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pathologicalreid · 5 months ago

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defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #written by margot #margot after hours #softdom!spencer

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osamucide · 5 months ago

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WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #atsushi x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #akutagawa x reader #ranpo x reader #kunikida x reader #fukuzawa x reader #oda x reader #ango x reader #fyodor x reader #nikolai x reader #sigma x reader #bsd fluff #with love—reid

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months ago

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Flag V

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: You meet the Arsenal girls for the first time

"Did you hear that Fleming from Chelsea just adopted a kid?" Leah says as she sits down at breakfast one day after the international break.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Millie told me," She continues," Apparently, she'd been fostering this little girl for a while and none of the team knew."

"It's crazy," Beth agrees," It'd be like if me and Viv adopted a baby and none of you knew about. Just like came into training one day like, here they are."

"Adopting is really rewarding," Frida says absentmindedly, reaching for some of the jam across the table," Maybe Fleming just wanted to get used to it. It's a whole new situation to get used to, trust me."

"Alright Frida," Leah laughs, clapping her on the back," But I think adopting a dog is different to adopting a baby."

Frida frowns. "Yeah, I know. What did you think I was talking about?"

"You and your girlfriend's dog? Is that not what we're talking about?"

"I meant our daughter. Why would you think I meant our Jordan?"

"Your...Your daughter?"

"My daughter, yes," Frida says," Y/n."

"You...You have a daughter."

"Yes...Leah, are you okay? You look a little pale..."

"You..She...Frida, did you Fleming us?! How is this the first time I'm hearing of this baby of yours?"

Frida frowns. "I mean, she's not really much of a baby anymore. She's in that phase of trying to climb everything. Emma has to keep such a close eye on her."

"Can we see pictures?" Lia, who up until this point has remained silent, asks.

"Blimey," Leah whistles," And you're sure she's adopted? Frida, she looks just like you!"

"Really?" Frida studies the picture she selected of you, one of you cuddled up against Emma's body in your soft, linen dress and a flower crown on your head. "I think she looks more like Emma."

"You have to bring her to a game," Beth insists," She's able to travel right? Like she's got a passport and stuff?"

"I guess I can ask Emma to bring her," Frida says," But I don't see what the big deal is? I'm sure I've spoken about her before."

But apparently not because word spreads quickly through the whole team who all insist that they've got no recollection of Frida ever even mentioning you before.

Which, of course, means everyone insists on meeting you so here Frida is, waiting at arrivals for Emma to walk out of baggage claim.

She catches sight of the pram first where you're fast asleep, gripping tightly to whatever toy you've selected from your collection to join you on the journey.

Emma comes into view next, expertly wheeling the suitcase in one hand and the pram in the other.

"Hi," Frida says, a little breathless that you're finally both here," I missed you. Both of you."

Emma draws her into a soft kiss. "We missed you too. Isn't that right, squish?"

"Missed Mama," You slur, only now waking up.

"She slept the entire way," Emma explain as Frida straps you into the car seat," She didn't sleep much last night. She was too excited."

Frida laughs. "I hope she sleeps tonight as well."

"She will," Emma assures her," But I think we're going to have to deal with that little visitor in bed."

Emma's right, of course, because in the middle of the night, Frida feels you slot between them as you wiggle under the covers. But she gets her wish as well as you sleep through the rest of the night in their bed and rise the next day with all the excitement you can fit into your little body.

"Are you sure you're okay with taking her today?" Emma asks," I can keep her while I do my shopping."

"I've got her," Frida insists, adjusting you on her hip," The girls are excited to meet her. You get your shopping done."

"Alright," Emma finally agrees," I love you guys."

"Love you too. Squish, tell Mummy you love her."

"Love you!" You parrot back as Emma drives off.

"Alright," Frida says," Let's get you ready to meet everyone."

It's not the first time Frida's seen you in her Arsenal shirt before but it's the first time everyone else will.

Your life is in Sweden most of the time and then in Norway too when you visit Frida's parents. This is your first time in England and Emma made sure you were suitably dressed for the occasion.

"Oh my god," Leah says," Look at the cheeks on her!"

You giggle as a finger reaches out to poke them like your mummies do when you're being particularly cute.

"A good eater then?" Kim asks as everyone fawns over you.

You soak up all the attention, especially when wrapped gifts are presented to you teasingly.

"We had issues at first," Frida admits," She was underweight when we found her but she's a good weight now."

"She looks so content," Kim says," Motherhood suits you, Frida."

"Really?"

"Definitely. I can tell she just adores you."

"Mama!" You say suddenly, shaking a wrapped box in curiosity," Help, please?"

"How about we find a table and then we can open all your new presents?"

The team have really spoiled you - clearly trying to make up for missed birthdays and Christmases - and you seem just so excited for every gift you unwrap.

"Got to give her the full kit," Leah says with a wink as yet another presents contains an Arsenal kit.

"She has the kit at home."

"Yeah but this one has her name on it. If Fleming's daughter has a Chelsea kit with her name then the Arsenal children must have Arsenal kits with their names on it too!"

"Children?"

Leah jerks her chin over to where Beth and Viv sit with you on the floor as you show off one of your new toys.

"You should have seen Beth's face light up when you spoke about adopting. She looked interested. I guarantee those two will be thinking about it at some point soon. Might as well set the precedent now."

"I will make sure she wears it to the match," Frida promises just as you get up and toddle over.

"Mama!" You say," You see my new puppy? Looks like our Jordan!"

Frida smiles as she lifts you up onto her lap. "You know what? It does!"

"I call him little Jordan!"

"That's a perfect name, squish."

#woso x reader #frida maanum x reader #frida maanum #emma lennartsson x reader #emma lennartsson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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d-z20 · 4 months ago

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Yield and Obey (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You decide to act out by not listening to Agatha in front of the coven and when you don't take the opportunity to correct yourself, she has to punish you

- OR -

You get spanked for your brattiness and then fucked (and bred) into submission

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, bratty reader, Dom/Sub dynamics, spanking, breeding, magic penis, degradation, tiniest amount of praise, possessive Agatha, she kind of just uses reader for her own pleasure at the end

Words: 3.2k

A/N: I've realised that I mostly imagine Agatha being taller than reader (even though Kathryn is only 5'5) like I refuse to believe that THE Agatha Harkness isn't tall👀👀

AO3 | Masterlist

The room buzzes with the quiet hum of activity, the coven murmuring over spell books, tendrils of magic curling in the air. It’s a chaotic yet strangely comforting scene—home to the powerful and the power-hungry alike. You lean against the edge of a wooden table near the fireplace, where Jen meticulously stirs a glowing potion. Alice sits cross-legged nearby, her hands weaving through glittering threads of enchantment. Even Rio has made an appearance, lounging in a corner and casting sharp, knowing glances at anyone who dares disrupt the tenuous harmony.

But despite the coven’s dynamic energy, your attention is fixated entirely elsewhere. Specifically, on her.

Agatha Harkness perches in her usual chair, an aura of authority emanating effortlessly from her every gesture. The flickering firelight catches her dark, slightly dishevelled waves, which frame sharp cheekbones and an unsettlingly beautiful smirk that always promises trouble. The soft linen of her blouse clings to her frame, tucked neatly into purple high-waisted slacks that somehow make her appear even taller. She’s a woman you can never quite look away from, her presence magnetic, her power intoxicating.

She’s toying with a strand of her hair now, feigning disinterest in the goings-on around her. But you know her too well to fall for that act. She doesn’t miss a thing. Least of all the way you’re staring.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she says at last, her gaze cutting to yours like a knife.

Your cheeks burn as the rest of the coven barely spares the two of you a glance. These moments between you and Agatha are commonplace by now, a sort of game only the two of you understand. But even in the relative privacy of the bustling room, her voice carries an edge of authority that twists your stomach into delicious knots.

“Just watching,” you reply, a little too innocently.

Agatha arches a brow, her smirk deepening. “Is that so?”

Her tone sends a shiver down your spine. She knows exactly what you want, and she’s going to make you work for it.

Jen glances up from her potion and mutters something about the moon phases aligning for a powerful incantation. Rio snickers, clearly amused by the tension thickening between you and Agatha. But neither of you pays them any mind.

“Why don’t you help Lilia with the herbs?” Agatha suggests, her tone deceptively sweet.

It’s a command, not a question. Your defiance flares up instantly—your bratty streak refusing to let her have the upper hand so easily.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” You quip back, folding your arms.

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Rio stops smirking, her sharp eyes darting between you and Agatha. The rest of the coven seems to hold its collective breath, tension hanging in the air like an impending storm.

Agatha rises slowly from her chair, the firelight painting her every movement in shades of gold and shadow. She doesn’t have to say a word—her mere presence is enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Out,” she says, her voice calm but laced with steel.

The coven members exchange looks before scattering like leaves in the wind, muttering excuses as they file out of the room. Rio lingers for a moment longer, her grin returning as she mouths, Good luck, before slipping out the door.

Now it’s just the two of you, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows across the walls. Agatha closes the distance between you with measured steps, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor.

“Do you want to try that again?” She asks, tilting her head as she looms over you.

Your heart pounds as you bite your lip, refusing to back down even as your body betrays you with a telltale shiver of anticipation. “Nah, I’m okay, thank you.”

Her smirk returns, sharper this time. “Oh, darling. You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Before you can respond, she grabs your wrist and pulls you toward her chair. The force of her magic ripples through the room, locking the door with a resounding click. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you find yourself draped over her lap with your bare ass exposed, your breath hitching as her hand settles firmly on your lower back.

“Since you’re so eager to challenge me, I think you deserve a proper lesson,” she purrs, her voice low and dangerous.

Your skin flushes with heat as you wriggle slightly, testing the strength of her grip. Agatha chuckles darkly, her nails grazing the curve of your hip in warning.

“Stay still,” she orders.

You bite back a grin, knowing exactly how much it’ll annoy her if you don’t. “Make me.”

It’s childish and probably the most cliche bratty thing you could say, but that’s exactly why you said it: you know it’ll just frustrate Agatha even more.

The first sharp slap lands before you can brace yourself, the sting radiating through your body and drawing a gasp from your lips. She doesn’t hold back (she never does) and that’s precisely why you crave this.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that attitude,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with amusement.

But you don’t regret it, not one bit. You squirm under her hand, revelling in the sensation, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that only she can deliver. Each strike sends a jolt of electricity through you, your defiance slowly melting into submission as she works her magic—both literally and figuratively.

“You enjoy this far too much,” she says, her voice softening as she leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Maybe,” you admit breathlessly, your cheek pressed against the fabric of the armchair.

Her hand pauses, resting on the now-sensitive skin of your thigh. She runs her fingers over the faint marks she’s left, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Good,” she says simply. “Because we’re just getting started.”

The next strike comes harder than the last, making you cry out and instinctively grab at the edge of the chair. Your fingers curl against the fabric as your breathing grows heavier, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Agatha’s hand stays firmly on your back, keeping you pinned in place.

“You’ve got such a smart mouth, don’t you?” She muses. “Let’s see how clever you are now. Count for me.”

Your head swims, the heat from her palm still lingering on your skin. “W-What?”

