack by the door.

“my truck?” she offers when a chill rips down your spine.

you only hum.

when the two of you are settled, her in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger’s, she’s taking the little bag with lunch containers and setting it on her dash before pulling you towards her to eliminate every inch of space between the two of you.

“whaddya doing?” you sigh out a laugh.

“i missed you,” ellie says simply.

“ellie, you slept over last night,” you squeak out a breathy laugh when her ice cold hands slide under the warmth of the red fleece. “we saw each other this morning.”

“so?” she replies petulantly. “wanna be with you all the time.”

you’re wearing a turtleneck underneath the sweatshirt so she’s nosing along your jaw before pressing a few soft kisses there.

“you’re so clingy recently, els,” you giggle, arms winding around her neck.

“duh.” and your belly flips when she doesn’t even deny it. “you’re so fucking cute and i just wanna keep you in my pocket all the time.”

that earns her a full-hearted laugh and you really begin to wonder why you let that girl with her stupidly perfect blown out hair and stupidly rounded ass and the most stupidly pretty face ever make you question your ellie.

you live in bliss for the duration of her forty-five minute break where she does a whole lot of eating, but not necessarily the food you made for her.

the windows are equal parts fogged and frosted by the time she’s done with you and you’re shimmying your jeans back up in the back seat of her truck as she shrugging the top half of her discard coveralls and her hoodie back on again.

“you didn’t even touch to food i made you,” you whine.

“i’ll eat it on my ten,” she assures you, and your toes curl when she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

“liked what i had for lunch better,” she says so casually, your cheeks are on fire.

“ellie!”

“definitely need dessert when i get home,” she insinuates, leaning her weight over your blissed out body.

she plants a kiss on your mouth before climbing back into the front seat.

but, in the lobby, when she’s bidding you a farewell with another peck on the lips, promising she’ll try to come home early, you notice emma’s eyes again. they’re searing, laced with obvious annoyance.

ellie’s returning to her duties and you’re ducking into their restroom for a moment to splash your face with cool water.

ellie’s never given you a reason to doubt her, has been a perfect girlfriend since the beginning, but you can’t help yourself.

especially not when you’re ducking out and you hear it.

“so i’m not the only one surprised that her girl looks like that?” you think it’s zack, but you can’t be so sure.

“i dunno, she’s hot, but they don’t really match,” another voice sounds. “especially since her last…thing was with emma.”

and, wow, fuck, you hadn’t been expecting that.

“damn, i forgot about that,” maybe zack says. “it was at the party mel and them threw, right? when they fucked?”

you’d wanted to give the benefit of the doubt. maybe they’d been a thing once upon a time, kissed on occasion, but hearing it put so crassly makes you feel like you’re gonna throw up.

the bell’s tinkling hard against the glass when you throw the door open.

and perhaps the situation with finding out about ellie and emma goes hand-in-hand with the way ellie experiences her jealousy.

maybe the fact that ellie still works closely with a previous situationship and is obviously on friendly terms with makes you withdraw a little.

you’re spending a lot more time at your cafe, readying for spring launch and brainstorming new recipes.

you don’t want to bore ellie, especially when you’ve been so in your head about everything lately, so you’re putting in more hours, coming home late at night.

truthfully, ellie’s devastated because she misses her girl :/ why are you always so busy suddenly?

so when a familiar face comes poking into the cafe a few weeks down the line, your eyes are as wide as saucers.

“wow, alex, is that you?”

she’s an ex who’d moved abroad for work a few years back. and the break up had been amicable enough, but she’d moved on and so had you.

the only contact the two of you keep is the occasional comment on social media and a text or two during the holidays.

she’s grinning ear-to-ear.

“what are you doing here?” you ask incredulously, setting the rag down on the bartop to round the counter.

you’d been in the middle of prepping to close up shop when the bells chimed against the glass.

“visiting my parents for a few weeks,” she answers. “thought i’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“great, i’m doing great,” you assure her with a warm smile. “what about you? how’s germany?”

“definitely miss the food here sometimes, but you know,” she shrugs and you’re letting out a laugh. “and...julia’s pregnant.”

and your brows are shooting up, arms wrapping around her middle.

“alex, that’s so exciting!” you cheer. “congratulations.”

her cheeks are red when you pull away.

“yeah,” she says softly, eyes gentle. “i’m so excited.”

and you’re glad to hear that things are working out for her, that she’s established herself well and she’s building the family she’s always dreamed of.

“and you?” she asks.

“what about me?”

“are you seeing anyone?”

it’s your turn to warm, fidgeting under her expectant gaze.

“i am,” you confirm.

her smile widens

“that’s great,” she says genuinely. “i’m glad. i hope they make you happy.”

and it really makes you draw into yourself for a moment because ellie does. she makes you so fucking happy, you don’t know what to do with yourself sometimes.

“yeah,” you hum. “she’s great.”

the two of you end up catching up a little as you close, and she even takes you up on your offer of visiting again for a tasting before she leaves!

and this is most likely what sends ellie over the edge.

at first she didn’t know why you were suddenly so distant, knew you were dedicated, but didn’t know why you were so invested as of late.

recently, it’s been her popping into your apartment, but being disappointed to find that you’re not even home.

and the days that she does catch you, you’re pecking her on the lips and rushing out the door.

makes ellie question if there’s something she should be paying closer attention to.

honestly, she’s just really worried that she did something wrong, so as she’s trekking up the sidewalk to approach your little cafe with a bundle of cute flowers around 10 in the evening, she’s feeling a weird sense of deja vu.

finds that the open sign has been flipped and that the lights are dim, but nearly trips over her steps when she peers inside and sees you behind the counter.

you’re not alone, a tall figure leaned up against the bartop, obviously deeply interested in whatever you’re animatedly talking about.

you’re still wearing your apron, hair falling from its hold and a lump is lodging its way into ellie’s throat.

tugs gently on the handle to see that it’s locked and the motion catches both you and your company’s attention.

god, whoever you’re with is an absolute stunner and ellie’s swallowing hard as you round the counter and flit through the tables to come let her in.

“els, what are you doing here?” you ask, smiling softly.

barely registers what you’re saying because the girl you’re with has straightened and there’s something so put together and elegant about the brunette that makes a pang of insecurity begin to coil in ellie’s stomach.

“wanted to see you,” she says simply.

“oh,” you reply. “we were just finishing up here, i would’ve been home in like an hour.”

and that leaves such a sour taste in her mouth because a lot can happen in an hour, in forty-five minutes even.

“great, i’ll walk you home,” ellie says, tone pinched.

your brows furrow and you’re opening your mouth to ask ellie if everything’s fine, but alex is placing a casual hand on your shoulder to remind you she’s there and ellie can’t help but zero in on the way her slender fingers curl.

“alex,” she introduces, offering her other hand.

“ellie,” your girlfriend bites back, glancing at alex’s outstretched palm before glancing back up at her.

there’s a twinkle of knowing in alex’s eye as she nods thoughtfully.

“heard a lot about you,” she says simply.

ellie merely hums.

and god, you’re mortified because you’d spent the entire night raving about ellie even though alex was supposed to be giving you feedback on launch ideas.

you’d told her how kind and great ellie was. instead, here she is, ice cold and glaring.

“well...” alex turns her attention to you. “i really appreciate tonight, everything was phenomenal.”

you preen under the praise and ellie’s rolling her eyes, fist tightening around the stems of the flowers.

“of course, anytime,” you assure her. “thank you for visiting me again.”

and seeing the two of you side-by-side, ellie feels so small. because you’ve always been so pretty, so out of her league and the two of you look like a match made in heaven.

“always,” alex replies, and ever the instigator, she adds, “text me when you get home?”

“i will,” you tell her, brushing past ellie to lock her out. “goodnight, alex, be safe!”

she says something in return that evades ellie’s hearing, but she’s far too livid to even tune in.

you’ve barely locked the door behind her when ellie’s voice cuts through the tense air.

“who the fuck was that?” she asks sharply.

you turn on your heel, brows dipping because ellie’s rarely let her anger get the best of her.

“ellie, what are—”

“i asked you a question,” she says firmly.

you roll your lips, gaze downcast because such a good moment has been obliterated by ellie’s fiery temper.

“we dated a few years ago,” you answer honestly. “she was back in town for the next few weeks and i wanted to do something nice.”

ellie lets out a humorless laugh.

“so i’ve been worried sick for weeks because you wanna ghost me when you’ve really been parading around with your ex?” ellie huffs.

and okay, wow, you hadn’t really expected that from her because your ellie is usually relatively level-headed.

“this is only the second time i’ve seen her, ellie,” you argue. “we were friends way before we even dated and it was a clean break up. we were just catching up.”

ellie’s tossing the bouquet of flowers, now crushed by her unrelenting fist, onto the nearest table top.

“just catching up, huh?” she mocks. “so a romantic set up, just the two of you, is just catching up? you said not to wait up for you because you’d be caught up with work. good to know that screwing your ex is—”

“this is work,” you bite back. “i’ve been trying to get my bearings for this upcoming launch and she was kind enough to put up with all my crazy ideas and all my rambling,” then quietly, “given ninety percent of it was about you.”

“what, you couldn’t ask me?” ellie huffs. “you know i’d help you if you wanted me to!”

“i didn’t ask because i know all this shit bores you,” you say weakly. “alex was just being nice.”

that shuts ellie up, douses her anger like a bucket of ice cold water on a fire. and now she feels like a piece of shit because she hadn’t known that you felt that way.

“and she’s engaged,” you add, pulling away from her when she takes a step towards you. instead you busy yourself with gathering your spread and all the silverware. “they’re expecting a child.”

and fuck, ellie wishes she’d slowed down. wishes that she hadn’t talked out of her ass.

“i didn't—”

“you’re one to talk, ellie,” you add coldly. “you work in close proximity with a girl you used to fuck regularly. you’re still friends with her, and it’s obvious to every single soul imaginable that i’m just an obstacle to her and that she’s still interested. but i didn’t say anything even if it fucking ate away at me because i know you. you’ve never given me a reason to doubt us.”

that knocks that wind from ellie’s lungs because she hadn’t realized that you knew. just wanted to sweep it under the rug because her and emma were never serious and she didn’t want you worrying.

“wait, angel, i’m sorry,” ellie says. “i—”

you shake your head.

“whatever, ellie,” you whisper. “i have to close up.”

“c’mon, babe, don’t—”

“i don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” you cut her off. “i’ll be home soon, but i wanna be alone right now.”

when you get home and see ellie’s sneakers by the door, you take in a deep breath and try to mentally prepare yourself for the inevitable conversation, but instead, you’re met with the smell of your favorite take out and a soft murmur from your vinyl player in the living room.

when you make it to the end of the corridor to peer into the kitchen, you see ellie taking down a few plates.

she’s glancing over her shoulder, body seemingly relaxing when she finds you standing in the archway of the kitchen.