“Count,” she repeats, her hand hovering over you. “Or we’ll start all over again.”

Her words make your stomach twist with a heady mix of anticipation and dread. You nod quickly, your voice trembling. “O-One.”

The next slap lands sharply, making your body jolt. “Two,” you gasp, your voice hitching with the sting.

Agatha’s smirk widens as she settles into a steady rhythm, each strike drawing a breathy moan or soft cry from your lips. You can feel her leaning in closer, her breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Poor thing,” she coos mockingly. “You’re enjoying this far too much. Listen to yourself, whimpering like a needy little thing.”

“F-Four,” you stammer, unable to suppress the moan that follows.

She chuckles, her hand caressing the tender skin of your thighs before delivering another strike.

“Five.”

By the time you reach ten, your mind is spinning and your body burns with arousal. The friction against her slacks hasn’t gone unnoticed either—not by her, at least. Agatha pauses, her hand sliding down to rest on your thigh, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles that make your breath catch.

“Well, well,” she drawls, her voice dripping with condescension. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

You freeze, your face heating as you realise what she means. The smooth fabric of her slacks now bears a darker patch, evidence of just how worked up you are. Agatha tilts her head, feigning pity, though the smirk playing on her lips betrays her true feelings.

“Absolutely shameless,” she remarks, her tone a mixture of amusement and disdain. “And here I thought you had some self-control.”

You squirm under her hand, your embarrassment only heightening your arousal. “I—”

“Quiet,” she interrupts, sitting back with a snap of her fingers. “On your feet. Now.”

Her magic compels you to obey, even as your legs tremble slightly. You stand before her, your head lowered as her sharp gaze roams over you. Then, with another snap of her fingers, the world seems to shift.

The cool air against your skin tells you that you’re now completely bare, and your eyes widen as you realise Agatha has shed her own clothing with the same effortless command. She leans back in the chair, her powerful presence now magnified by her lack of restraint.

What catches your attention most, however, is the unmistakable addition of something new. A large, thick length juts proudly from her body, clearly the result of some well-placed magic. Your breath hitches as you stare, your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” she teases, standing gracefully and closing the small distance between you. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?”

Her hand cups your chin, tilting your face up so you meet her piercing gaze. “You wanted to play brat,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “So now you’ll take exactly what I give you.”

You can only nod, your body thrumming with desire. Agatha smirks, her other hand sliding down to grip your waist as she guides you back toward the chair.

“Good girl,” she purrs. “Now let’s see if you can be a little more obedient this time.”

Her lips crash against yours, stealing what little composure you have left. The weight of her body against yours, the heat of her skin, the sheer dominance she exudes—it’s all too much, and yet not nearly enough.

Agatha’s lips leave yours as she pushes you backward, guiding you with an unrelenting grip on your hips until your thighs meet the edge of the chair. Her sharp eyes gleam with amusement, a smirk tugging at her lips as she spins you around effortlessly.

“Bend over,” she orders, her voice low and commanding.

You obey, pressing your chest against the cool wool of the chair’s backrest. The angle leaves you entirely exposed to her; your legs spread just enough to keep you steady. The vulnerability of the position only heightens the intensity of your desire, a soft whimper escaping as you feel her hand glide over the curve of your backside.

Her fingers trail down, teasingly slow, until they slip between your legs. You gasp, your body jolting as her fingers brush against your dripping heat. Agatha chuckles darkly, her fingers exploring lazily, spreading your arousal as if testing just how far gone you already are.

“My, my,” she hums, her tone dripping with mockery. “You’re soaked. No wonder you were squirming all over my lap.”

Her fingers begin to move more deliberately, sliding between your folds, the pads pressing against you just enough to make you ache for more. Each movement sends shivers down your spine, but it isn’t enough to satisfy the throbbing need that’s building within you.

“Such a desperate little thing,” she coos, her other hand gripping your hip to keep you from bucking against her touch. “But look at this.”

She withdraws her hand, and you whimper in protest. Glancing over your shoulder, you see her raise her fingers, glistening with your arousal. “I can’t even get any friction,” she taunts. “You’re so wet, my fingers just slide right off.”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice trembling with need.

“Please?” She repeats mockingly, her smirk widening. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”

You feel her shift behind you, her body pressing closer as her hands grip your hips firmly. The head of her magically conjured length nudges against your entrance, and your breath hitches.

Agatha leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she speaks. “Brace yourself, darling. This won’t be gentle.”

Before you can respond, she pushes forward in one fluid motion, filling you completely. The sudden stretch makes you cry out, your fingers gripping the chair’s backrest as she gives you no time to adjust. Agatha pulls back only to thrust forward again, harder this time, the force of it making the chair creak beneath you.

She sets a brutal pace, her hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, the wet slapping of skin against skin filling the room alongside your moans and gasps.

“Listen to you,” Agatha pants, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Making such filthy sounds. You’d think this was the only thing you’re good for.”

Her grip on your hips tightens, her nails digging into your skin as she loses herself in the rhythm. Every movement is precise and calculated, yet utterly unrestrained in its intensity. Her breathing grows heavier, her usually composed demeanour beginning to crack under the weight of her own pleasure.

The wet, obscene sounds of her thrusts only spur her on, her pace quickening as she drives into you with relentless force. “Such a perfect little plaything,” she growls, her voice low and breathless. “Taking everything I give you so beautifully.”

Your legs tremble beneath you, your body barely able to keep up with her unyielding pace. The pressure building inside you is overwhelming, your moans turning into incoherent cries as you teeter on the edge of release.

The coil in your stomach tightens to an unbearable degree as Agatha’s relentless pace drives you closer and closer to the edge. Each wet, resounding slap of her hips against you fills the room, mixing with the ragged cries spilling from your lips. Her hand comes down on your ass once more—harder this time—and the sharp sting sends you spiralling.

Your body tenses as the pressure inside you snaps, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. A strangled scream tears from your throat, your voice echoing through the room as the force of your orgasm wracks your body. Stars dance in your vision as you convulse beneath her, your walls clenching down on her so tightly that she lets out a guttural groan of her own.

“Oh, that’s it,” Agatha hisses, her voice trembling with pleasure and control. “Such a good little thing, screaming for me like that.”

Your body sags against the chair, your limbs trembling as aftershocks ripple through you. But Agatha isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

Her hands tighten on your hips, her nails digging into your sensitive skin as she picks up her pace once more. Each thrust is brutal, her hips slamming into yours with a force that sends shockwaves through your overstimulated body.

“You’re not done yet,” she growls, her voice low and breathless. “I’m not done.”

Her movements grow desperate, the sound of her cock driving into your slick heat punctuated by wet, obscene slaps. You whimper beneath her, your body shaking as she uses you with abandon, chasing her own release.

“You’d take anything I gave you, wouldn’t you? You’d let me fill you up—over and over again��until my cum drips out of you,” she sneers, her voice tinged with dark amusement.

Her words send another jolt of heat through you, your body responding despite the overwhelming sensations. Agatha notices, of course, her sharp laugh ringing out as she drives herself even deeper.

“You like the idea, don’t you?” She taunts, her breath hot against your ear as she leans over you. “Being bred by me. Being so full that you can’t think of anything else.”

“Yes,” you whimper, your voice breaking as you push back against her, desperate to give her whatever she wants. “Please, Agatha—please!”

Her growl is low and feral, her control slipping as her thrusts grow erratic. She is lost in the overwhelming heat of you, her movements fuelled by pure instinct and desire.

“I’ll fill you up,” she promises, her voice rough with lust. “I’ll fill you so full, you’ll feel me for days. You’ll look at yourself and know who you belong to.”

Her hips slam into you, her pace brutal and unforgiving as she chases her release. The wet, obscene slapping of skin against skin fills the room, the sound mixing with her ragged breaths and low, desperate groans.

“You’re mine,” she growls, her voice trembling as she grips your hips tighter. “Mine to use. Mine to breed. Mine.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, the weight of her possessiveness igniting something deep within you. You cry out, your body trembling as her thrusts grow even harder, each one driving her deeper inside you.

With one final, brutal thrust, Agatha stills, her body shuddering as she finds her release. Her low, guttural moan fills the room as she spills herself inside you, the heat of her release flooding your core.

For a moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths. Agatha stays pressed against you, her hands trailing over your sweat-slicked skin as she catches her breath. Then, slowly, she leans down, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Perfect,” she whispers, her voice soft but full of dark satisfaction. “Absolutely perfect.”

She lingers a moment longer, her hands gripping your hips tightly as if anchoring herself to reality. Slowly, with deliberate care, she begins to pull out. A shudder courses through your body as she withdraws, the lack of her cock leaving you feeling achingly empty. She stands upright, holding you firmly in place as she gazes down at the mess she’s made.

“Look at that,” she purrs, her voice full of dark satisfaction as she watches her cum drip out of you, trailing down your thighs in thick, sticky streams. “What a sight. You really are a perfect little toy, aren’t you?”

Her fingers trail along the curve of your back before she raises her hand one last time. The sharp crack of her palm against your sore, sensitive flesh makes you yelp, though the sound quickly dissolves into a whimper of pleasure.

Agatha chuckles darkly, her palm soothing over the reddened skin for a moment before she steps back. With a snap of her fingers, your clothes are back on, though the sensation of her still lingers—thick and undeniable. Your thighs clench involuntarily, the sticky mess now trapped inside your underwear, a constant reminder of what has just transpired.

Agatha, now back in her usual poised form, adjusts her blouse with a casual flick of her hand. “You really should listen to instructions the first time, darling,” she says with a sly smirk, her voice laced with teasing admonishment. She leans in close, her breath warm against your cheek. “Now, keep it all inside. If you manage that, maybe you’ll get rewarded later.”

She knows it’s an impossible ask, and your cheeks burn as her words sink in, your body still trembling from the lingering aftermath of her touch. Agatha straightens, her sharp gaze flicking over you one last time before she turns toward the door.

“Come along, pet,” she commands, her tone firm as she casts a glance over her shoulder. “The others are waiting. We wouldn’t want to keep them, now would we?”

You swallow hard, your legs shaky as you push yourself upright, the heat between your thighs a constant, maddening reminder of her dominance.

As you follow Agatha out of the room, the teasing sway of her hips draws your eyes, and you know you’re in for a long evening.

-----

Her shirt and purple pants combo is so fucking good, especially when her hair is down. The scene where she's sat round camp and starts rolling up her sleeve is probably one of my favourite scenes like ughhhhhhhh so hot.

-----

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nerdygirlramblings · 30 days ago

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Nearly half an hour later, Gaz leads you to a table along the dance floor. You've been collecting scraps of data every time he's waltzed you past Spinner's table, but without Arella on the hook, the op's about to be a bust. Suddenly, Gaz's eyes widen just a fraction, so quickly you could blink and miss it, but you don't blink, and you have a sneaking suspicion about what caused that reaction when you hear a pleasant voice behind you ask you for a dance. Gaz's reaction is the only warning you have to the fact that Spinner is standing there, hand out, wrist up, waiting for you.

You turn with a smile already on your lips and Price's voice in your ear, whispering, "Don't put yerself in danger, but see what ya can learn."

From the frown on his face, you know Gaz heard the Captain as well and isn't happy. You gently take Spinner's hand in yours and inhale the scent of linen and leather. It reminds you of secondhand bookshops, old tomes and leather binding with yellowed pages. It's a scent heavy that evokes a long history and rich legacy.

As is polite protocol, you flip your wrist and place it in his hand. He leans over and inhales deeply. You try to suffuse your scent with interest, slight enough to read as curiosity rather than desire. You lean to Gaz and brush a quick kiss near his ear, whispering, "Stay calm," before pulling back and more loudly announcing, "I'll be back in a moment."

Neither of you thought to play up a romance between you, which gave Spinner the opening to ask in the first place. A cheek kiss won't dissuade the man at this point, but it's a clear signal to him that you plan to return to your date. It's your only insurance to keep yourself safe.

Spinner gently takes your hand and pulls you onto the dance floor. His hold on you is tighter than Gaz's had been, and when you glance over, he's white-knuckling his glass. Trying to put your unease out of your mind, and clear it from your scent, you turn back to Spinner. On those outings around base, one of the most important things Price told you was to let your target share things of their own accord. Ask too many questions, and you'll look suspicious. But provide an opening, and you may get far more information.

So instead of saying anything, you let Spinner twirl you around while the music plays. Eventually he leans forward and takes another deep inhale. If you weren't sure of his secondary status before, this bold move screams alpha. But you bite your tongue and bide your time.

Spinner leans back and looks you in the eye. "I haven't been able to keep my mind my eyes off you. That dress and that collar make you hard to miss."

You thank him with a slight dip of your head and small, coy smile. He continues, "How have I never seen you at these kind of events, Miss..." He trails off leaving you space to introduce yourself. You give him your callsign, well versed at this point in how to turn it around into a cover. "Wren?" he asks, "like the bird?"

Another smile graces your lips, and you let your eyes briefly meet his. "Yes. My parents gave me the name hoping one day I'd grow wings, Mister..." You trail off as he had done. Though you know who he is, you want to see what information he'll give you voluntarily.

"Spinner, my dear. The name's Albert Spinner. But we don't need to be so formal, do we? You can call me Albert." He hand flexes around your waist, enough to let you know he's in charge and to call him by his name. There's no point in trying to resist as you want to keep him calm and talking.

You consciously work to school your accent into something acceptable in Spinner's circles. "Pleasure to meet you, Albert," you say. "You didn't recognize me because it's my first time at something so fancy. Do you attend these kind of functions often? I didn't even know about it until my friend," you tilt your head to the table where Gaz watches you both, "received tickets from his boss."

Spinner laughs, a deep rich sound that carries an undercurrent of condescension. "For some of us, these things happen far too frequently." You let him continue to spin you. "Why, I was at one in Kensington two months ago, and there's another gala slated for sometime next month in Waterloo."

"All charity auctions? For the same charity?" you ask, knowing, or at least guessing, the answer.

That laugh again. Grating. Though maybe only because you know something about this facade and the man underneath he seems desperate to hide. "Obviously not, Wren. Can't bleed a blue blood dry for the same cause over and over," he says. "But they're good opportunities to network. See who makes an appearance. Be seen." He leers at you at this last. "You must like being seen, Wren, dressed like that."

Your nerves spike, and you tamp down on the fear before it can send a slice of acid cutting through your scent. Spinner is a predator, and he's focused on you. You risk eye contact again and see his pupils dilate as he takes a slow, measured breath. "Don't be too scared, Wren. I don't see the point of putting birds in cages." His smile is sharp, all teeth. Your omega is clawing at the back of your brain, desperate to be away and safe. Dancing with him was a mistake.

Just as you're about to turn around and leave him, Price's voice cuts through your spiraling panic. "Ren, we've got ya. Gaz is thirty feet away, and me, Ghost, Soap 'ave eyes and ears on the whole ballroom." It gives you the reminder you need to recenter.

Spinner can't touch you with your team here. The song ends and though Spinner grabs for your hand, you smile, pour some exhaustion into your scent, and say, "Thank you, Mr. Spinner, Albert, for the dance. Maybe another time?" You slip through a few people before you chance a look back. There's a rigid set to Spinner's shoulders as he makes his way back to the table he'd been using, and you see disappointment on the face of the woman waiting there.

You don't know if you made an enemy or not, but you're sure Laswell and the others seriously underestimate Spinner.

Two more hours pass before Price calls it. Spinner and the woman who had been at his table left the main ballroom an hour after your dance. Arella still hasn't made an appearance. "Get back upstairs," Price calls over the comms. "We'll break down and debrief wi' Laswell before headin' back to base."

The whole evening has felt off. You're still not entirely comfortable or confident with these kids of ops, but what gets you most tonight is Spinner's comments. If you had a mating mark, would he have been so bold? It almost feels like the universe is reminding you of the protection a pack would provide.

Laswell's understandably disappointed that Arella didn't show, and while she grumbles about the sheer volume of data her analysts will have to sift through, you don't miss the nod of respect she directs at you. You share what Spinner said about the other event he attended and the one he implied he would be at soon. "I don't know if it's anything, but he seems like the kind of man who isn't going to come to something like this if there isn't a reason, something he can gain from it," you say. She tells you she'll have someone cross check the Kensington event timeline with suspicious activity.

As Price ends the call, you slip into the room next door and pull the dress off, sliding it neatly onto the hanger and pulling the garment bag over it. You treat the jewelry the same way, carefully placing it back in its boxes. Maybe it can be reused? You have nowhere to wear it, but the thought of it on someone else pains you.

The standard issue shirt and trousers irritate you more than normal, your skin having so quickly acclimated to the soft caress of the dress. Between the five of you, the room is stripped and packed and ready to move in less than thirty minutes. Everyone carries multiple cases down a hallway that seems miles long. The service elevator ride to the transport feels interminable. After everything is loaded into the boot, with your dress draped gently on top, you pile into the rear seat with Soap and Gaz.

They feel so much closer to you than they did on the drive into London, encroaching on your space. You squirm in your seat, trying to get comfortable between them. Your clothes scratch across your skin every time you move. You know your frustration is bleeding into your scent and try desperately to tamp it down, ignoring the looks Soap and Gaz throw in your direction. Make it back to base, just make it back to base you tell yourself. Then you can figure out what has you so turned around.

What seems like hours later, surveillance equipment is dropped off, the truck is back in base transport, and you're finally back in your barracks. The ballroom didn't seem too hot at the time, and being stuck between the two sergeants was uncomfortable but not cloying. But it must have been warmer than you realized because you're sweating. You strip off your top and trousers, quickly rearranging the blankets and things on your bed. As you toss your clothes in the hamper, your eyes flick to the calendar on the wall.

Your heart stops, and the blood drains from your face.

The uncomfortable clothes. How long things seem to take, moments stretching out like molasses. Being overly warm. Fixing your blankets.

Your heat is coming. Quickly. Before panic settles in, you scramble into your clothes again and head out the door to Price's office. You need a conversation with your Captain. Now.

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oceansblvds · 1 month ago

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tunnel vision — four ; coriolanus snow

MASTERLIST

pairing ; king!coriolanus snow x debutante!reader

words ; 1.9k

about ; in the glittering world of panem high society, you were raised to be perfect — the prized daughter of a powerful family. your family was prepared to make the match of the season. but when king coriolanus snow arrives unexpectedly, announcing his intention to marry, everything changes.

warning(s) ; eventual smut, angst, courting (bridgerton style), eventual fluff.

chapter specifics: kissing, THOUGHTS of fingering, talk of marriage. angst. drama. arguing.

authors note ; i decided to split up this chapter to release one tn . . . cause im !!!!!!!!!!!!! okok go read now.

The silverware chimed delicately against porcelain. The low murmur of polite conversation floated about the room through the soft shimmer of candlelight, punctuated by soft laughter and the occasional clink of crystal glasses. Set with delicate threaded linens and silk, the table was decorated with flickering candelabras that made everything feel hazy and warm. There was a thick smell of perfume from your mother on the other side of the room and from the servants as they came and went with different plates for dinner.

Your parents were adamant about inviting Coriolanus to dinner, that it was almost abysmal that they had not done so earlier. You knew that it was all a ploy for Lucien and your father to try and pry into Coriolanus’ mind about what he was doing and if he was determined to properly court you or ask for your hand. But despite everything, you were excited the entire day that the King would be making an appearance. When he arrived, he brought flowers for your mother, he even talked with your younger brothers. He talked perfectly with your father about District One, like he had studied for tonight. Knowing him, he probably did.

Stupidly perfect.

You sat at the long table, your back perfectly straight, our fork moving mechanically to lift tiny amounts of food into your mouth. Though you barely tasted them. You sat right next to Coriolanus, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body. When he shifted, his knee brushed yours beneath the table.

Once.

And then twice.

Your heart gave a humiliating stutter every single time that it happened.

You had tried not to think about the last afternoon that you had seen him, almost a week ago at this point. You tried. Tried not to think about how he took your finger so brazenly into his mouth like it was second nature to him, or how his tongue had brushed over your skin, drawing away the blood like it somehow belonged to him.

And the worst part of it was that you could tell that he knew what you were thinking about, like he could somehow read your mind. He was watching you, not in the polite Capitol way where men watched their future wives, adoration and kindness. No, he watched you like you were a secret that he had already begun to unravel. Like you were something that he had to make as much of a mess of in order to pick up the pieces for his own collection. As the conversation around you drifted to something about political trade routes that your father was trying to secure, and your mothers relentless gossip about someone’s second cousin’s scandal, you felt a brush of something at your knee.

His leg. For the third time.

You were going to go crazy, you were sure of it.

You turned your face back towards your plate, hiding your burning cheeks from the King. Your mother was laughing now, telling some story about the duchess who had embarrassed herself at last season’s games. Your father nodded along, your little brothers flicking mashed potatoes towards each other at the very far end of the table.

By the time the last course was cleared, your nerves felt stretched thin. You rose from your seat as the butler began to clear the table completely. The men were invited to enjoy some brandy in the library; the ladies would retire to the parlor for tea and some music. You barely heard the hum of conversation from the men as you followed your mother to the parlor, the walls felt as though they were closing in towards you.

You were suffocating.

The fire, the heavy scent of tea, the rustles of your mothers fans, it pressed into you, too much after the nearness of him. You needed air, you needed space. You murmured some excuse about a headache to your mother, slipping through the side doors into the wide marble hallway that led toward the back of the house. Your footsteps echoed as you moved, almost running, heart pounding. Outside, you needed to be outside with the fresh air.

The terrace doors were cracked to let in some air, and you easily slipped through them, your skirts rustling as you continued on your path. The night met you like a cooling balm, clearing your mind the further you walked. Above, the stars burned faintly, twinkling in the darkness. The gardens stretched out before you and the breeze caught the hem of your gown. You inhaled deeply. At least no one would see you now, no one could see the fire burning under your skin just begging to crawl out. You moved to the edge of the terrace before the paths split off, resting your hands lightly on the stone, letting your head fall back. Eyes closed, gathering yourself.