“hey,” she greets softly, and you belatedly realize that her voice is hoarse.

“hi,” you reply.

“wanna eat first?” she asks you, but you don’t answer, too busy analyzing her.

you put two and two together; figure that she’s been crying if the red bags under her eyes and the dying flush on her cheeks is anything to go by.

she takes a step towards you and you seem to snap out of it.

“wanna shower first,” you tell her.

you hear her gulp.

“okay,” she says.

and you hate this. you hate being upset and you hate that she’s upset and knowing that ellie cried makes you wanna cry, so you’re taking a step towards her.

she’s glancing at you.

“shower with me?” you offer timidly.

ellie’s pushing off the counter, nodding eagerly.

and truthfully, ellie had every intention of keeping her hands to herself, but then you were asking her to help work the soap down your back.

then you were turning to face her to rinse under the stream of the showerhead. the sudsy water’s making its way down the column of your throat and the curves of your body and ellie’s tongue is so dry, she feels like it could crack in her mouth.

her hands settle on the narrow of your waist, right over the swell of your hips as she presses open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder.

“i’m so sorry, angel,” she whispers, hands sliding to rest against the small of your back.

you give in even though you’re still in your head, arms looping around her neck as she brushes your hair to one side and starts paying a lot more attention to the spot right behind your ear.

“s’okay, els,” you assure her softly. “i’m sorry, too. i was being a brat.”

your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, breath hitching when she grabs a palmful of your ass and breaks away from your neck to catch your lips between her own.

“you don’t know how much i love you,” she murmurs between kisses, sighing brokenly when the plush of your tits presses against her sensitive nipples.

you moan when one of her hands slides down your front and gently brushes over your clit.

“ellie,” you whimper.

“let me show you?”

your head is lolling back when the pads of her calloused fingers circle your entrance to gather the slick that’s accumulating there.

you nod.

“yeah, yeah, ellie, please,” you choke.

she’s reaching behind you to turn the shower off, ducking outside of the tiled space to grab your towel.

and she’s slow, meticulous as she dries you off, mouth watering when the cool air of the bathroom makes gooseflesh ripple over your smooth skin.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” ellie whispers, standing behind you in the mirror. “so fucking perfect and all mine.”

your eyelids are drooping shut as she discards the towel, hands wandering as her teeth sink into your neck.

“oh, fuuu—”

ellie’s jostling you back into your bedroom. when she’s about to push you back against the mattress, you’re spinning so that she’s falling against the unmade duvet, taking you with her.

and ellie’s gaze is glazing over when you spread her legs to reveal a pussy slick with need and a clit so swollen, it makes you salivate.

“what are you doing?” she whispers, fingertips denting the fat of your thighs.

“wanna ride you, els,” you whimper, climbing to straddle her heat. “wanna take care of you.”

one of her legs stretches to settle over your shoulder and you’re kissing her calf as your clits bump.

“fuck,” ellie chokes when you start rolling your hips. “fuck, wait, angel, just—”

the slip is delicious, obscene sound of your combined arousal echoing through the room to mingle with ellie’s throaty moans.

ellie’s used to watching you ride her strap, used to fucking you and giving you everything because it’s one of the things that makes her the happiest, but, fuck, she could get used to this.

“you gonna cream all over my pussy, ellie?” you whine, pace relentless as you ride her.

she lets out a breathy laugh.

“you feel how wet i am?” ellie gasps, thumb coming to nestle between your heat. the friction feels so fucking good against your clit, has you throwing your head back as you fuck her. “god, you’re fucking delusional if you think i’m not a hundred and ten percent obsessed with you.”

“oh fuck, ellie, your pussy feels s’good,” you whine, eyes watering when her other hand settles on your hip to guide you.

“does it, angel?” she moans breathily. “only you can get me like this.”

“you’re so wet, els,” you marvel. “your cunt’s so soft and so...so—”

“it’s all yours,” she whispers shakily, hips jerking because she’s close. “all yours, angel.”

and she’s crying out when you slip off of her, hands grabbing for you desperately.

she’s throwing her head back against your pillows when your lips latch onto her clit.

“oh, shit,” she moans. “wait, wait.”

but you don’t wait, in fact, your ministrations quicken, tongue lapping at the slick that gushes from ellie’s cunt.

“fuck, angel, i’m gonna—”

the broken moan that leaves ellie’s lithe body has you clenching your thighs. and you think she’s gonna cum, but her palm is firm against your forehead to push you away gently.

her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head when a string of spit webs from your chin to her clit.

“m’not cumming before you do,” she swallows. “this was supposed to be about you.”

“it is,” you assure her. “all i care about right now is making you cum.”

“jesus, you’re actually something else,” ellie sighs shakily, combing a tattooed hand through her damp locks.

you’re making a move to close in on her pussy again, but she’s pushing you onto your back, settling her achey cunt over your thigh as she circles both of your wrists in one hand.

“let me take care of you and you can do whatever you want with me for the rest of the night,” ellie promises, sloppy kiss turning into her licking into your mouth.

her fingers waste no time finding your folds, pads eager against your bud before dipping lower to tease at your entrance.

“how could you think i’d want any other pussy other than yours, angel?” she whispers against your mouth as she stuffs you knuckles deep. “this is all mine, you hear me? all fuckin’ mine.”

you nod, squirming against where she’s still got you confined with a bruising grip around your wrists.

“s’all yours, els,” you whimper.

“just like this pussy’s all yours,” she husks, hips rolling over the swell of your thigh. “would never fucking dream of giving myself to anyone but you.”

and god, ellie knows all the right things to say to have you winding tight.

you’re arching into her, jaw slack and eyes crossing as she hits that spot inside you that has you feeling fucking boneless.

“c’mon, angel,” she encourages you. “just once all over my fingers, then you can do whatever you want to me.”

the squelch has ellie’s thighs shaking as she rolls her hips, knuckles curling hard inside the warm heat of your needy pussy.

“don’t stop, els,” you beg her. “i’m gonna—”

she’s freeing your wrists, climbing from your thigh to settle on her knees at the end of the bed.

“wait, els, i’m gonna—”

and the moan that leaves you can be heard by the entire apartment block, no doubt, because ellie’s sucking your clit past her lips and eating you out like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do.

the shit she’s murmuring against your folds is filthy, has you trying to squeeze your knees together because ellie’s that good.

“ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” you cry out when she adds a third finger.

it’s all it takes because a few moments later, your back’s arching all the way off the bed, thighs vibrating as she continues to toy with you through your orgasm.

“that’s it, angel,” ellie whispers. “ride it out.”

your chest heaves through the final waves, a sheen of sweat making your dewy skin look like it’s glistening under the lowlight of your bedside lamp.

“you did so fuckin’ good for me,” ellie says gently, standing naked between your parted legs as your arm drapes over your eyes in embarrassment.

“stop hiding,” she scolds, climbing to straddle you.

her hands are wandering, smoothing over every available expanse of skin as you cover your face and shy away from her.

she’s shocked when she pries your arm away and finds tears welling in your eyes.

“babe,” she calls incredulously. “why are you—”

“we wouldn’t have been in this situation if i wasn’t so immature and just talked to you about it,” you hiccup.

ellie’s face is falling, pulling you up to wrap you in her arms.

“babe, stop,” she whines softly, rocking you as a shudder rips down your spine. “i should’ve said something and i definitely shouldn’t have acted the way i did earlier. if anything i was immature.”

“you’re such a good girlfriend, ellie,” you whimper. “and i’m...i’m sorry, i—”

“hey, hey,” she stops you firmly, peeling away from you to thumb at your chin. “don’t do that.”

and you feel like such a big fucking baby as ellie repositions the two of you so that she’s leaning against your headboard and she’s pulling you against her sweaty chest.

“i’m sorry, ellie,” you choke again.

“stop apologizing,” ellie croaks, and you realize that the emotions are welling inside of her as well. “none of this was your fault, angel. i should’ve been honest and just told you, but i was scared.”

you’re still hiccuping, ear pressed over her heart.

“you’re my first real girlfriend in a really long time, and it doesn’t help that you’re so grossly out of my league, and—”

“ellie,” you chide.

“i don’t wanna mess things up with you,” she admits softly. “especially after the way we started.”

“i’d never hold that against you,” you swallow.

“and that’s what makes it worse. i know you wouldn’t even if you should,” ellie whispers. “and then today, i saw you with someone else and it made me so fucking mad because the two of you look so good together. it made me feel like i don’t deserve you.”

“els.” and you’re crying harder now, arms winding so tight around her waist, she feels like she’ll burst.

“i’m sorry,” ellie says gently. “you’ve always been so fucking good to me and—”

you’re leaning up, kissing her to shut her up before she starts crying and she’s cradling your face like you’re the most fragile thing.

“i love you so fucking much, ellie,” you tell her between kisses. “let’s just...let’s just put this behind us, okay?”

she nods, pulls from your lips to nestle her face in your neck.

“i love you more, angel,” she murmurs against your skin. “you don’t even know.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #the last of us

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dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

Note

Ok I know you said time won't make them nicer to each other.

But I need her reaction to Carlos being diagnosed with appendicitis. Maybe she's the one that takes him to the hospital?!

The Uphill Battle {2} || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, name calling, angst

WC: 2.9k

Part One

Carlos was grumpier than usual. And that was saying something since he had been in a mood since the news broke about Lewis taking his seat. You could understand that after losing seats to guys all the time before getting a spot in the Academy. Carlos, however, was not used to that feeling and it showed as he pushed himself harder at each training.

“You’re too weak,” he taunted as you wiped the sweat from your brow and started another set of reps with trembling arms. “It’s like you don’t even want to be in F1.”

You let the weight bar fall into the shelf and sat up. “Go project yourself onto someone else, you miserable shit.”

After taking second place at the feature race in Bahrain you had shown you had the drive for F1, but it didn’t seem to change his training approach. He was still firmly on the path of insult until you explode and prove him wrong. To be fair, it had worked so far.

A muscled arm, followed by a bare chest, blocked your way when you stood up, a sneer pulling at his lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Now get out of my way, you have free practice to get ready for.”

He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him but when he found you in the gym he decided to finish his warm up routine alongside you. It had been a mistake because he couldn’t help but pester and critique you until he completely forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“Fine, but you need to stay and finish your set. That was just embarrassing to watch.”

“I’m done. With you. And with your training. Go fuck yourself, Junior.” You shoved past him, your elbow connecting with his gut, before you made your way to the stack of towels. You felt his presence follow you to the changing rooms and he closed the door to the shower cubicle.

“You’re done when I say you are done,” Carlos growled, turning you to face him before he pressed your back to the cold tile wall.

You tipped your head back and laughed darkly. “Only for the next nine months, then I’m Lewis’ problem. Or, maybe I’ll get the golden boy as my PT. Charles seems sweet and kind, I wouldn’t mind testing his patience.”

“Listen here, you little-” Whatever threat you would have ignored was lost as you flipped the handle of the cold tap and washed it gush out of the showerhead and straight into Carlos’ face.

“You were saying?”

“Brat.” The timber in his voice had the desired effect as his hand enveloped your throat and pulled you under the cold spray. His lips crashed against yours and his thigh nudged your legs apart, your hips riding the thick muscle as you kissed him back just as passionately. “I really hate you.”

You grinned, but it was more a baring of teeth ready to sink into his skin. “I don’t even hate you, that’s how little I feel about you.”

His palm glided over your ribs, touching the flesh bared by the sports bra you trained in, and slipped between the waistband of your shorts. His fingers spread your folds and curled into your core as your head fell back against the tiles.

“You feel something,” Carlos chuckled, dipping his head down to leave his mark on the swell of your breast. “Or you wouldn’t feel so fucking wet.”

“God I hate it when you open your mouth, just fuck me already.”

Carlos pulled the elastic waistband and let it snap back against your skin. The twanging pain was instant but then it was gone as he dragged the material down your legs. Another ache flared as he sunk his teeth into the soft supple skin on your thigh and you cried out at the heat that radiated from the indents he left behind.

“Fucking savage,” you growled, but you both knew how much you liked it that way.

“Sticks and stones, malcriada.”

You were needy, impatient, and well aware someone would come looking for Carlos as the countdown to free practice began. The lure of a verbal repartee would have to wait if you wanted some pleasure to balance out the pain in the arse that was Carlos. You pushed Carlos onto the bench where your dry towel had been abandoned and he lifted his hips for you to drag his shorts off.

“You gonna ride this di-“ You slapped your hand over his mouth to silence him and straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan that echoed around the changing room.

“Be a good boy and keep the commentary to yourself if you want a happy ending,” you warned as you let your hand fall to his shoulder and started to roll your hips. He heeded your words and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something that would leave him with blue balls.

His hands gripped your waist and guided you up and down, setting rhythm that had you bouncing on his dick and an orgasm quickly building. The heat flashing across your body was the perfect contrast to the droplets of cold water collecting on your back and shivering down your spine.

“Fuck, harder,” you begged as your head fell back and he grazed his teeth over your throat. Your gasp filled the small cubicle as he nipped sharply at your skin and you raked your nails down his chest, earning a deep groan from his parted lips. The pained sound made your cunt clench and flutter before he suddenly stood up and turned you to face the wall. The emptiness within your body was quickly filled with the snap of his hips and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry at the sudden fullness.

“Shut up and take it,” he ordered quietly in your ear. “This is what you asked for.”

Carlos’ hands fell to your hips, bruising your skin with their harsh grip as he pounded into you. The slap of your bodies colliding filled the small space and your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs began to tremble. Your breathing deepened and you forgot where you were as your mind emptied and your body exploded.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Carlos moaned, your walls tightening around him with your orgasm. A wordless grunt warmed your ear before he sealed his lips over your racing pulse and left his mark while he filled your cunt.

Your forehead pressed to the cool tile as you regained your breath and Carlos pulled out, chuckling as he watched his cum leak down your still trembling thighs. “God, you’re a whore.”

“That’s more of an insult to you, desperado,” you teased. “Should I send the invoice to you or Sainz Senior?”

You forced yourself upright and stepped under the cold spray to see his smirk fade as you washed his seed away. You both jumped at the loud knock on the bathroom door and a voice called out, “Carlos, are you in there? You’re going to be late.”

“Just a sec,” Carlos shouted back before attempting to step under the now warm spray. You cast your hands out, splaying your fingers across his torso, catching the pained wince that crossed his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Daddy’s calling,” you said with a shake of your head.

He looked down at himself, the evidence of what transpired glistening on his cock. “Seriously?”

It was your turn to smirk and push him back further before waving him off. “Good luck.”

Free practice was already underway by the time you finished showering and changing into fresh Ferrari merch. No one really paid you any mind as you found a good spot on the balcony above the pit lane and watched the final 30 minutes of track time.

Despite there being better performers, your eyes kept being drawn back to your PT and the lowly 7th place he finished. You had catalogued a list of insults for him and went down to the debrief room ready to rule him up when you found him leaning against the corridor wall. Lines from his balaclava creased his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“Don’t think playing sick will let you off the hook for that performance,” you said as you crossed your arms.

There was no humour in his face, no wry amusement that usually came with your insults. Instead, he silently pushed off from the wall and made his way on towards the briefing room.

You kind of felt bad as you left the track and returned to the hotel. There had been a misstep in the turbulent dance that had been going on for months and you were left unsettled by it. Nothing on the tv could distract you enough that you finally gave up and took the elevator to Carlos’ floor. It was late but you figured he would still be awake as you knocked on his door.

“You look like shit,” you greeted, but your voice was thick with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the sickly sheen covered his bare chest too. Reaching out, you felt his skin burning like a furnace and he swayed on his feet before leaning on the doorway.

“You don’t care, so just go,” he rasped, his voice pained and weak.

You rolled your eyes and stepped around him to see a sick bowl on the coffee table with some painkillers beside it and a rumpled blanket spread over the couch. He made to follow but he could barely hold himself up and it was only your arms that kept him collapsing. “Fuck sake, Carlos, you need a hospital.”

“Just need sleep,” he argued. His body shivered and his throat worked to swallow but you had been through enough hangovers to know what was coming. You leapt for the sick bowl and barely got it under his face before he hurled up the bright blue electrolyte drink that you spotted on the table.

“Where’s your phone and your keys?” He peeked up from the bowl pitifully and he saw the determined look on your face before pointing to the kitchen. “Can you stand on your own? Don’t look so offended, it’s a reasonable question in your state.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Max Verstappen.” You let go of him for a second to see if he would crumple to the carpet but he seemed to hold himself on pure stubbornness so you dashed to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and grab his belongings.

“Planning on robbing me too?” he asked as he noticed you grabbed his wallet too.

“Since I’m apparently a whore, you owe me a hefty debt,” you muttered sarcastically. “It’s for your ID, asshole.”

Carlos didn’t deign to respond as he curled one arm around your shoulders, leaning heavily into your embrace, and the other clutched his abdomen.

“You’ve been in pain since practice, haven’t you?”

“Maybe…can we just go?”

You pocketed his things and took as much weight as you could off him, using every ounce of your strength training as you guided him to the elevator. It was strange to see him so reserved in the elevator mirror as it headed down to the underground car park and it was even stranger to sit in the driver seat of his car.

“Please don’t crash it,” he murmured as you started it up and headed out into the street.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I am actually a decent driver,” you muttered. The city traffic was busy 24/7 but the satnav came in handy with the directions to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. “Should I call your dad?”

“No. It’s probably nothing but a stomach bug.”

That ‘probably nothing’ turned out to be acute appendicitis. You could have laughed at how spectacularly wrong Carlos was but you were too worried as he was wheeled away to surgery and you were left to make a phone call.

‘Do not call him Daddy Sainz,’ you reminded yourself as you entered the passcode on Carlos’ phone and hoped he wasn’t too delusional to get it right. Thankfully it unlocked and you went to his contacts. “Hello, Mr Sainz?”

“Who is this?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s Y/N, I drive for Ferrari in the Academy, uh, Carlos is my Mentor.”

“Where is my son? Why do you have his phone?”

“He’s at the hospital. They’re just taking him into surgery now to remove his appendix.”

The elder Sainz must had put you on speakerphone as you heard the noises at his end increase. “Which hospital? Why are you only calling me now?”

“King Fahad Armed Forces and you’re welcome, by the way, if it wasn’t for me your son would still be curled up on the couch in his room until it burst.”

“He said you had an attitude,” the old man muttered quietly before he resigned himself to a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

You sent him the ward number that Carlos would be brought through when he was out of surgery and tried to make yourself comfortable on a vinyl chair. It must have been cozy enough as you dozed off, only waking when a nurse tapped your shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Mr Sainz is on his way up now, the operation went well.”

You rubbed your eyes and thanked her as you sat up to see almost two hours had passed. It was then you noticed a pair of brown eyes were watching curiously from across the room.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” you asked as you stretched and cracked your back.

The old man snorted a laugh and put down the almost empty styrofoam cup of black coffee. “You don’t need to wait, I can look after him from here.”

“And ruin my perfect posture for nothing? I’m fine waiting a bit longer.” You stood up and made your way to the percolator jug of black sludge and poured yourself a cup too before pacing the room. “Have you been talking with the other teams yet?”

His eyes followed you back and forth like he was trying to pick your brain apart. “About what?”

“2025. He’s too good for his F1 career to end now.”

The old man stood up too and refilled his cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?” he asked when he noticed your face scrunch at the first sip.

“Just a tiny dash of milk please, no sugar. I like my coffee like I like my men: a little dark and bitter.”

He chuckled and poured a small amount of milk into your cup before returning to his seat. “I can see why my son likes you.”

You spluttered on your mouthful and hurried to swallow the hot liquid. “You must be thinking about someone else. Carlos and I just about have a mutual understanding, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he borderline hates me.”

“Can’t be too many female Ferrari drivers that he mentors from the Academy, because I sincerely remember his comment about her,” the old man teased, crossing one leg over the other and staring over the rim of his cup. His eyebrow arched, daring you to correct him until he took the silence with an air of smugness.

Sounds grew along the quiet ward and soon Carlos was wheeled in on a hospital bed, parking into the empty space that had been between the two chairs. Though he looked a little sleepy, Carlos was awake and he smiled dopily from where he lay looking up at you.

“The doctors said your testicle retrieval went well.”

His smile broke with a deep laugh and he turned to look at his amused dad. “I see you met her.”

“I did.” Carlos Senior stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m glad you had her to take care of you, son. I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

You frowned as his dad left the room, waiting for the door to close quietly behind him. “What the hell were you thinking! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died!”

Carlos shrugged and shifted carefully to get comfortable on this pillow behind his head. “We don’t exactly have the sort of relationship where we talk about things.”

You huffed and lifted his head, fluffing the pillow before shoving it back into place. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Back to the insults, finally.” The sick bastard smiled happily and settled into the pillow with a contented sigh. “For a moment I thought I died and went to heaven.”

“Not funny.”