It was terribly foolish to think you could escape him.

You had gotten so used to him being there that you felt him before you heard him.

You didn’t turn around, you truly didn’t need to. You just knew it was him.

“You always follow me,” you said, your voice sharp.

Silence.

You turned fast, your dress whispering around your ankles and legs.

“What do you want from me?” you demanded, voice low in a tremble you didn’t even know was in your character to do so. “Why are you doing this? You sit next to me, watch me like you already own me. You touch me like . . . how a debutante isn’t supposed to be touched!”

His jaw tensed just barely.

“What exactly do you gain from this? From me? I’ve tried to be quiet, tried to be good. I’ve smiled at all the right moments, pretending that you weren’t — weren’t —”

“Weren’t what?” he asked softly, stepping closer. You countered by stepping back into the stone railing.

“Messing with me!” you snapped. The word echoed off the terrace stone, loud and sharp. “Playing your little Capitol mind games, toying with me like I’m someone from the Districts. You sit there all composed, all knowing.”

“I didn’t —”

“Oh please,” you cut him off, almost laughing. “Don’t insult me with lies. Do you think I don’t see it? One minute you’re handing me a rose like a perfect King and then next you’re putting your mouth on me like I’m already yours!”

His face tightened, like he was an inch from cracking. “You didn’t pull away,” he stated, like the fact that it was, voice cutting impossibly low.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, so it’s my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself?” You shot back, taking a step toward him. “Is that how it works now? You prowl around me, you touch me without my explicit permission, you put your filthy mouth on me, and I’m to blame for not screaming?”

“You didn’t want to scream,” he said, matching your fury.

You scoffed. “You think that you know what I want?”

“I know you. I know how you tremble when I touch you, how you flush every time I catch your gaze, how you stare at my mouth when you think I won’t notice.”

You couldn’t help but gasp, your eyes widening that he would say it so . . . plainly. You hated the brutal honesty, how naked he made you feel with just his words. “You’re sick,” you said. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

That finally did it.

Coriolanus’ eyes darkened, not with hurt, but with something hot, furious, and possessive. He took a step toward you, like the leash keeping you from him finally had snapped. His hand caught your wrist in a split second, his fingertips burning into your skin permanently so you would never forget it. “I know you better than anyone ever will. Better than your perfect family, better than all of the little boys your parents paraded in front of you since you were a mere child. You think they see you? They see a dowry, a perfect face to breed a better line.”

You blinked.

“You were made for something greater. You were made for me.”

Your other hand shot out before you thought too much about it, shoving at his chest to no avail. You struggled against his grip, despite how hot he made you feel being this close to you. “Let me go,” you hissed.

For a heartbeat, he just stared at you. Coriolanus’ jaw was clenched so tight that it looked like it hurt. And then, like nothing had happened, he let you go. Or maybe you let yourself go. This stupid life that your parents had crafted for you, one where you were perfect. You let it all go for a moment, alone, in this garden where no one would see you. You could pretend this never happened.

Because in the next breath, you were crashing into one another, mouths molding together in a kiss that was brutal. His hands found your waist, yanking you flush against him like he had lost all semblance of his patience. Your fingers curled into the front of his vest, like you hated him despite how far from the truth it really was. It wasn’t gentle or sweet. It wasn’t like the way that your mother described what your first kiss should be like. At the altar of your wedding, in front of your whole family and his, sealing a love match. It was angry. Like you were cursing one another. His mouth moved against yours that made your knees go weak, gasping into his mouth that he quickly swallowed, like the sound fed him, like he had been starving for such a thing.

You barely noticed the way his hands moved, one sliding up to grasp against your hair, the other’s bold fingers slipping over the curve of your hips, roaming downward and skimming dangerously close to the hem of your skirts as he bunched them up. Fingertips brushed along the top of your thigh and your breath hitched hard, not in protest, but in want.

“Coriolanus —” You whispered against his mouth, half a plea, another a warning.

“I know,” he muttered. “Just a moment . . . a little more.” His hand slipped higher, fingertips ghosting over the crease between your thigh and hip bone —

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The voice ripped through the air like you had been shot with an arrow to the heart.

You broke apart from him, stumbling back. Your skirts fell back into place, your breath coming in short bursts. You pressed a hand against your mouth, as if you could somehow shove the moment back inside of you, hide it from anyone to see, ever.

Lucien stormed forward. Not at you. At him.

“You filthy bastard,” he growled.

“Lucien! Please, don’t. Stop.”

He rounded onto you so fast it made you flinch. “Stop?” he hissed. “You want me to stop after I find you pinned against the terrace with his hands halfway under your skirts?” You opened your mouth to try and deny it, to try and explain something, though Lucien was far from finished. “You have ruined yourself! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? If anyone, a servant, a lord in the ton, anyone saw you?”

The terrace door slammed open, your mother and father spilling from it. Your mother looked at you, and then him, and understood completely.

“Oh gods,” she gasped. “What did you do?”

“She’s been compromised,” Lucien explained.

Your mother gave a strangled sob, your father cursing under his breath, unsure of what to do, especially with it being the King of Panem.

And then Lucien turned to Coriolanus. “You will marry her,” he said. Low and absolute. “You will marry her tonight.”

taglist: @ib525 @m-ichelles-world @coryosnows @ryomensgirll @mixedfandxms

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas #the hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus fic #coriolanus fanfiction

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mullermilkshake · 26 days ago

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The capture.

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> ?

There's no escaping when the dog see's you running.

Illumi Zoldyck x Wife!reader x Hisoka DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Non con,Manipulation,Voyeurism,Restraints,Slut shaming,Multiple orgasms,Vaginal fingering,Cunnilingus,Forced orgasm

You refused.

Refused to allow Hisoka to touch you. You had more dignity in your reserves left than to let Illumi bully you into submission because he was acting like a child who threw a tantrum.

If you gave in now, he would know that his behaviour was something he could get away with. It was paramount to hold some of the little ground you had left in that bed in the motel room. You reminded yourself at the painstakingly obvious difference in power between you and the aura of the two men in front of you, yet you made it known just who was in the wrong in the room.

It was Illumi. “I won’t do this; I won’t play your fucked up games.” Yet your body did not move.

“Very well. Of course you have a choice, how unbecoming of me…” Illumi paused which added a crude suspense you hated. “But what if you didn’t have the capacity to make that choice?”

“What?”

From his pocket, he pulled out another brass pin. This one was special with a reddish hue on the head of it, one that you hoped he’d never try and use on you but you reserved the right to have no surprise if he did.

It made no difference, you were still surprised and shocked he would resort to this to prove a point anyway. “You dare use that on me Illumi-“

“What will you do? Run? Everybody in this room knows what happens when you run, there’s nowhere for you to go so tell me what would happen if I did use this on you?”

Hisoka was close to you, but he was on pause, all fours like he was waiting for orders that never came yet. You weren’t sure if it was loyalty to Illumi, or his cocky persona pushed him to see how this played out. Either way, you didn’t want him near you at all.

You shifted away a little, masking it as getting comfy or smoothing the linen on the bed out. “I’ll make a scene and everyone will know what you’re doing.”

Hisoka let out a snicker under his breath to which it could have been mistaken. “Dear, a scene is what I intend to create with you with Illumi’s permission, ‘making a scene’ isn’t actually the deterrent you think it is.”

You hadn’t thought your rebellion through, stuck in a motel desolate and terrible that wasn’t even on the maps properly, that’s why you picked the place. The risks were high with an even higher reward. Shit. Who were you kidding? You knew the risks and took it anyway knowing what could go wrong. This was wrong. Illumi knew it too, he must have but the sadist in him grew too addictive in hurting you.

A whore, that was what he reduced you to and you were still resisting.

“That doesn’t matter.” You said, pushing forth an ounce of courage. “I’ll make a scene anyway, things will get incredibly difficult.”

“You’re only giving me more reasons to use this pin on you…” The pin weaved in and out of his finger tips, swirling motion to highlight the moons glow and how dangerously effective it was.

Illumi’s pins were nothing to be coy about when learning what they could do, collectively and more impressively individually. A fucking mind numbed monster with all willpower thrown out of the window alongside the bone chilling reason he used them. Not to mention painful, a pin sticking out of your head with no chance you’d ever get back to your normal self.

How terrifying. His hunger for control was disturbing.

It could have been a bluff but you wouldn’t risk it, not with an indefinite verbal threat on the table. Illumi loved his verbal tactics and manipulative ways… just like his mother.

“You poor thing, are you really contemplating whether the fight is worth it?” Did Hisoka’s words always drip with sarcasm?

You were contemplating it. Already at a disadvantage with two on one, not to mention you were practically choking on the aura and blatant bloodlust. There wasn’t a chance in hell you would beat even one of them let alone the two. But you still thought about it despite how unrealistic it would be. They’d have you pinned in a second flat, on the bed without any wiggle room. A stuffed hog ready for slaughter in an abattoir and an injured mammal being circled by sharks as they sensed chum in the water.

Upon thinking, you hadn’t realised just how close Hisoka was until the sweet smelling scent filled your nose. Rose petals.

“Nothing to say?” He said. “Nothing at all? But you were so vocal just a moment ago.”

“Don’t toy with her that way Hisoka.” Illumi wandered past the bed and took up residence in the chair in the corner.

That way, did he mean verbally? Of course, that was only reserved for Illumi wasn’t it? “Just have at it with her and be done. I’d rather not spend much time in this drab town longer than I have to.”

He turned his attention away from you to Illumi “You really are a delight aren’t you? No wonder she’s running away if you’re this uptight in any place besides that fancy estate of yours-“

Illumi’s aura shifted and mutilated itself into something far more ghastly that stopped you in your tracks that you didn’t dare to breathe. Much more vicious then before. “I asked you here because I wanted to teach her a lesson Hisoka. Not to play with me.”

The aura flickered like roaring flames and was once again as dense as cement. Illumi’s fists clenched which made his knuckles fade to ceramic white strangling the air in between.

Hisoka didn’t react, not in the slightest. But he did turn to you and looked you dead in the eye as is he was showing off. “Another joke, you really are an easy one to tease aren’t you?”

“Get on with it then. I don’t have all day.”

If you didn’t do as you were told, he’d use the pin. If you did as he expected of you, he wouldn’t let you live this down and you’d have the memories of another man against you for the rest of your life. What could you do; what would be possible in order to slip away? To get out of this fucked up rock and hard place to more level ground?

You could run of course. Illumi made it clear you couldn’t actually run away from him and it would only spur Hisoka on wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t run from a dog, a four legged animal to get away, you’d back away slowly.

So that’s what you did. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Off the bed. On two feet. “Away from here.”

Hisoka was so quick taking a hold of your wrist and pulled you close to him. “Oh little bird, you’ve been caged already. What makes you think you can just fly away with those clipped wings? Illumi gave me permission to have you and I haven’t been this turned on for quite some time.”

You may as well have been struggling against stone and rock. “Let go of me-“

“Struggling will do nothing though I prefer you did so.” He didn’t move no matter how much you struggled or pulled away like he was radioactive, but it did make his pupils dilate so much you noticed that even in the poor light.