“Was so, you just care about me too much to laugh. Admit it, you would’ve missed me.” He opened his hand and inched it closer to the edge of the bed.

“They must have given you the strong stuff, you’re clearly delusional,” you said with a roll of your eyes but placed your hand into his palm and he closed his fingers around them. “Your dad seems to think you like me.”

Carlos yawned and closed his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “That’s probably the beginning of dementia. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t,” you chuckled. A few moments of silence filled the room before a soft snore broke the quiet. Careful not to wake him, you kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay, Junior.”

“Knew it,” he said as he cracked one eye open and grinned.

You let go of his hand and dropped into your chair with an annoyed huff. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

#ollie answers #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader

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obsessedvibee · 7 months

Text

Can't Sleep

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader

Warnings: lots of dirty talk, m. masturbation, f. masturbation, humping a pillow

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Austin is in Paris promoting Dune part 2 and he can't sleep in his hotel. He calls his girl to chat and things get dirty real fast. Phone sex ensues.

Authors Note: It's been way too long since I've written for Austin. Something about imagining him rubbin' one out just does something to me. So I thought I'd make everyone else suffer too. You're welcome. Comments & reblogs appreciated!

Enjoy!

He tossed the remote to the other side of the bed defeatedly. Flipping through the few channel options on the hotel tv could only entertain him for so long. Looking over at the clock the red number taunted him showing 4am. Being up for the last almost 36 hours would tire out most people but his body wouldn’t let go of consciousness. The jet lag certainly wasn’t helping either. His thoughts flickered to her. Doing the math in his head; she’d only be at 10pm in New York with Paris being six hours ahead. She should be home from work now. Finished with dinner.

He reached for his phone, quickly finding her in his contacts, before pressing it to his ear. The line crackled before it began to ring. His fingers mindlessly played with the string from the waistband of his sweats as he waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounded small and distant through the line and he hated it.

“Y/N, hi,” he rasped.

“Hi.”

A bit of rustling sounded on the other end as she sat up from the couch she was more than likely dosing off on.

“You sound tired,” he said, suddenly feeling guilty, “I should let you sleep.”

“No, no it’s fine,” she assured him, “I think I’m more bored than tired.”

He knew she was lying. She’d fallen asleep on that couch so many times when he’s home with her. Never being able to finish a whole movie without hearing her soft snores as she slept.

He was a little jealous if he was being honest with himself. He was never one of those people that could just pass out as soon as they close their eyes. Even more so if it wasn’t his own bed.

“Have you slept at all since you left?”

He sighed, “no.”

“Aus,” she said sympathetically.

He ran a hand over his face.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He hummed, “tell me about your day.”

And she did. From her drive to work to how much the phone rang, how her boss had gotten on her nerves, what she got for lunch, how her feet hurt from her new heels she bought the other day, her drive home, how she had to go back out to get chicken for dinner from the grocery store that she forgot to get yesterday. Every detail she rambled on about, but he didn’t mind. It made him feel less alone. Less like he was on the other side of the world.

“Hey, Austin?”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna set you down for a sec, I gotta pee.”

He chuckled, “m'kay.”

He heard the clank of her setting the phone down, and he pulled his phone away from him for a minute checking the time. 4:30. At least the time was moving a little faster now.

Putting the phone on speaker, he checked a few emails while he waited when his phone chimed, with her name coming across the banner with a new text.

Leave it to her to text the person she’s currently chatting with.

Clicking on the banner, his phone swapped apps to the text.

But it wasn’t a text.

His heart rate rose as his eyes took in the photo.

She was posed in their bathroom mirror with a black lingerie set he’d never seen her in before. Her phone was in one hand snapping the photo while the other had her thumb through the waistband of her panties teasingly tugging them lower down her hip, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. Her breasts were barely contained in the bra, the cups hardly coming up over her nipples, her flesh pushed together creating ample cleavage.

He swallowed thickly as he felt the warmth of blood rush to his groin.

“You still there, Aus?” She asked feigning innocence.

He cleared his throat, “yea- yea.” He took a deep breath. “What are you-?”

He didn’t have a ton of words flying around in his head given the normal amount of blood that was in his brain was now being utilized elsewhere.

She giggled, “you need a little help getting to sleep, yeah? So I thought I’d give ya a little help.”

God, what did he do to deserve such an angel?

“Right now?”

Was this for now or after she hung up? This was new territory for the both of them.

“If you want?”

He felt her back tracking and he scrambled to steer the conversation back to the desired destination.

“Shit, yeah- yeah,” he shifted on the bed propping some pillows to lean back on as he rested his hand over his semi in his pants giving a little squeeze. “Are you- are you touching yourself?”

He heard her inhale before speaking, “should I be?”

“Please,” he almost whispered.

He ground his teeth, waiting for any sound from her. Something to feed his imagination. He lightly ran the back of his fingers over the tent in his pants, keeping his nerves on end.

A small moan sounded into his ear, and he immediately began to work himself with her.

His heart was pounding already, imagining her with her legs open on the couch, her hand working herself over her panties.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he breathed, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweats.

She struggled to find her voice. She took a breath, “you.”

“Yeah?” He worked at tugging down his pants. “What about me?”

“Aus,” she chuckled nervously, “I- I- don’t know if I can do this.”

He situated himself, slowly wrapping his hand around his length, giving her a moment. She always got a little shy with talking filthy.

Not willing to let the mood wane, he chose to take the lead. “I gotcha, just keep your hands busy for me.”

He heard her begin shuffling around before getting settled.

He sighed lazily, beginning to stoke himself, lightly squeezing on his upstroke. His thumb swiped the tip collecting the bead of precum, spreading it around.

“’m so hard for you right now,” he murmured huskily, his voice heavy with arousal watching his tip disappear into his fist.

A little whimper escaped her, rewarding his words, and boosting his ego.

Letting his eyes close, his mind began to tease him with images of her. Her smooth skin, her hair splayed out behind her. Was she starting slow and gentle?

A sharp inhale brought him back to the present.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. A soft moan followed, melting through the phone into his ear. “I just had to take everything off.”

He couldn't help but quicken his strokes as the sudden image of her legs spread, and center bare on their couch overtook his thoughts.

“Wanted to get more comfortable.”

“Fuck-, are you wet?”

She hummed, “so wet.”

Hearing her pleasured sounds were going to be his undoing.

“Put a finger in for me,” he coaxed her.

“Oh-“ she sighed heavily, “Austin.”

His cock throbbed, imagining how warm and tight she must feel. Her glistening folds wrapping around her little finger.

“Keep talking, Aus.”

He bit his lip as a smug smile threatened to appear. He had her right where he needed her.

“Don’t forget about my girls up top,” he spoke, “give ‘em a little attention for me.”

A full moan left her lips, making his cock twitch. He could practically feel her breaths on his ear. His mind kept conjuring up one filthy image after another. One hand in her pussy, the other groping her breast. Forcing his hand to pause, he squeezed at the base as the sudden urge to release overwhelmed him.

As he willed his heart to slow and the pleasured throbbing in his cock to weaken, a bunch of commotion sounded on her line. He listened intently as it quieted and a rhythmic sound started to come through. He reached down to massage his balls, swallowing thickly, “baby?”

A short whine came from her, sounding distant, before she shuffled the phone closer to her panting mouth, “are you close?”

He let his head fall back into the pillows with a huffed laugh, letting his fingers lightly play at the little sensitive spot under the head. “Just waiting on you, darling.”

He began stroking in rhythm with the sounds coming from her, his limbs tightening as the pleasure began to burn in his pelvis once more, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“I got a pillow-” she gasped, “-between my legs.”

His hips jerked, the primal urge to thrust breaking through his conscious.

“”You ridin’ it, like you do me?” He panted.

She couldn't even manage to string a sentence together anymore, a groan being her only reply.

“Cum with me baby, in 3-,” he began counting them down, “2-,”

Her whines were high causing goosebumps to cover his flesh, his fist flying impossibly quick over his shaft. He never thought further than her using her hand to pleasure herself, but imagining her grinding herself onto a pillow would be a fantasy he would be coming back to many times in the future, he was sure of it.

“Aus,” she cried, desperate for him to put an end to the agony.

“Cum for me,” he growled; a white heat flooding his pelvis.

A squeak was all he heard from her as she climaxed, and his cock suddenly became impossibly harder as the buzz in his veins shot through his tip. His head pressed deep into the pillows as his body tensed as his climax took hold. White spurted over his abdomen as he grunted like an animal with every lurch his cock gave, draining his seed, relieving his desire.

Relaxing his body, he quickly was left limp as he tried to catch his breath.

Minutes passed as they both regained a normal breathing rate.

He picked up the phone, taking it off of speaker, “thank you, baby.”

It wasn't long after they hung up that he was able to finally fall into a sweet sleep.

Need some more Austin smut? Check out my other works! > Masterlist

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin x reader

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deceitfuldevout · 9 months

Text

Until Death (Part 2)

Arranged Marriage AU: Dark!Husband!Rafe Cameron x Wife!Reader

Word Count: +2,021

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Domestic Violence, Humiliation, Branding, Forced breeding, Gun violence, Mild gore, Hints of misogyny.

Author's Note(s): I know this is over the top. I am on my period and only seek *violence*.

During the next few months, it had only worsened. Rafe was starting to feel comfortable around you now that his father isn’t keeping tabs. It was about time you had some marital training. From now on, no more hanging around those Pogue friends of yours. It was about time you started acting like a part of higher society. He won’t have you embarrassing him.

He’s let you get away with more than enough snarky remarks, and if you kept that stubborn attitude there will be consequences. Those days of rebellion are over now. He came up with the perfect routine to follow. As head of the house, Rafe expects certain things from you. To serve and obey like a good wife should.

It took some time and effort but eventually you learned. Whatever it takes to ease that temper of his. You remember the first few weeks of training. When Rafe would chase you down the halls of the manor with a riding crop in hand. He wouldn’t hesitate to bend you over his lap if needed. He absolutely loved to play ‘cat and mouse’, taunting his prey before going in for the kill.

Rafe took pleasure in watching that flicker of hope burn out. When he would arrive home from a long day of work, he wants you waiting patiently at the door. As soon as he steps in you get to work, greeting him when he enters. You place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Rafe isn’t satisfied by your lack of effort. He doesn’t try hiding the obvious frown, “Sweetheart,” his voice is stern, “That’s not what I taught you,” he’s waiting for you to get it right.

When you lean in again, he wraps his arms around your waist. Rafe takes the opportunity to lift you a few inches from the ground. He places you back down with his hands still cupping your rear. He grips and squeezes at the flesh before delivering a harsh smack. Then Rafe finally let’s go. Now sporting a cocky grin on his face, “I’m starving, what’s for dinner?” he can afford a private chef but prefers a home cooked meal instead. It was his way of keeping you busy at home. He loves watching you on camera playing housewife.

You walk with him the dining room where dinner awaits. It instantly improves his mood. Dinner was quiet. Mainly because Rafe did most of the talking. He would start with how his day was, then extensive detail of how his office life was, followed by how happy he was to be back home. You’ve already tuned him out. It took a while to realize he’d been calling your name.

By the time you’ve realized it he’s already lost his temper. He slams the dinner table hard enough to break out of that daydream you were currently in. You look up from your plate to find a very pissed off Rafe. You let out a string of apologies that are quickly shut down by him, “Don’t, not another word out of your mouth until we’re finished,” A quiet Rafe is never a good thing.

Although you were exhausted from the multiple tasks today, you wanted Rafe to hear you out. So, you try to make up for it the only way you know how. Dressed in a seductive camisole that was hiding a lacy two-piece. As soon as Rafe spots you he’s at a loss for words. This time it was different, you decided to take charge by straddling his waist. You brought his hands to your hips before fastening your pace. Rafe stares back with hooded lids. There’s a look of hunger in his eyes. That’s exactly where you need him. Desperate and wanting.

He lifts his head to catch a breast, teasing the other with his free hand. You moan with pleasure, raising your hips faster to catch the rising orgasm. Rafe could feel you were close. His hand dips down to find that bundle of nerves. He gives it a few rubs before tugging at it. You instantly melt into a puddle of pleasure. Your head falls back as you felt the wave of pleasure hit. After coming down from your high that’s when you realize the slick between your legs. Rafe came, hard.

You were stuffed to the brim with his spunk. He held you close, gently turning the both of you onto the bed. Your head now pressed against his chest. Rafe doesn’t pull out, he doesn’t want to. He seemed much more relaxed than earlier. That when you decide now would be a good time to tell him, “Rafe…" you start to plea your case, “I miss my parents,” you just wanted some space. It was something he’d been dreading of since the beginning. Rafe knew very well you were a free spirit. It would take some time to break that out of you. He needed to make you more reliant on him. So, for the past few months he’d been tampering with your birth control.

Yet no news of a pregnancy was made. He assumes it was from stress. What was stressful he hadn’t a clue. He gave you everything. What more could you possibly want? He huffs, “Fine,” grabbing your jaw to face him, “But I’m coming along,” he’s not going to risk you falling out of line. The last thing he needs is for you to embarrass him. Tears of joy stream down as you kiss him repeatedly. He couldn’t hide the grin on his face. Not when his adorable wife was so doting over him.

As each day passed, Rafe began to grow weary. He was nervous taking you out for the first time. His suspicions only grew when you start to pack a few bags. To his knowledge this was supposed to be a short trip. He chose the very day you were going to leave to start an argument. He'll be damned if he's sending his wife back to the cut. What if you ran away? Or worse, you running away with some Pogue. He'd grown suspicious for a while now.

It was the day of your trip. After waiting for Rafe downstairs, you try searching for his whereabouts. To your surprise, he was still sat at his desk. You couldn't believe it. He hadn't even bothered to pack his bags. Hell, he even had the gall to be upset. This wasn't fair, you were the one who was supposed to be in a bad mood.

Rafe starts, "Where is it?" he states. You roll your eyes, "Where is what Rafe?" as soon as he stands you step back. Already prepared for the worst as your hands fly in front, "Rafe..." tears begin to brim. You blink them away. It''s not like they would help. You sigh, "Where is what--" that's when he pounces, Rafe grabs you by the arm and pulls you to his desk.

He slams you against it with a 'thud'. All the air escapes your lungs. At that moment you start to cry harder. He growls in your face, "Where the fuck is it?!" Rafe had grown suspicious when you stopped wearing your wedding ring. He wants everyone to know you're off limits. You try to catch your breath, still attempting to muster up some words, “It doesn’t fit me anymore…”

“Bullshit,” "N-no! I swear! It doesn't fit me!" you're a sputtering mess. Tears and spit ran down your face. Rafe doesn't buy the act, not one bit. He wants you to prove to him your loyalty. He flips you over, pulling up your skirt before yanking down the garment. He aims his leaking tip against your folds. He fucks you against his desk, grunting into your ear a string of curse words and threats. Rafe reaches for something next to him, “You won’t wear the ring? Fine,” he picks up a wax stamp, still warm from earlier.

Still hot to the touch. Rafe presses his entire bodyweight on top of yours to prevent you from escaping. He traps your hand under his, isolating your ring finger from the rest. That's when you begin to panic, “Rafe! Rafe let go! Let go of my—“ You spot the tool in his hand. Now you were certain that he intends to burn you with it.

You thrash against his larger body, trying your best then break free form the grip he has on you. He takes the heated brand, hovering right above your digit. He then presses it tightly against your finger, ignoring the wail of agony escaping your lips. The smell of burning flesh consumes the room. A part of you wants to hurl from the stench alone.

When he pulls it away you cry harder. Rafe is in awe as he stares back at his initials now permanently burned into your finger. Fuck, he's never been more turned on in his life. Rafe thrusts his hips at a faster pace. He came with a roar, emptying a load deep inside. That's when he pulls something from his pocket. Your wedding ring. Rafe presses his lips against your ear and whispers, "Here, you won't be needing this," he drags the ring down your abdomen and past your mound. He coats the ring with your arousal before pushing it inside.

His fingers reach as far as they can go. Your breath hitches, feeling his thick digits stretching you. A whine escapes your lips. You clung to the desk for dear life. Rafe leans back in his chair, lighting up a cigarette to get a good view of his girl. He feet give your legs a light kick to part them. His cock twitches at the sight of his spunk leaving your womb. He watches as you attempt to push the ring out, evening offering to help get it out.

If the treatment wasn't humiliating enough, he would always find a way to make it worse. You turn around, now leaning against the desk with parted legs. His hands reach in between your legs. As one of them pushes a few fingers inside, the other toys with your clit. Rafe retrieves it with that same triumphant look after getting what he wants. This was the final straw. Your finger stung, you were tired and in unimaginable pain. Yet still, that spark of anger over came all senses, "Keep it, I want a divorce," with that you left his office.

You could hear Rafe's steps approaching and make a run for it. You beat him to the nearest guest room, locking the door behind. Rafe continuously slams at the door, "Don't even think about it! You're not leaving me! Do you hear me?!" Rafe screams your name at the top of his lungs. It startles you. When he starts to kick the door that's when you attempt to hide. Quickly finding a place under a bed. After a while the sound of Rafe's voice starts to die out. Hopefully his anger would subside, and this would all be over with. But all he could think of was how to get through this door.

A wave of relief is shortly lived. Until the sound of a gun firing is heard on the other side. Rafe shoots the door a few times until the lock finally breaks. You muffle a sob when you spot his feet standing right in front of the hiding spot. He calmly calls for your name, "Baby...please come out..." his voice is calm, too calm, "Don't make this harder for us," as if it would help. What other choice did you have?

You held out a hand. Rafe bends down to pull you out from underneath. He held you tightly, as if you'd disappear at any moment. He never sounded so desperate in his life, "You're not walking out on me," his grip tightens, "You will never leave me, do you understand?" he expects you to answer. Of course, you caved in, "I--I understand..." a stray tear escapes. Rafe's expression quickly changes. He swipes it away with the back of his thumb, "I love you, you know that, right?" his voice breaks, yet there are no tears.

That day you had to explain to your parents that you'd fallen ill. But don't worry, Rafe would take care of you. Through sickness and in health as promised.

#reader #dark!fanfic #dark!fic #reader insert #dark fanfiction #fem!reader #dark fanfic #dark!fanfiction #dark fic #my work #dark!rafe #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #my works

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novaursa · 22 days

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The Veil of Fire (3/3)

- Summary: Conclusion of the Dance and your terrible purpose.

- Paring: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon.

- Note: For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

You storm down the corridor of the Red Keep, the heavy wooden doors rattling in their frames as you pass. The servants who normally crowd these halls shrink away at the sight of you. They know better than to cross your path when you’re in such a state. Your blood hums with the fury that has been building since you left Aegon’s chambers. The image of your elder brother lying helpless, swathed in bandages, the flesh of his body charred and raw, is seared into your mind. And now, all you can think of is the one responsible.

Your brother Aemond.

The thoughts tumble in your mind as you reach his chambers, pushing the door open without knocking. Aemond stands by the window, his back to you, seemingly lost in thought. The light of the setting sun casts a long shadow across the room, a stark contrast to the heat you feel boiling within.

“Aemond,” you say, your voice sharp as Valyrian steel. “Why did you do it?”

He turns slowly, his one remaining eye locking with yours. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, calculating expression he often wears.

“What are you talking about?” His voice is measured, but you can hear the tension beneath it.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you snap. “Aegon. Why did you burn him?”

Aemond’s lips tighten into a thin line. “He was unworthy of the throne,” he says, his tone clipped. “He’s always been unworthy. He was a drunkard, a fool who laughed at me every chance he got. I merely did what needed to be done.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and you take a step closer to him, your anger morphing into something more complex—something tinged with sorrow. “Aegon is our brother,” you say softly, the fury in your voice giving way to something else, something pleading. “He is family. Your family. We are not your enemies, Aemond.”

For a moment, he says nothing, merely watching you with that unblinking gaze. Then he takes a step toward you, his expression softening. “You spoke to Helaena, didn’t you? She always knows what lurks in the shadows, even when the rest of us do not.”

You nod slightly, your throat tight. “She knew… but that does not change what you’ve done.”

His hand twitches at his side, as though he wants to reach out to you but cannot bring himself to. “He was a threat,” Aemond insists, though his voice has lost some of its earlier conviction. “To me. To the realm.”

You shake your head slowly, your eyes never leaving his. “You’re wrong. The real threat isn’t Aegon or any of us. It’s the idea that we are enemies, that we must destroy each other to claim power. Is that what you’re planning, Aemond? Will you strike me next?”

The question hangs heavy in the air between you, and for a moment, Aemond looks stricken. His gaze drops to the thin scar that now mars your cheek and lips, a reminder of the horror you faced to protect Helaena’s children. You see the way his jaw tightens, the conflict playing out in his mind. He’s always been so fond of you and Helaena, always protective in his own way, and yet now, he stands on the precipice of something dark and unforgivable.

“No,” he says finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I could never… not you.”

You take a breath, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Then do not let this madness consume you, Aemond. We are Targaryens—blood of the dragon. But we are still human, still family. Do not lose yourself to this war.”