Illumi’s presence stifled you, threatened to put you out and it was clear and obvious that this was affecting him more than you assumed it would. But he didn’t yield. “Like I said before, you can be a whore…” That pause. “and then no one will want you.”

In a blink, that’s all it was and you couldn’t move no matter how much you tried to. Hisoka backed away didn’t have his hands on you anymore, a ghost of nothing held you in place and defied logic like an invisible rope you could feel but not see with your bare eyes.

“You can feel my bungee gum now? Took you long enough. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you… but it will hold you still so just try to relax; or don’t it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Remember the rules Hisoka.”

“Of course. No touching the face and nothing inside her, I remember.”

Inside? The invisible restraints squeezed, tightened to the point it pinched, burned against your skin so white hot it brought tears to your eyes. You and Illumi had never practised traditional intercourse yet.

That rule alone confused the fuck out of you.

“Get me out of this-“ One hand over your mouth.

Not Hisoka’s.

“Be quiet and just let it happen. Maybe then you’ll appreciate the life I made for you.” His expression was not angry, furious or disgusted.

More like sad.

But he was still a horrible person.

That’s what you told yourself that night when Hisoka touched you, pleasured you no matter how much you tried to ignore the seeping sensations inside you. Your body acted differently to how your mind ran, sprinting away from the room in an attempt to hide everything in the present. To get away from Illumi’s expression each time you came in the presence of charismatic coo’s and hungry gazes lapping you up and spitting you out.

The restraints were reactive which loosened and then constricted periodically depending on what mood Hisoka was in. He pleasured himself and whenever he came all over you, that was when they were at their most catastrophic.

“Look at you.” Hisoka had said, right over you while he cooed and stroked your hair. “All bark and no bite… I thought she was a fighter Illumi? I was hoping she’d struggle at least, this is just depressing.”

It didn’t stop him from doing everything and even pushing the boundaries that Illumi had set. There was a time more than once where you had a finger inside you just a little, jutting in and out whenever Illumi made direct eye contact with you so he didn't notice.

The first time your head shot down to see Hisoka’s smirk behind his eyes and a tongue over your clit until you came.

But after that you didn’t respond to his cockiness, his finger gently edging inside you closer until it seemed like someone who actually cared for you, but of course they did not care for you. They treated you like an object.

Like... a whore.

For just one moment, Illumi got what he wanted, you wished to leave the motel and crawl back to the Zoldyck estate with your tail between your legs, to leave this… shit show and Illumi was the ticket out. It would have stayed that way too had you been someone with a more fail state of mind.

“Do you have another in you? Want to go over the edge or should I stop it all and let you suffer?”

Multiple orgasms but not before horrid edging and close calls. Hisoka worked your body out extraordinarily fast and you wondered if Illumi had filled him in, even with his minimal knowledge and experience with you himself. There were things that he did to you that you had not done in the company of your own husband.

Illumi didn’t even touch himself as he watched. It was all Hisoka. You couldn't stand the test of time during the duration of the night. Legs shaking, skin on fire and trembling full of goosebumps with every touch and brush of wet tongue against you.

“Such a naughty girl… You’ve relaxed so much someone could mistake you for enjoying this.”

You would have marks that lasted a lifetime you were certain and Illumi, though despite how uncomfortable he looked himself, did nothing and just reminded you why he was doing this. A lesson and to make a point. A lesson for what exactly you still weren’t sure of, not really, but the only real lesson you took from it was to be sneakier and more careful the next time you would inevitably run away.

That was a promise you made to yourself.

A promise to get away for good.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#hxh x reader #fem reader #x reader #reader insert #hxh smut #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #hisoka #hisoka x reader #hisoka smut #hisoka morow #illumi #hunterxhunter #minors dni #minors do not interact

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fa-home · 1 year ago

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kiestrokes · 5 months ago

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Day 13: Baby, I'm a shadow of you | NSFW

▸ Idol: Kim Mingyu of SVT ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: WIP from the graveyard, smut. racecar driver AU. ▸ Vibe: oddly enough I got this idea after seeing all the Barbie movie viewing outfits. Gyu and reader have always danced around their interest in each other. She had been dating his best friend Jeon Jungkook until recently. He just got back from racing overseas and found out she's finally single...there's more to it but I am tired. ▸ Warnings: language.

Sexually Explicit Content: this is after months of reader (and Jimin) trying to get her laid via Migyu, sexual tension, sexual intercourse (penis in vagina), kissing, sex on the kitchen table (sorry to roommate!Hobi), raw sex (no condom), nipple play, some throat groping (not choking), clit stim, orgasms (both).

🗝️ Note: Has not beta-ed by me or anyone else. THIS IS A WIP! (it is wipmas) It is not complete; this is very much a rough outline/first run through. I left in some more mid flow notes, you'll see 😅

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

Mingyu stays behind to help you clean up even when you tell him you’re fine to do it alone. Once he’s got the dishwasher started, he comes up behind you as you rinse the sink. Lightly pressing into you with his hands braced on either side.

“Have you been purposely wreaking havoc on my hormones for the last month?” You ask, mildly annoyed with the giant man behind you.

You drop your head back into his shoulder and he watches your throat flex as you swallow, suddenly nervous.

He really presses you into the counter then, hands ghosting up your arms, “I need you to tell me this is ok.”

You reach up and tug his mouth down to yours, “if you don’t fuck me tonight, I will probably cry.”

Mingyu gasps a laugh on your lips. Hand coming up to your throat and the other splaying across your stomach to roll his pelvis into your ass before molding his mouth over yours.

The kiss isn’t urgent like you expected it to be. It’s slow and savoring. He takes his time charting each press of your lips with his before angling his mouth and lapping his tongue over yours.

You moan and squirm against his front, his hand on your throat squeezes and you feel his fingers flex into the soft of your abdomen. Before gliding down to palm over the soft fabric of your linen shorts, lifting you just slightly as his hips roll into your backside.

You break the kiss with a pant and he’s diving into your neck, thumb pressing under your jaw to give him more skin to cover with open mouthed kisses, nips and sucks. You moan his name and he grunts in return his hand rubbing, squeezing over your clothed cunt.

“The bedroom please,” you gasp.

Mingyu lifts his hand from your clavicle to meet your eyes, shaking his head.

“I want to fuck you on the table.”

“Hobi's not going to like that.”

Mingyu spins you around, kissing you properly.

“I’ll sanitize it after,” and he’s half carrying you over to the freshly cleaned table.

Perching your ass on the edge and slotting himself between your thighs.

Remove the clothes

Mingyu lays you back slowly by your throat, hand dragging down your cleavage to the soft of your stomach, to hitch your legs to his hips. His erection bobbing up against your folds. With you knees raised, he wraps his hands around the tops of your thighs rubbing himself against your dampness and clit.

Mingyu's head drops back, “agh, you’re so wet.”

He teases your entrance to collect the wetness and continues his rubbing. You squirm, nipples painfully hard as he raises his head to watch you.

“Bet you can come like this.”

You bite your lip and reach down to press his hardness into your clit as he thrusts.

Mingyu moans loudly, “waiting was so worth it.”

You tremble as he teases your entrance again before he sheaths himself between your palm and cunt. His hand reaches up to pinch your nipple after watching you tease the other one yourself. You arch off the table moaning. He continues to roll it until you orgasm.

Entrance slicking up with your creamy release causing his breathing coming out in short pants, “fuck that’s it.”

Mingyu slants across you, pinning your hands at your sides and thrusts in as you core flutters. He moans at the wetness that greets him, hips snapping up into your glory spot.

"Ah, Mingyu!"

He moves your hands, to hold them against your thighs, binding you to your body as he sets a ruthless pace.

“Look at me,” his breath ghosts your face and you meet his gaze as he covers your mouth with his.

You moan, kissing him back as he stops thrusting and grinds fully into your core. You start to come again, too soon and he grunts into your mouth as you suck him in with your orgasm.

Once your breathing levels he pulls back, releasing your hands to stroke your hair back from your face and kisses you softly, “are you ok?”

You nod tiredly wrapping your legs around his back. Mingyu takes the hint and starts moving. Painfully slow in and out of you as you stare at each other. One hand swooping to cup the back of your neck and the other on your hip as his pelvis stretches and snaps up into yours.

Mingyu's body starts to tense and you know he’s close, you kiss his lips. He moans pressing opening mouth kisses back, grunting your name. You squeeze internally and he spasms.

“Ahahh fuck-fuck,” as he paints your insides. He stills but you continue rolling your hips against his as he collapses against you.

Face buried in your neck, soft moans escaping as you grind into him, your motions slowing stilling. You run a hand down his back, fingers tracing his muscles. He presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat before rubbing his nose to yours and kissing you.

“You need to release me at some point.”

You feel his smile against your lips and laugh in return, unwrapping yourself from him so he can pull out and when he does cum spills out all over the edge of the table. Your releases and his, he scrubs a hand down his face with a gasp and then a moan at the sight of you.

You bite your lip, “will you get some paper towels.”

Mingyu nods and silently retrieves them from the counter. You moan, head dropping back between your shoulders when the cleans you and he watches you face softened.

He cleans the table for you to move and you hop off collecting your clothes, “do you want to shower?”

Mingyu shakes his head putting the towels back and tossing the used ones in the trash before collecting you to him for a soft kiss, “I want to go home with the scent of you on me.”

You groan and deepen the kiss briefly, reaching behind you to snatch the dishrag and press it into his hand that was clutching your bare waist.

“I’m going to shower, don’t forget to clean the table.”

He laughs and kisses you one more time, popping you on the ass with the rag as you scurry away to the bathroom.

“Yes daddy,” he winks.

🗝️Note: I see this racking up the notes and I know its bc Gyu is a hot commodity but I would just like to inform everyone this probably my least hottest smut outline...ever. My other wipmas posts have much more detail, even just the outlines.

#svt hard hours #svt smut #svt headcanons #svt imagines #svt x reader #svt x you #svt x y/n #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #mingyu fanfic #mingyu scenarios #kim mingyu smut #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu fanfic #wipmas

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shhhsecretsideblog · 1 year ago

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No Time To Hide

This was something I wrote for an Imagine You’re Pregnant prompt, original post here. Thought I’d make a side blog and post it here as well cos I really enjoyed writing this and might be tempted to write more birth fics

Eva opened the wooden window of her small cottage, letting the cool autumn air whip through her hair. The smell of woodland and damp grass filled her nostrils as she took a long, calming breath.

Describing herself as a green witch, Eva loved her little cottage hidden away from everyone deep within the rich forest. Coven life was never something that appealed to her; the idea of being constantly surrounded by other witches, their opinions and their magic, was torture for Eva. She much preferred her own company, free to live her life the way she wanted. Free to use her own style of magic, without the distraction or judgement of others. It was why she decided to live here in the heart of the forest. There was a river that flowed through the centre of the woodland, the ancient trees stood tall around her home, and the forest floor was packed with all manner of plant life. It was perfect; just her, the elements and Mother Nature.