He meets your gaze again, and for the first time since you entered his chambers, you see the boy he once was—the brother who would debate with you for hours, who sought your approval as much as you sought his. But that boy is fading, buried beneath the weight of ambition and the demands of the crown.

“I will consider your words,” he says finally, though there is a weariness to him now. “But do not ask me to abandon my duty.”

“I would never ask that of you,” you reply, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “I only ask that you remember who you are, and who we are to you.”

He nods, though you can see the turmoil still simmering beneath the surface. This conversation is far from over, you know that much. But for now, you’ve said what needed to be said. You’ve planted a seed of doubt in Aemond’s mind, and you can only hope it will take root before it’s too late.

As you turn to leave, Aemond’s voice stops you in your tracks. “Sister…”

You glance back at him, waiting.

“Thank you,” he says, and though his voice is still strained, there is a sincerity there that you haven’t heard in a long time.

You nod once, a small gesture of understanding, before slipping out of his chambers. As the door closes behind you, you feel the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. But there is a small glimmer of hope now, too, fragile but real.

You leave Aemond’s chambers, the heavy door closing with a soft thud behind you, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. The conversation still lingers in your mind, a tangled web of emotions—anger, sorrow, fear for the future, and a thread of hope so thin you’re afraid it might snap at any moment. Your hand trembles slightly as you brush it against the stone wall, steadying yourself as you navigate the labyrinth of corridors that make up the Red Keep.

The fortress, usually bustling with life, feels eerily silent in the wake of Rook’s Rest. The weight of the events—of the war that rages beyond these walls—presses down on your shoulders, making each step feel heavier than the last. You try to shake off the oppressive thoughts, focusing instead on the task ahead. There are still things that must be done, plans to be made, and words that must be spoken.

As you turn a corner, you nearly collide with a tall, familiar figure—your uncle, Gwayne Hightower. He catches your arm instinctively, steadying you before you can stumble. His eyes widen with surprise, and then soften into concern as he takes in your expression.

“Niece,” Gwayne greets you, his voice low and cautious. “You seem troubled.”

You offer him a small, tired smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s been a long day, Uncle. The burden of our house grows heavier by the hour.”

He nods, his expression grave. Gwayne has always been a steady presence, someone who prefers to stay out of the more treacherous waters of court politics. Yet, like you, he has been drawn into the web of deceit and ambition that has ensnared your family.

“I tried to confront Ser Criston earlier,” Gwayne says after a moment, his voice hushed as if the very walls of the Red Keep might be listening. “About his… affair with Alicent.”

You pause, surprised by his admission. You had written to Daeron about this in one of your letters to Dragonstone, knowing that Gwayne would likely read it, but you hadn’t expected him to act on it so soon. The thought of Cole and your mother… It has always made your skin crawl, but in these times, you’ve had to push it aside, focusing on the greater dangers looming over you all.

“And?” you ask, though you can already sense from his tone that the conversation did not go as he had planned.

Gwayne sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It didn’t go well. Ser Criston… he’s not the man I remember. He’s… broken, shattered, perhaps beyond repair.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a cold reminder of the man Ser Criston Cole has become. The once noble and honorable knight, who served as your mother’s sworn shield, now reduced to a creature of bitterness and cruelty. You’ve seen it firsthand—how he treated Jace and his brothers when they lived here, how he sneered at them, never missing an opportunity to remind them of their supposed illegitimacy, to belittle them. The memory stirs a deep anger within you, one that simmers just below the surface.

“He’s not broken enough,” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. There’s a sharpness to your voice that catches even you by surprise, a reflection of the anger you’ve been holding onto for so long.

Gwayne’s eyes narrow slightly, his concern deepening. “Niece…”

You shake your head, brushing off his worry. “I just… I remember how he treated Jace and his brothers. How he tormented them. This war… it’s turning us all into something unrecognizable, something dark and twisted. I don’t know if any of us will be able to find our way back.”

Gwayne regards you quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’ve always been strong,” he says finally. “Stronger than many realize. But you must be careful, child. This war is a poison that seeps into the soul. Do not let it take hold of yours.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily upon you. He’s right, of course. The war has already changed you, made you colder, more calculating. You’ve had to become this way to survive, to protect those you love. But there’s a part of you, the part that remembers the girl you once were, who fears that you might lose yourself entirely if this continues.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, though the words feel hollow even as you say them. How can anyone be careful in a world that’s falling apart around them?

Gwayne nods, though you can see the doubt in his eyes. He knows, as well as you do, that there are no guarantees in this war, no promises that can be kept.

“Take care of yourself, Uncle,” you add, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly. “We need to look after each other, now more than ever.”

He returns the gesture, his grip firm and reassuring. “We will, niece. We will.”

As you part ways, the weight of your conversation settles into your bones, mingling with the exhaustion that’s been building since the events of Rook’s Rest. The war is changing everything, and everyone. But as you continue down the corridor, you can’t shake the feeling that the worst is yet to come.

The cool air of the Red Keep wraps around you like a shroud as you walk through the corridors, your thoughts occupied with the latest reports from the warfront. It has been almost a year since the events of Rook’s Rest, a year of bloodshed and betrayal, and the toll of it all is evident in the weary faces of those you pass. You’ve learned to navigate the treacherous waters of this war with the same care you used to avoid the serpents of court. But despite your best efforts, the tide seems to be pulling you under.

As you pass by the council chambers, your attention is caught by the low murmur of voices—a conversation too hushed to be meant for anyone but those within. Yet, something about the tone, the urgency in the words, draws you closer, until you find yourself lingering just out of sight, listening intently.

“…fleet from the Free Cities,” comes the voice of Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, who has become a frequent presence in these halls as the war drags on. “Tyland Lannister has secured their support, and they are en route to the Gullet as we speak. They should reach it soon.”

Your blood turns to ice, your heart skipping a beat as the words sink in. The fleet from the Free Cities, the Gullet—it all aligns too closely with something Jace told you not long ago. The secret letter he sent you, so carefully worded and hidden, comes rushing back to you in a flood of memory.

“I will be escorting my brothers to Pentos, across the Narrow Sea,” Jace had written, his words full of determination but also a sense of foreboding. “We must ensure their safety, away from the reach of those who would see them dead. I will return once they are secure.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you piece it together, the realization hitting you like a physical blow. Jace is taking his brothers across the Gullet—right into the path of the enemy fleet.

The voices in the chamber continue, unaware of your presence, but you can no longer focus on the words. The world around you narrows to a single point of panic, a sharp, suffocating fear that grips you with icy fingers. Jace and his brothers are in danger—real, immediate danger.

You turn on your heel, your feet carrying you swiftly down the corridor as your mind races. There’s no time to lose, no time to think. You have to act. You have to warn Jace, to do something, anything, to protect him and the boys. But how? The fleet is already en route, and there’s no way to send a raven in time, no way to intercept them before they reach the Gullet.

The panic claws at you as you reach your chambers, slamming the door shut behind you with trembling hands. Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and the weight of what you’ve just heard threatens to crush you.

But then, in the midst of the chaos in your mind, a thought surfaces—a memory, a power. Morgoth, your dragon. You share a bond with him, one that goes beyond the usual connection between dragon and rider. It’s something deeper, something primal, and you’ve used it sparingly, only when there was no other choice.

But now, with Jace and his brothers’ lives hanging in the balance, there’s no question in your mind. You have to do this. You have to warg into Morgoth.

You close your eyes, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm raging inside you. You focus on that bond, the thread that ties you to your dragon, and you reach out with your mind, searching for him. It’s a feeling like plunging into icy water, the sensation of your consciousness leaving your body and traveling through the air, across the distance that separates you.

And then you find him.

Morgoth is there, a massive presence in your mind, all fire and fury, a living embodiment of power. He feels you as well, recognizing your touch, and you can sense his confusion at your sudden intrusion. But there’s no time to explain, no time to ease him into it. You push forward, letting your consciousness merge with his, until you are no longer two separate beings but one.

The world shifts around you, and when you open your eyes, you are no longer standing in your chambers. Instead, you are high above the world, the wind whipping past you as you soar through the sky. You can feel the powerful muscles of Morgoth’s body, the heat of his fire burning within you, and the clarity of his senses as they become your own.

The Red Keep is far below, the landscape spread out like a map beneath you, but you barely notice it. Your focus is entirely on the sea, on the Gullet, where the enemy fleet will soon arrive. You can feel the urgency in every beat of Morgoth’s wings, the need to reach them before it’s too late.

You push him harder, faster, your combined will driving him toward the narrow strip of water that could become Jace’s grave if you don’t intervene. The cold air bites at you, but you barely feel it. There’s only the mission, only the desperate need to protect your brother.

As you fly, your thoughts remain with Jace, with the secret letter he sent you, and the promise he made to return. You cannot—will not—let that promise be broken. Not when there is still a chance to save him.

And with that, you and Morgoth fly toward the horizon, the weight of your mission pressing down on you, the fate of your family resting on the power of your bond. The war has taken so much already, but you refuse to let it take Jace and his brothers.

Not while you still have the strength to fight.

The Battle of the Gullet is one of the bloodiest and most devastating clashes of the war, as recounted in the histories of Westeros. The Free Cities’ fleet, backed by their gold and hatred for the dragons, sought to break the Targaryen stranglehold on the Narrow Sea. It was meant to be a decisive blow against the Blacks, a maneuver to cut off Dragonstone from the support of the Crownlands. But history, as it would be written, tells of how that battle turned into a massacre for the attackers, thanks to a shadow in the sky—one that was not entirely expected.

The day was clear as the Free Cities’ fleet approached the Gullet, a narrow strip of sea separating Blackwater Bay from the waters of the Narrow Sea. Hundreds of ships sailed together, their sails marked with the sigils of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They came prepared for dragons, armed with scorpions and vast nets meant to bring down the winged beasts. They believed their numbers and preparations would grant them victory.

But they had not accounted for the presence of Morgoth, the Cannibal. Nor had they considered that one of House Targaryen’s own, your spirit merged with the ancient dragon, would be waiting for them.

You had flown fast and far, Morgoth’s powerful wings cutting through the skies. You could feel the rage within the dragon, the deep-seated hunger for destruction that had earned him his fearsome reputation. But you harnessed that rage, directing it with your own will, focusing it on the threat below.

From your vantage point high in the sky, you spotted the fleet before they saw you. The sea was dark with their sails, a sprawling mass of ships moving toward their goal. And in the midst of that fleet, you saw him—Jacaerys, riding on Vermax, leading his brothers on their fateful journey across the sea.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how close they were to disaster. The ships were spreading out, forming a net around Jace and his brothers, their scorpions aimed skyward, ready to strike. There was no time to lose.

You dived.