Despite her preference of living alone, as time passed Eva began to yearn for something… it wasn’t romance or friendship, but the idea of a child. Children were never something she had considered, but as she grew older Eva had begun to see the benefit of having children. Someone to pass all her knowledge and wisdom to, someone to love and care for and share all that she’d learnt. She wanted to pass on this way of living, to create a legacy.

A few months ago, nine to be exact, she enchanted a local townsman - not that he would ever remember it. And now here she was, rocking side to side and cradling the underneath of her heavily pregnant stomach, preparing herself as birth drew near.

The cramps had started yesterday afternoon, small and barely noticeable at first. Eva had been terribly uncomfortable these last few weeks, suffering constant aches and twinges, so she did not immediately give them any thought. However when they got sharper and more frequent, forcing her to pause whatever she was doing, they soon got her full attention.

Not knowing how long this could take but knowing she would eventually lose mobily as her labour progressed, she collected all her preparations and got the supplies ready. Blankets, towels, sterilised medical equipment, all within easy reach in the main living room. Snacks and drinks lay available on the coffee table and a pot of hot water sat by the open fire keeping a constant warm temperature.

“Mmmnnngghhhhh” Eva moaned deeply as the latest wave peaked. She leaned forward resting her elbows on the window sill, jutting her hips back and swaying them slightly. The baby was low and heavy in her pelvis, the head pressing downwards as her body slowly opened up.

When the latest pain had eased Eva straightened and looked down at her swollen stomach, speaking lovingly towards her unborn babe. “You’re really coming aren’t you little one? I’ve not done this before so please take it easy on me.” Her child responded with a gentle kick prompting the witch to smile.

Over the next few hours Eva got into a good rhythm riding out the contractions, each one hitting sooner than the last and with incrementally more vigour. She paced, rocked, squatted, kneeled, trying to find any comfortable position to ride out the waves. Her low and heavy stomach made moving from position to position cumbersome; one hand staying on her bump or her lower back at any given time, while the other kept her supported on whatever furniture or surface was nearby.

As the contractions ramped up, creeping steadily towards unbearable, the witch’s teeth clenched tight and she growled behind them. Three minutes apart. Holding on to the back of her armchair Eva lowered herself into a deep squat. Sweat covered every inch of her body, her thin linen dress and underwear clinging to every curve of her fertile frame.

Her hips were in agony, the pressure building. She opened her mouth to wail but no sound came out, shocked into silence by a sudden burst between her open thighs. Immediately the pressure eased and Eva could catch her breath again. The wooden floor below her feet was soaked; her waters had broken.

“Oooooooh okay- We’re getting so close- Are you ready to come out now baby? I cannot wait to meet you.”

Eva stood up, cradling the curve of her spasming bump. Her bare feet stepped ungainly out of the puddle on the floor and she quickly threw a tea towel down to soak up the worst of it.

“It’s just you and me, little one. We can do this.” Eva reassured herself, rubbing circles around her swell, preparing for the intensity to soar now her waters had gone.

However, before the next contraction could strike the witch startled at the sudden loud interruption of ringing bells. Rapid and urgent, the piercing chimes echoed all around her cottage, howling through every room.

Witch hunter!

The enchantments set up around her hidden home in the forest hadn’t gone off in decades - she had almost forgotten the wards were still in place. And yet the incessant ringing immediately chilled her to her very bones, suddenly haunting her with long forgotten memories of the brutal murders of her fellow witches.

Her stomach clenched with a new, different sensation - fear. At any other time Eva would arm herself with weapons and potions and storm outside on the offence, making sure to take down her enemy before he had the opportunity to strike. But now… the pressing weight in her hips and the constant aching of her contracting womb showed she was in no position to attack, or even defend herself, if put up against a murderous witch hunter.

She had to get out of here. The warning bells throughout her home would soon reach the ears of the witch hunter and then he would beeline straight to her hidden sanctuary. She needed to find somewhere else to hide.

Distracted by the chimes, Eva was unprepared for the next contraction when it ripped across her body, rooting her to the spot. She doubled over in pain, palms planted firmly on her thighs.

“Unnnhhhhhhhhhhhh no-no-no-no……” she whimpered through strained breaths as the pain skyrocketed and her belly hardened. Panting heavily the witch ignored growing desire to bear down. Her waters had broken, she was probably almost fully dilated, if not already. But she couldn’t stay here. If she stayed, both her and her child would certainly be killed. She had to leave and find somewhere safe to deliver this baby.

After what felt like an eternity, the contraction finally faded and she bolted straight out the back door of her cottage, leaving barefoot with nothing but the clothes on her back. She had wasted precious minutes since the warning alarm riding out that last pain - she couldn’t afford to waste any more time gathering supplies to take with her. Eva took off as quickly as she could, disappearing deep into the lush green forest.

She barely got out of sight behind the first set of oak trees before another contraction was already upon her. Two minutes apart. Leaning against the rough bark of the nearest tree, Eva squeezed her eyes shut and tried hard to swallow the whimper creeping out her throat. The unbearable pressure was demanding in its silent request and her knees trembled with the effort of ignoring it. The baby was so heavy, and dangerously low. Feeling like it would just fall out if she took a step too wide. Yet she remained strong, persevering and weathering the storm in her uterus, determined to keep this baby inside of her until she got somewhere safe.

The second the pain let up an inch the witch was on the move again running as fast as she could across the forest floor. Over ferns and moss, rocks and fallen branches, thankfully the hardened soles of her bare feet were used to the uneven terrain. She made sure to keep off the main footpath and stayed hidden within the dense trees, but it made for more of an obstacle course than she’d like. With added weight of her labouring belly she couldn’t move at speed and on a few occasions nearly lost her balance. But deeper and deeper into the forest she went.

The trees became her allies, providing cover and support when she was forced to stop with each new powerful contraction… 90 seconds apart... 60 seconds apart. A large, ancient willow tree with an unusually curved trunk was the latest comrade in her fight for survival. Eva had pitched herself within the alcove of the trunk, out of sight and leaning back against the bark, lifting the weight of her hardened stomach with both hands. The long hanging branches brushed the forest floor in a circle around her position, hiding the witch behind a nature-made curtain.

“Grnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Eva could no longer hold in the animalistic sounds of her extremely advanced labour. The baby was right there, nestled deep in her widened cervix, desperate to be born.

“Nooooooooo-please-baby-wait-a-bit-moreeeeeee-” she begged through gritted teeth. The next contraction started before the current had even finished and the need to push was too powerful to refrain. Knees bending and thighs widening, Eva’s body pushed of its own accord.

It felt right, pushing. It was what she was meant to be doing - to follow nature's primal instinct. And yet she couldn’t forget the very real threat of the witch hunter, still hidden somewhere in this forest, poised and primed to kill her.

The fierce contraction continued to hold her hostage. A long grunt escaped her mouth as her body pushed along with the pain.

“I can hear you, witch!” A gravelled voice taunted from across the thick forest.

Eva’s eyes widened and immediately clamped her mouth shut, biting her lips together drawing blood. Half squatting against the tree, every muscle in her body continued to strain as it forced the baby lower and lower and lower. She couldn’t stop pushing even if she tried. One of the hands cradling her stomach shakily ventured south, lifting up her dress and feeling between her legs. Through the thin damp fabric of her underwear she could feel the baby’s head begin to enter the world.

She panted silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. The forest stretched out for miles, completely uninhabited in all directions; she was all alone. There was nowhere to go and no one to help. Heavily pregnant, being hunted, and seconds away from birthing this child.

A loud snap of wood echoed from a few metres away. Eva suddenly bolted like a startled deer, consumed entirely by fear and survival, and disappeared again into the thickened wood. She ran, wide legged, the heavy boulder of a baby’s head deep in her pelvis screaming to be born. Push! Her body cried out. Stop running and PUSH!

But she couldn’t. If she stopped she’d be dead.

Another contraction ripped through her as she ran. 30 seconds apart. Her muscles tensed and squeezed as she ran, her body trying to force the baby out despite the mother’s desire to hold on a bit longer. She could barely stay upright, the raw adrenaline no longer enough to keep this birth at bay. Her legs became jelly, all she could feel was pain and pressure and fear. Eva faltered, she couldn’t go any further. Out in the open she planted her hands against the nearest tree, widening her stance, and pushed. Hard.

“Mnnnnnnnrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!”

More of her baby’s head began to appear behind the fabric of her tight underwear.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh-Hecateeeeeeeeeeee!” she whimpered, praying to the deity.

Her baby was close to fully crowning, she could feel it. The white hot agony of being widened and stretched beyond anything she imagined made her eyes water and throat nauseous. She retched, a dry heave, and desperately tried to catch a breath through the dual need to push and the sudden urge to vomit. The texture of the rough bark beneath her palms was the only thing keeping the witch semi-grounded and preventing her getting swept away in the overwhelming sensations currently tearing her body apart. Still bracing the tree, Eva’s head dipped as she took slow deep breaths, ignoring the instinct to push in order to ride out the sudden nausea.

An ominous whistling sound drifted through the trees carried on the wind. Eva could barely hear it over the thundering beating of her heart, that is until she heard:

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The voice sang.

The witch hunter was close. But so was her baby... Eva felt between her legs again to evaluate just how bad her situation was. It was bad. Her underwear was stretched beyond repair as it housed a significant portion of her baby’s head, filling her cupped palm. Ignoring all the pain and her body’s pleas to push, she panted heavily and tried to think! She needed a plan to survive.

The witch hunter had physical strength, yes, but he did not know these woods like Eva did. This was her home, her sanctuary, and she knew every inch like the back of her hand. Beyond her laboured breaths and the unnerving whistling of the approaching witch hunter, Eva registered another sound nearby - the swooshing sound of running water. The river - she was by the river!

Lifting her head the witch frantically scanned the surrounding area, getting her bearings of where she’d ended up within the woodland. She was a few hundred yards from the river’s edge, about a mile from her cottage. It wasn’t an area she often visited because of…. That’s it! Okay, it wasn’t a great plan, and there was no way to know if it would work, but it was her only shot of survival.

She took a steadying breath through the current contraction squeezing her womb, fighting once more against the primal need to push. The baby’s head filled her underwear, millimetres from a full crown. If she pushed again there was no way she’d be able to stop until the head was fully born.

Whimpering through the pain Eva stood up straight, one hand staying between her legs, and she prepared herself to move. Just get to the river. She told herself before making her way unsteadily east.

The sound of rushing water grew louder as she stumbled slowly through the forest. One step. Another step. Nearly there. She knew exactly where to go, and where to avoid, desperately trying to stay focussed on her surroundings and not succumb to the agonising pain crowning between her thighs. Keep going.

“You can’t escape me, witch!” The voice threatened, getting closer.

Eva stumbled into the side of a tree, her bare shoulder scraping against the bark. Pausing, she took a brief moment to breathe through the pain. It was a mistake. The second she stopped to inhale deeply her body started bearing down again, forcing the baby down. Immediately the head came to a full crown in her damp underwear and she screamed.

“WITCH!” The murderous voice roared.