Morgoth responded to your command without hesitation, folding his wings and plunging toward the fleet with the speed of a falling star. The wind screamed in your ears, and the sea rushed up to meet you. Below, the sailors saw the dark shape hurtling toward them, but by then it was too late.

You opened Morgoth’s jaws, and the world below exploded into flames.

The first ships were engulfed in a torrent of dragonfire, their wooden hulls splintering and burning, their sails catching like dry kindling. Screams echoed over the water as men were thrown into the sea, their armor dragging them down, or they were incinerated where they stood. The carefully laid trap was unraveling before it could even be sprung.

You and Morgoth weaved through the fleet, breathing fire, slashing with claws, and smashing into the ships with the full force of the dragon’s massive body. One after another, the ships fell, their crews fleeing in terror as the once mighty fleet was reduced to burning wreckage.

Jacaerys, still astride Vermax, turned at the sight of the devastation, his heart racing. He had expected to fight for his life, to protect his brothers as best he could, but what he saw instead was something entirely different—Morgoth, the dread dragon of legend, was laying waste to the fleet. And more than that, Jace could feel it in his bones, in the way Morgoth moved, the way he struck with precision and purpose. This was not a wild dragon on a rampage. There was a mind guiding him, a mind Jacaerys knew all too well.

“(Y/N)…” he whispered to himself, realization dawning. His heart swelled with a mixture of relief and awe. You had come for him. Even across the distance, he knew it was you, controlling the beast with the power of your warg.

And then, the reinforcements arrived—Ulf the White on Silverwing, Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke, and Hugh Hammer on Vermithor. They had expected to find the fleet in full force, prepared for a difficult battle. Instead, they were greeted by a scene of utter devastation, the sea littered with burning wreckage and the screams of drowning men. Morgoth was already amidst the destruction, tearing through the last remnants of the fleet, leaving nothing but charred remains in his wake.

Ulf, Addam, and Hugh hesitated for a moment, their dragons roaring in the skies, but there was little for them to do. The battle was already won—by you.

Jacaerys urged Vermax forward, guiding his dragon closer to Morgoth. He needed to see you, to confirm what he already knew. As he approached, Morgoth turned his great head toward him, and for a moment, their eyes met. And there, in the depths of Morgoth’s dark, ancient eyes, Jace saw a flicker of recognition, a spark that told him he was right.

“(Y/N)!” Jace called out, though his voice was lost in the roar of the wind and flames. But it didn’t matter—he knew you could hear him, feel him, just as he felt you.

The battle of the Gullet was over before it had truly begun, the fleet of the Free Cities shattered, their hopes of breaking the Targaryen hold on the Narrow Sea crushed under the might of Morgoth and the iron will of his rider. When the histories were written, they would tell of how the Blacks secured their victory in that battle, how Jacaerys Velaryon led the charge, and how the dragons burned the enemy to ash.

But you and Jace would always know the truth—how you had saved him and his brothers, how you had taken control of the fiercest dragon in the world and turned the tide of the battle with fire and blood.

As the last of the enemy ships sank into the sea, you guided Morgoth away from the wreckage, feeling the dragon’s rage slowly subside. The bond between you and Morgoth was still strong, still thrumming with the power of what you had accomplished. But as the adrenaline of the battle faded, you felt the strain of it all weighing down on you.

You knew it was time to return, to pull yourself back into your own body, to leave Morgoth to his own devices once more. But before you could fully withdraw, you felt a gentle nudge in your mind—Jace, sending a wave of gratitude, of love. He didn’t need words to convey what he felt. He knew you had saved him, and he would carry that knowledge with him always.

With a final, lingering look at Vermax and Jace, you released your hold on Morgoth, letting your consciousness slip away from the dragon’s mind and back into your own.

The world went dark, and when you opened your eyes again, you were lying on the cold floor of your chambers in the Red Keep, your body trembling with exhaustion. But despite the fatigue, a smile tugged at your lips. You had done it—you had saved Jace and his brothers, and you had struck a blow against your enemies that they would not soon forget.

The Red Keep was a fortress of dread and uncertainty, its halls echoing with the uneasy silence that had settled over King's Landing in the days following the fall of the Gullet. The tension in the air was palpable as the city awaited the arrival of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful queen in the eyes of her supporters, and the usurper in the eyes of her enemies. You stood in the throne room, your heart pounding in your chest as you gazed upon the Iron Throne, that jagged seat of power that had brought so much strife and sorrow to your family.

Helaena stood beside you, her presence a quiet comfort amidst the chaos. Your twin had always been a beacon of gentleness in a world that often lacked it, but even now, you could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty of what was to come. Her children, Aegon’s heirs, had been safely hidden away, but the thought of what might happen to them, and to Helaena herself, gnawed at you. Your mother, Alicent, stood further apart, her face a mask of stoic resignation, though you could see the lines of worry etched into her features. She was trying to be strong, for herself, for her family, but you knew that beneath that composed exterior, she was breaking.

The doors to the throne room opened with a resounding creak, and the sound of boots echoed through the hall. Rhaenyra Targaryen entered, flanked by her loyal forces. Her presence was commanding, her violet eyes sharp and filled with a cold determination. She was the Dragon Queen, come to claim what she believed was hers by right.

And beside her was Jacaerys.

The moment Jace saw you, his eyes softened, the harsh lines of his face relaxing as he broke away from Rhaenyra and the others, striding across the throne room with purpose. Without hesitation, he gathered you into his arms, pulling you into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours, the familiarity of his touch, brought a rush of relief that nearly overwhelmed you. He was here, he was safe, and for that moment, the world outside the two of you ceased to exist.

“You saved me,” Jace murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved us all.”

You clung to him, letting the tension of the past days drain away, if only for a brief moment. “I had to,” you whispered back. “I couldn’t let you go, not like that.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. The gratitude in his gaze was matched by something deeper, something that made your heart ache. But there was no time to dwell on it, not now. Not with Rhaenyra standing mere feet away, her gaze locked onto the Iron Throne, her claim finally within reach.

Jace reluctantly released you, stepping back as you turned to face Rhaenyra. The room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Helaena squeezed your hand, her grip trembling, and you knew you had to act now, before things spiraled out of control.

“Rhaenyra,” you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I ask for your mercy. My sister, Helaena, and her children—innocent children—had no part in this war. Neither did my mother, who was bound by duty to her House. I beg you, spare them.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flicked from the Iron Throne to you, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in her eyes. This war had taken so much from her—her children, her home, her peace—but it had not yet taken her humanity. You knew that she had every reason to despise Alicent, to see her as the architect of much of her suffering. But you also knew that you had done something that few others had—you had saved her children, the precious heirs she had feared she would lose.

“You saved my children at the Gullet,” Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I did it because of my love for your son, Jacaerys. Please, let that be enough. Spare them.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, if only slightly. The steel in her eyes melted into something warmer, something that spoke of gratitude and perhaps even understanding. She looked over at Helaena, who stood silently by your side, her face pale and drawn, and then to Alicent, who had yet to speak a word.

“Your sister and her children will be spared,” Rhaenyra said at last, her tone decisive. “They will not be harmed. They may remain here in the Red Keep, under guard, but they will not be harmed.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped you, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Helaena’s grip on your hand tightened, a silent thank you in the midst of the storm.

“And my mother?” you pressed, knowing you were asking for a great deal, perhaps too much.

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, the softness giving way to the resolve of a queen who had suffered too many betrayals. “Alicent will be confined to her chambers, along with Aegon,” she said, her voice hardening. “They will remain there until Aemond has been dealt with. Once this war is over, we will decide their fates.”

You nodded, understanding that this was the best outcome you could hope for. Alicent would be spared, for now, but her future, like Aegon’s, was uncertain. But at least, for the time being, they would be safe.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head slightly in respect. “For your mercy.”

Rhaenyra gave a curt nod, her attention already drifting back to the Iron Throne, the symbol of power that had caused so much pain. The room began to stir as her forces moved to secure the Keep, but you remained where you were, beside Helaena, Jace close at hand.

As the days ahead promised more bloodshed, more loss, you knew that you had done what you could to protect your family. You had brokered a fragile peace, one that could shatter at any moment, but for now, it held.

The city lay under a blanket of darkness, its streets silent as the tension of the past days began to settle into an uneasy calm. But within the private chambers where you and Jacaerys now found refuge, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a little while.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle. You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart racing as you looked at Jace, who stood before you, his expression tender yet filled with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Jace,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. The way his name fell from your lips, laden with emotion, seemed to draw him closer. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against the thin scar that ran across your face—an indelible mark left by the horrors you had endured.

“(Y/N),” he replied, his voice low and husky. The way he said your name, with such reverence, made you feel like the only person in the world that mattered. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, savoring the closeness between you.

Jace’s other hand found yours, and he pulled you to your feet, bringing you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you felt your heart steadying in his presence. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was no need for words; everything you felt, every emotion that had been building between you, was clear in the way you looked at each other.

Slowly, as if afraid to break the fragile moment, Jace leaned down and captured your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment. His lips were soft, yet there was a hunger there, a need that mirrored your own. You kissed him back, your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your heart pounded in your chest.

Jace’s hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer. You could feel the strength in his arms, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You had been through so much together—so much loss, so much pain—but here, in this moment, there was only love, only the fierce need to be with each other.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he rested his forehead against yours, his hands framing your face. “I was so afraid I’d lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “When I saw you in the skies, when I realized it was you… I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his dark curls. “I couldn’t let you go, Jace. Not when I had the power to save you.” Your voice was a whisper, your words carrying all the love and fear and hope that had been swirling inside you since that fateful day.

Jace’s hands tightened around you, and before you knew it, he was guiding you back toward the bed, lowering you onto the soft mattress. He hovered above you, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, for reassurance. You gave it to him with a slow nod, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch.

He lowered himself beside you, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you again, this time deeper, more urgent. The weight of him against you was grounding, a reminder that despite the chaos of the world around you, this—what you shared—was real, was something worth fighting for.

Your hands roamed over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, memorizing every inch of him. The feel of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way he responded to your touch, made your heart swell with love for him. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget everything else and simply be here, with him, in this moment.

Jace’s kisses trailed from your lips to your jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you. He smiled against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered your name like a prayer, a promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back to you, needing to feel his lips on yours again. He obliged, kissing you with a fervor that matched your own. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body moved against yours, igniting a fire in your veins.

“I love you,” Jace murmured between kisses, the words, a reaffirmation of a confession stated long ago, a vow. “I’ve loved you for so long… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart soared at his words, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I love you too, Jace,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings. “More than anything.”