Eva turned and saw a flash of black leather through the distant trees, and it was coming her way. Cupping the baby’s head she tentatively wobbled forwards, knees trembling, staggering towards the riverbank. The blinding pain was constant, her eyes barely focussing. She had to make it to the exact right spot or her plan would certainly fail. Her footsteps were shaky but determined as she continued the last few carefully placed steps in her journey. Behind her the crunching sound of a disturbed forest floor drew ever closer.

Reaching the river’s edge Eva collapsed against the large boulder that sat on the grassy bank. She made it. Turning around against the stone, the cold granite pressed against her back as she faced the woods and waited for the imminent arrival of the witch hunter. But the baby’s head inched lower, her body stretched to its absolute limit. She wanted to cry, to howl, to scream. Instead she focussed inward, drawing on all the power from the earth under her feet, and taking a deep breath she finally, and intentionally, followed her body’s demands. Teeth gritted, a growl behind them, she pushed with everything she had. Her whole body trembled, bearing down against the pressure of the large round head slowly appearing between her thighs. The ears… a nose… she could feel it all. Her hands frantically scrambled under her dress and within seconds the baby’s head popped out into her underwear and she cupped it quickly within her palm. The relief was instant and for a brief moment Eva’s heart calmed as she held her child’s newly born crown.

The witch’s reprieve was short-lived as the approaching footsteps from behind one of the nearby trees resulted in another person soon entering the river's edge. The witch hunter was dark haired, full beard, but was not as athletic as Eva was expecting. There was sweat glistening on his temple and dripping down his neck, disappearing beneath a thick leather jacket. His mouth practically drooled at the sight of her and he gripped the long hunting knife in his hand. The lust for her death was haunting.

“At last… you’ve given it a good go, I’ll give you that, but you cannot escape your fate.” The man said as he took a step towards her, threateningly swishing the knife in readiness. “You are an abomination, evil incarnate. Witchcraft has no place here. My family has been taking your lot out for centuries. And it looks like I get the honour of not only killing you… but the next generation as well.” He glared at her pregnant swell.

“No- no! This- this child is innocent…” Eva panted, still holding the head of her half-born babe hidden under the draped fabric of her dress.

The witch hunter scoffed and took another two ominous steps in her direction through the fallen autumn leaves. Eva watched each step with a laser focus.

“No descendant of a witch is truly innocent.” He drawled, tilting his head with an unnerving animalistic incline. “Wickedness will run through its veins, there is no saving its soul.”

Eva couldn’t take her eyes off his feet, watching every step he took. She chose this location for a reason, knowing she needed to end up exactly here by the rivers edge - dangerously using herself as bait. His heavy boots crunched through the orange leaves, sauntering slowly towards her like he was toying with his prey. So close. Her heart stopped, breath held as Eva prayed to all the Goddesses for her plan to work. Then whoosh!

The witch hunter was suddenly hoisted in the air by his foot, caught in a primitive trap laid here many years ago by the previous inhabitants of these woods, whom were long dead and forgotten. The man roared as he was pulled sharply towards the sky, his arms flailing, the hunting knife falling from his hand in his shock.

Eva exhaled heavily and closed her eyes in pure relief. The steady thumping of heart pulsed around her body, beating once more now the immediate threat disappeared. The man yelled and shouted at her as he hung limply from the tree, but the sound barely registered with the witch. Her senses had been overtaken by the sudden movement of the baby, turning inside her, and an all too familiar urgent weight pressing down signalling her work was not yet over.

Eva tried to move but she was too far gone, too deep in labour, every muscle seemingly locked in position. “Unhhhhhhhh Hecate….. mnnnggghhhhh the baby- the baby is comingg…..” she whimpered, the pain splitting her in half as she was stretched once more with the baby’s shoulders. All her bodyweight was pressed back against the boulder, and she managed to sink towards the ground. Squatting deeply, her large rounded stomach rested heavily between her thighs.

“Ohhhh it’s coming…. I- need… mnghhhhhhhh I’ve got to… got to pushh...”

She ripped off her underwear as the next contraction started, freeing the baby’s head from the confines of the damp linen. With both hands ready to catch, the witch pushed with renewed determination. “Urghhhhhhhhhhhh!” One shoulder was out! Then the next shoulder. She took a breath, panting, holding the child dangling from her body. Eva became suddenly hyper-aware of the breeze and leaves, the nearby river and the crisp autumn air, all the elements surrounding them which her child was now being born directly into. Trembling, she beared down fiercely once more and within another few minutes a newly born witch entered the world.

Eva sobbed with relief, quickly pulling her daughter up over her stomach and placing her against her chest. The infant made a soft gurgling sound, her first breath, and then started to cry. To a new mother it was the most beautiful and reassuring sound in the world.

“Disgusting…. Filthy little vermin.” The witch hunter sneered with venom.

Eva had forgotten her audience and looked up with hatred at the man still swinging upside down from the tree. She held her baby tight and secure against her skin, as if shielding the child from the mere sight of him.

“You should drown that thing in the river.” He spat.

Red, blinding fury overwhelmed the new mother. With the pain gone and her baby safe in arms, pure fury raced through every pore of the witch’s body, consuming every atom of her being. Rising slowly, babe still clutched in hand, Eva approached the hanging man with eyes glowing with revenge.

“When I get free, I'm gonna enjoy splitting you from ear to ear!” He roared.

Her head tilted in observation watching the man’s disgusting arrogance in his determination to kill her despite still struggling against the rope binding his leg. Apparently unaware his threats were idle and his attempts to escape the trap were futile.

The witch bent down carefully to pick up the large silver blade that had fallen amongst the browning leaves. The man didn’t see the new mother pick up his weapon, and didn't notice the switch when the hunted became the hunter. Eva stalked silently, murderously towards the hanging man.

Before he could open his mouth to mock or belittle or challenge her, Eva’s hand swished past his vision in a flash, the blade gliding through the witch hunter's throat like a knife through butter. The man’s eyes widened, taking a heartbeat to register what just happened, before the cascade of blood erupted from the open wound and he began to choke and splutter.

Eva dropped the knife.

Delicately readjusting and shhhing the newborn cradled in her arm, she took one final look and started their journey back to the cottage. Eva found comfort in the sounds of the forest; of the flowing river, the whistle of a breeze, and the drip drip dripping of her enemies blood now pooling onto the forest floor.

#birth kink #pregnant kink #clothing birth #panty birth #birth denial #public birth #forest birth #giving birth #birth fic #birth fiction #fpreg birth #tw: blood #tw: death #my writing

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1920sladydectective · 5 months ago

Text

Best Friend's Mother Ch.2

Hello, you find scroll to find part one earlier on this account as an ask for the lovely @shinyshayminflower or read it on AO3 with the following link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61009999/chapters/155858899

This is Part Two of Three! Enjoy my Loves!

That wasn’t the last time. Not at all. Even if sometimes, as you lay panting and dizzy in her silk sheets, you wished it was.

Mel didn’t know, there was no way that she could and yet sometimes her gaze felt like a dozen little blades, carving your soul to bits. She still curled into you on the sofa, painted your nails, and drank wine with you. She was still your best friend.

But you weren’t being hers.

If you were, you wouldn’t be babbling as a strap on wrecked you, firm hands bruising your hips with each violent tug. It was maddening, face suffocated into plush pillows as Ambessa broke you again and again and again. You were her little plaything, enthralled and leaking with no idea how to stop it.

You’d sit, inhaling cereal and fruit as Mel rambled about a new research paper whilst her mother’s eyes would trail your every movement like her exhausted, ensnared prey.

Four weeks passed like that. Every daylight hour was spent traipsing about with Mel and Kino, beach ice creams and forest hikes, upscale bars and drunken Wii Sports matches. Night would fall, Mel would stretch and yawn and place a kiss to your head, dismissing herself. Kino would have another drink, another match, then leave you to your ‘reading’.

You would end up in her bed within the hour. Each greeting was soft and teasing, as if she didn’t expect you.

“Good evening,” Her eyes glimmered, naked, always fucking naked “Need something,”

“I-”

A clicked tongue. She made you say it every single time. “I need you,”

And you did, which was the worst part. You needed her gasps, her harsh touch and special, private laugh. The warmth in you was stoked to a destructive flame, arousal all too similar to affection as she stroked back your sweaty hair.

It was just sex. It was just sex. It was just sex.

The candle in her room had changed. You hated the citrus scent, it made you think of days cleaning coffee shop bathrooms and you’d mentioned it one night, head burrowed in her armpit. Now, as you allowed her to devour your lips, the salty seaside hit your nose. It was considerate, it doused the flames, it stopped mattering with her tongue on your clit.

Ambessa’s kindness increased the more you gave yourself to her, pretty words slipping into your head as she told you about her day, and asked tenderly about yours. You were her Darling, her Sweet Girl.

The gifts started and you had no idea how to make them stop.

It started small, almost imperceptibly so. As you rushed out the door for lunch with Mel, your cheap lip gloss snapped, lid soaring onto Ambessa's foot. She promptly chucked it in the bin, snorting at you. That night, as she nibbled at your spent neck, she pressed a lip gloss into your hand. It was simple and sweet and from Dior because of a rich idiot lady.

“Better than Collection, Dear,”

“How would you know?” You scoffed, “You haven’t used Collection a day in your damned life,”

“It was Mel’s first makeup when she was ten,”

“I hate you,”

Her silk pillow thwacked you, giggles falling from your tired lips.

It stepped up after that. And up. And Up. And Fuck.

Vintage Levi jeans, “Yours looked tired, Darling,”

A trip to the hair salon with Mel, “Let me treat you girls, nice fresh cut and colour,”

Your laptop shat the bed and the next morning a new one was handed to you at the table. Mel and Kino didn’t even blink, “Wouldn’t want your studies to suffer, Dear. Don’t mention it,”

Linen pyjamas in several colours, each set worth more than your nine year old phone, “Sleep is essential, therefore so is comfort,”

Speaking of which, a new fucking phone, though admittedly it did fade away into battery death.

All of this, you could grapple with despite the pounding in your chest, the gifts worth pennies to their giver and impersonal at best.

The real clusterfuck was each little thing that saw into your soul. A silly sandcastle making kit, after a drunken ramble about no childhood beach trips. Lobster for dinner, because whilst you loved the rolls, you’d never actually had a full one. Soft massages at the end of a rough session beneath her, firm hands turning you to melted butter in minutes.

Half way through the seventh week, Kino returned to Uni and Mel received an invitation to a fashion event in Brighton for three days. With your tentative reassurance that you could manage, that her mother wouldn’t eat you (a bold faced lie), you somehow had the house to yourselves.

The daylight hours became hers.

Slow, lounging mornings where you could rest easily in her bed. No tiptoeing past Mel’s door, each creak making you nauseous. Breakfast in bed, Below Deck playing as you crunch through bacon and listen to the sounds of her humming in the shower. Ambessa stays in flowing pyjamas, floating through the space doing whatever she pleased. The luxury of staying in her bed until early afternoon is so sweet it rots your teeth. She manages to drag you to the poolside by two and you realise it is the first time you’ve seen her in a swimming costume. She’s majestic about it, of course, all rippling muscles and plush thighs. The water parts for her with ease, her hair in a tight braid as she does seemingly a full exercise in the time you acclimatise to the temperature. Once her laps were done, she slipped out of the water, hips swaying. You watched her, eyes shifting from coy to wide as the tiny fabric was discarded and she jumped back in nude.