The night stretched on, the two of you lost in each other, your bodies and souls entwined in a dance as old as time. The love you shared, forged in the fires of war and tempered by the trials you had faced, was unbreakable, unyielding.

In that quiet, intimate moment, there was no war, no throne, no crown—only love, fierce and unwavering, binding you to Jacaerys in a way that nothing, and no one, could ever sever.

Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Gyldayn, detailing the events following the fall of King’s Landing and the end of the Dance of the Dragons:

The Fate of Aemond Targaryen, Aegon II, and Helaena Targaryen

With the fall of King’s Landing to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her forces, the war known as the Dance of the Dragons reached its bloody climax. Aegon II, the deposed king, was confined to his chambers within the Red Keep, his body broken by the fires of Rook’s Rest and his spirit shattered by the weight of his defeat. His sister-wife, Helaena Targaryen, remained by his side, her gentle presence a balm to his tortured soul even as the world crumbled around them.

Aemond Targaryen, the most feared and relentless of the Green faction, continued his campaign of terror from Harrenhal, vowing to bring down his enemies in a storm of fire and blood. Yet, despite his ferocity, he was ultimately undone by his own ambition. Reports from that time tell of Aemond’s fateful encounter with the so-called Witch Queen Alice Rivers, who was said to have foreseen his doom. Whether through sorcery or sheer force of arms, Aemond met his end in the ruins of Harrenhal, his body found amidst the scorched remains of Vhagar, his dragon. It is said that Aemond died laughing, unrepentant to the last, his eye fixed on the west where King’s Landing lay, just beyond his reach.

Aegon II’s fate, however, was far less grand. Confined to his chambers, Aegon lingered in a state of despair, plagued by the injuries inflicted upon him by Sunfyre’s fall. Queen Rhaenyra, now on the Iron Throne, decreed that Aegon be kept alive, not out of mercy but as a reminder of the price of ambition and betrayal. His mother, Alicent Hightower, was likewise confined, her influence over the realm broken. Helaena, spared through the intercession of her twin sister, remained in the Red Keep, caring for her children and maintaining a fragile peace between the remaining members of the divided family.

In the end, Aegon II perished in his chambers under mysterious circumstances. Some say it was poison, a final act of mercy by his sister-wife Helaena; others whisper that it was his own hand that delivered him from his suffering. The truth remains shrouded in mystery, as does much of the Dance of the Dragons.

The Reign of Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen and the Union of the Houses of Black and Green

Following Rhaenyra’s ascension to the Iron Throne, the realm was plunged into a brief but brutal period of chaos. Yet it was her son, Jacaerys Velaryon, who would ultimately bring the Seven Kingdoms back from the brink. After Rhaenyra’s tragic death, Jacaerys assumed the throne as King Jacaerys I, the first Targaryen monarch to successfully unite the warring factions of Black and Green.

Central to this reconciliation was Jacaerys’ marriage to his cousin, the daughter of Alicent Hightower and twin sister to Helaena, often referred to in histories as the Scarred Princess or The Silent Protector. This union, born of both love and political necessity, helped to heal the rift that had torn the Targaryen family apart. Together, they ushered in a period of relative peace and prosperity, remembered as the Redolent Peace, a time when the wounds of the Dance began to slowly heal.

The marriage of Jacaerys and his queen produced several children, ensuring the continuation of the Targaryen line. Their eldest son, Viserys, would inherit the throne, carrying with him the legacy of both the Black and Green factions, and serving as a symbol of the unity that Jacaerys and his queen had fought so hard to achieve. The peace they fostered, though not without its challenges, proved lasting, a testament to the strength of their bond and the wisdom of their rule.

The Conclusion of the Scarred Princess and Her Terrible Purpose

Yet for all the peace and prosperity she helped bring about, the Scarred Princess carried with her a dark secret, one that weighed heavily upon her throughout her life. This secret, known to only a few, was her bond with the fearsome dragon Morgoth, once known as Cannibal, and her ability to warg into him. This power, unheard among Targaryens, had been both a blessing and a curse, enabling her to protect those she loved but also tying her to a creature of immense and terrible power.

In the later years of her life, as the weight of her past and the fear of what her abilities might mean for her children grew, the queen made a decision that would forever change her legacy. Accounts vary, but it is said that she warged into Morgoth one final time, flying the ancient beast away from Dragonstone, far across the sea, to the lands beyond the known world. There, in the desolate wastes where no man or dragon had ever returned, she released her control over Morgoth, allowing him to live out his days free from her influence. Whether she returned to her body or perished in that distant land is a matter of speculation and legend.

What is known is that after her disappearance, Morgoth was never seen again, and her body, pale and cold, was found in her chambers, her face at peace for the first time in many years. Her children and her king mourned her deeply, and she was laid to rest beside her husband, Jacaerys, in the crypt of Dragonstone he had commissioned to be built for them, a queen who had given everything for her family, for her love, and for the realm.

In the years that followed, she became a figure of legend, remembered not only for her role in ending the Dance but for her quiet strength, her fierce love, and the sacrifice she made to ensure that the darkness within her would never again threaten the peace she had helped to create.

And so ended the tale of the Scarred Princess, a woman who, though born into a world of fire and blood, forged a path of love and redemption, leaving a legacy that would echo through the halls of history for generations to come.

The Shadowlands

Far to the east, beyond the known world, where the sun rises over the jagged peaks of the Mountains of the Morn, lies a land shrouded in mystery and dread—the Shadowlands, a place where the sky is perpetually dark, and the air itself seems to whisper ancient secrets. It is a land where few dare to tread, where magic runs wild, and where dragons, long thought to be creatures of the west, still haunt the skies.

In the vast, foreboding wilderness of these Shadowlands, a great shadow moved across the sky, its wings blotting out the meager light that filtered through the perpetual gloom. This was Morgoth, the dread dragon once known as Cannibal, and within him, the spirit of the Scarred Princess—her consciousness intertwined with the ancient beast's in a bond that transcended time and space.

As Morgoth flew, his powerful wings cutting through the thick, heavy air, the Scarred Princess within him could feel the pull of this strange and ancient land, a place where the old magics still held sway. The landscape below was a desolate expanse of twisted rock and blackened earth, dotted with ruins of civilizations long lost to the memory of men. Rivers of fire ran through the land like veins of molten blood, and the very air seemed to hum with a dark, malevolent energy.

But Morgoth was not deterred by the inhospitable terrain. He was a creature of fire and shadow, a dragon born of the darkest recesses of the world, and this land, so unlike the green hills of Westeros or the sunlit skies of Essos, felt almost like home to him. Here, he was truly free, far from the conflicts of men, far from the eyes of those who would seek to control or destroy him.

Yet even in this place, Morgoth was not alone.As he flew over the darkened peaks, Morgoth sensed it—a presence in the sky, another dragon. The Scarred Princess, her consciousness still entwined with his, felt the thrill of the hunt rise within him, a primal instinct that she could not fully suppress. This was a place where the old ways held true, where dragons ruled, and there could be no sharing of the sky.

Morgoth’s keen eyes spotted the dragon—a great beast, pale as bone, its scales shimmering with a faint luminescence that seemed to draw in the darkness around it. The dragon, larger even than Vhagar, flew with a grace and power that marked it as a creature of immense age and strength, a relic of a time when dragons ruled the skies without challenge.

But Morgoth was not daunted. With a roar that echoed through the mountains like thunder, he descended upon the pale dragon, his massive form cutting through the air with terrifying speed. The other dragon, sensing the approach of its rival, turned to meet him, its own roar shaking the very ground below.

The two dragons clashed in a fury of fire and claws, their roars reverberating through the mountains, sending flocks of terrified birds into the air. Morgoth struck first, his jaws snapping at the pale dragon’s neck, his claws tearing through its scales with savage ferocity. The other dragon fought back with equal fury, its tail lashing out, its own fire scorching the sky as the two beasts twisted and turned in a deadly dance of power.

The Scarred Princess could feel the raw strength of Morgoth’s body, the immense power that surged through him as he fought. She could feel the heat of the fire that burned within him, the rage that fueled his every move. And yet, even as she shared in his primal fury, there was a part of her that remained distant, watching, waiting, knowing that this was the final act of a story that had been building for so long.

Morgoth’s jaws found purchase on the pale dragon’s throat, and with a savage twist, he brought the great beast crashing down to the earth below. The impact shook the ground, sending up clouds of dust and ash as the pale dragon struggled beneath Morgoth’s weight. But it was no match for the ancient black dragon, who tore into its flesh with a hunger born of ages.

The pale dragon let out one last, pitiful cry as Morgoth’s teeth sank deep into its neck, tearing through flesh and bone, ending its life in a torrent of blood and fire. The Scarred Princess, still within Morgoth, could feel the life drain from the other dragon, could feel the satisfaction that pulsed through Morgoth as he claimed his victory, as he consumed the flesh of his fallen rival.

As Morgoth fed, the Scarred Princess allowed herself to fully merge with the dragon’s mind, feeling the primal joy of the hunt, the savage satisfaction of victory. But within that wild exultation was a deep sorrow, a melancholy that came from knowing that this was the end of her journey, the fulfillment of a purpose she had never fully understood until now.

Here, in the Shadowlands, far from the conflicts of men, she had found her final resting place, her final act. She had come to this place to free herself from the bonds of the world, to release herself from the terrible power that had both protected and cursed her. And in doing so, she had become one with Morgoth, with the ancient dragon who had always been her shadow, her companion in the darkness.

The pale dragon was consumed, its bones left to bleach in the eternal twilight of the Shadowlands. Morgoth, sated and triumphant, lifted his great head to the sky, letting out a final roar that echoed through the mountains, a sound that spoke of power, of victory, and of an end.

And then, as the last echoes of that roar faded into the distance, the Scarred Princess released her hold on Morgoth, letting her consciousness drift away, leaving the dragon to his own devices. Her spirit, tired and worn, slipped from the world, leaving behind only the memory of a woman who had walked the path of fire and blood, who had flown with dragons, and who had found peace in the end.

Morgoth, the dread dragon, flew on, his wings beating against the darkened sky, a creature of legend, of terror, and of freedom. He was no longer bound by the will of men or women, no longer tied to the conflicts of the world. He was a force of nature, a creature of the old world, and he would live out his days in the Shadowlands, far from the reach of men.

And so ended the tale of the Scarred Princess and Morgoth, her terrible purpose fulfilled, her legacy left behind in the children she had borne, and the peace she had helped to forge. In the histories that would be written, she would be remembered as a queen, a protector, and a woman who had faced the darkness within herself and emerged victorious.

But in the Shadowlands, she would be remembered as the last rider of Morgoth, the black dragon who had flown beyond the known world, to a place where legends are born and where the shadows never end.

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