Her face, sin and sunshine, beamed at you with a shockingly sincere grin. That night, as you ate spaghetti straight from the pot with garlic bread for cutlery, you realised you loved her. She seemed oblivious, her mouth unable to escape the red stain of tomato sauce as she crunched through enough bread to kill a horse. Ice cream and sprinkles for dessert, curled on the loveseat in the cinema as she muttered nonsense throughout the whole film, pawing at you and eating ice cream noisily. Two hours later you had no idea what Trading Places was about and you’d cum on her face twice.

“That was a waste of time,” You muttered, “Didn’t even watch the film,”

Ambessa laughed, “Well, I had a wonderful time,”

Your second day together a small, white box was left on your side of the bed, appearing after your shower. She was in her office on a work call, but patience had never been your strong suit. Bright, cascading chiffon rested in the box, your dream dress sitting calmly as if you hadn’t gazed at it every week for four years.

For Dinner, Sweet Girl x

The note had frogs dancing in your throat. Since your complex revelation the night before, you’d searched frantically for a way to stem the flood of emotion, to cut this tryst short. Each attempt fizzled on an unsure, romantic tongue. It was only a couple of weeks anyway, a handful of time and then you could be free. So dinner, whatever it would be, was manageable. You were pulled from your distractions by a rhythmic rip, rip, rip. Mina had gotten into the wrapping paper and was asserting dominance accordingly, idiot.

DInner, it turned out, was a Michelin star restaurant that insisted on black out dining. You’d made yourself pretty as a bloody picture and you were shrouded in darkness. It was supposedly to increase the sensation, the food speaking to you with its layered flavour profiles as your senses could focus more heavily on taste. It was nonsense, with an upcharge so astounding they made sure you couldn’t see the bill to question it. That being said, fumbling around wine and plates in the dark was fun. Ambessa’s husky voice spoke to you through the darkness, telling you stories of similar restaurants in far off places, or prompting you to ramble about your latest read. The food was good, but you privately agreed to yourself that the catering for the party had been better. Gentle, sure and slight, a familiar finger stroked against your inner thigh. Wine caught in your throat, a stuttered gurgle as you kicked out hard to get her to stop. A man’s voice cried out instead.

“Fuck, sorry,” You said, cheeks burning.

Ambessa’s cheeks strained under her teeth’s pressure, barely keeping a cackle at bay, “Very smooth, Dear,”

Dinner ended rapidly after that. You were dessert after all.

Ambessa was at least gentle about removing this dress. It was folded neatly on the side, as she wiped your mind from you. Each surface was to be christened, glistening worship at every altar as the house became yours. Her face, so full of fondness and amusement, hung like a guillotine above your head. Danger lurked, trouble brewed, and yet.

Your little holiday ending was an odd, smarting ache. Things were the same between you and yet the difference was a physical manifestation. Mel, sweet, perfect Mel.

She had grilled you about everything in her absence, your cover story a bland tale. Books, some thesis work, a swim or two. Truth bled into the lies, your conscience desperate for small drips of relief. Trading Places is a good film, you’d said, ended up watching it with your Mum as if it was movie night. Mel had laughed, calling you a creature of habit.

Week nine of the ten week holiday began and you were destined to leave in six days time, roadtripping back to Edinburgh. Lines had never seemed blurrier. You were reticent to leave, her words like honey coating every part of you they touched as she spoke amorously of the summer months that had slipped by. It was clear she cared, each word dripping with something you dared not call love

Another party, smaller this time, on your last full day. A barbeque with newfound friends and a few of Ambessa’s actual associates. It made you resent Mel for suggesting it, resent Ambessa for agreeing and resent yourself for placing the blame in all the wrong places. Ambessa had chattered to you casually that morning, listing off recipes and plans, ignoring your suggestions and reheating your tea twice as you forgot about it. You laughed, picturing what it would be like when you came back here, how many new recipes she’d force you to try. How many of them she’d actually bother to cook herself.

It was nice enough, more homely than the grand party, with buckets of beers and self-serve salads. You finally beat Viktor at Chess, though the success felt stolen as he was so drunk his eyes were shut. Mel and Caitlyn were currently trying to wrestle Jayce and Vi for the music controls. It would have been fun, and yet. Ambessa was far away, another island dancing in view, promising a greatness that was out of reach. The heated glaces were few and far between, the touches brief and the smiles standard as a necessity. You ached to lose her, it would be so long before you saw each other again. That was the sentimentality talking, you begged it to shut up with a wagyu burger.

Mel, drunk and happy, wanted a girly sleepover for the last night in the house. It crushed your heart twofold. You would miss time with Ambessa, you were the worst person perhaps ever for thinking of that first. Still, with a heavy heart, you giggled in her four poster bed with a bottle of white wine and green, slimy face masks.

Neon numbers showed it was four am and Mel Medarda was sleeping like a log. Carefully, each cell tensing with strain, you extracted yourself from the room and slipped down the hallway.

She was there, as you knew she would be even after her distance at the party. Her face was warm, soft and hazy as the weight of the moment settled. You started the dance, practiced and smooth now, but she took a new step.

“I need you,” It was half choked, your body crushed as she took you into the room, kisses thundering all over your skin.

It was bliss, a gentle lovemaking she had never permitted before, with trembling hands and docile eyes. Nothing mattered outside this room, outside the rocking and the groaning, her lips kissing your ear with each back and forth movement. It soothed a part of you, so desperate for her care and attention.

Once full of each other, you allowed yourself the indignity of clinging to her. She traced shapes along your stomach, reminding you that you were her special girl, so perfect and warm, so delicious. You felt almost delirious, trading heavy kisses for romantic words. You loved her and maybe she was showing you that was okay.

Morning came and with it the end of your perfect summer.

Breakfast was served and eaten slowly, the Land Rover piled high with Mel’s opulence and admittedly now some of your own, courtesy of Ambessa’s constant material kindness. Mel seemed reluctant to leave too, her whispered confessions that this was the calmest time she’d ever had with her mother echoing in your head. Rictus returned, as if like clockwork to service Ambessa as you left, lest she be left to her own devices.

He walked away to his chambers to unpack and the list of things for the journey back to Uni was consulted. Once. Twice. A short trip up to my room and we’re ready, your friend assured.

Time slowed as Mel ran to grab the last of her things, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen.

“Well,” You chuckled nervously.

“It was so good to have you, Dear,” Her voice sounded wrong, the warmth fleeting as you tried to chase it. Where had your Ambessa gone?

“Yes, um Thank you,” You said, shoved onto the wrong foot, affection flickering, “I have your number so I’ll ring you when I’m back,”

As her face dropped, your heart did, “Whyever would you need to do that?”

Oh Gods. Her pampering, each trinket and trophy you wore and used, each shared dinner and tender laugh pushed you into a foolish forgetting. No amount of love making and promises of devotion had changed her initial terms.

You were a toy, remember?

“I-I don’t know,” You stammered, “Just in case,”

“Just in case,” Words lined with pity, her golden gaze condescending. Oh darling, it teased, you didn’t fall in love did you?

Your Ambessa was gone. A figment of imagination, fuelled by summer sun. Part of you hoped she used to be nice, used to be yours and that this was a fearful change of heart.

A patronising pat to the cheek, words you didn’t hear as you faded into the background.

Down the Guillotine slammed.

#ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane #ambessa smut #arcane ambessa

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metmuseum · 1 month ago

Photo

Napkin (from a set of table linens). late 19th century. Credit line: Gift of Jane M. Bingham, 1980 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/229680

#aesthetic #art #abstract art #art museum #art history #The Metropolitan Museum of Art #museum #museum photography #museum aesthetic #dark academia

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lostintransist · 1 month ago

Text

This Bunny Bites | Part 13

Part 1 | AO3

Conquering men sure did involve a lot of coy smiles and arm touching.

Ghost watches you. You had been working the room for nearly forty minutes. This single room held twenty tables and could have housed the whole of the shelter he, his brother Tommy, and his mom had visited a few times when he was small. From the opulence of the carpet to the exposed beams above his head added to the layers of discomfort and trickle of rage down his spine.

The back of his canines have a sharp point. He had a base dentist mention it once; didn’t know it was rare until then. Ghost used it to trigger pain and keep focused. Like now.

You had gathered a collection of four men into a conversation. They all vied for a spot next to you—their postures that of dogs begging for pets. A joke must have landed because a wave of laughter crashed over the hum of conversation in the room. Ghost catches your glance as Jeffery Dutson maneuvers to your side.

Ghost hates the man on sight. Scraping his tongue against the sharp point of his tooth is not enough to dim the drop of molten glass searing through his breastbone. Perfectly styled hair, roughly average height compared to you, his eyes stray far too often to the expansive length of leg you have on display.

Grinding his teeth is a bad habit. Ghost knows it. He gets yelled at every time he is in the chair by any of the base dentists who are willing to work with him about remaining as covered as possible. Doesn’t stop him from forcing his teeth across each other. The sound fuzzed out the scarier thoughts that rocked through his skull.

Dutson, with his ‘paid good money for a perfect smile’ smile, settled a hand on your lower back and leaned in to speak into your ear. The flinch is mostly in your hips and is instantly covered up by shifting your weight. You smile up at Dutson.

Ghost could swear he heard a molar crack as he started forward.

Your hand makes a sharp slashing movement down at your side. Ghost stands down, annoyed and watchful. He keeps a respectful distance as Duston leads you to the door to the large patio that overlooks the green.

The money rich people spend in water to keep golf courses green could hydrate five counties for three years. Any of his teammates could tell you one thing that would always set Ghost off was waste.

Ghost could be patient though. All that sniper training had taught him that waste should be eliminated at the appropriate time to achieve the greatest effect.

Thoughts drip through his mind— water collecting minerals as they slide along rocks.

Skirting the outside of the massive room dotted with white linen-covered tables, Ghost maintains a visual on you. The top of your head is bobbing down the stairs as he steps onto the excessively large outdoor space.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs you turn and gesture him forward. Dutson is crunching down the path, hollering for his caddie. The instant Dutson is out of earshot your perky smile falls from your face and disgust plucks at your lips.

“I need you to hang back. Dutson is going to take me to the lower nine. Come and pick me up in one hour. The guys at the cart shack should be able to help you borrow one. Any longer than that and I might need help hiding a corpse.” You press your fingers into the muscles of your neck, stretching.

The motion reminded Ghost of his hands on you this morning. Damn. He wanted this mission to last forever and end now. You were so off-limits, God had to be laughing at him. Soap wouldn’t be as forgiving as his God claims to be.

“One hour. No murder, you’re not qualified.”

Straightening your head you smirked.

“You’d be amazed what I’m qualified to provide big boy. Now, go. Dutson is coming back.”

“Your bodyguard is quite attentive,” Dutson tipped forward like a sipper bird to press the tee into the green.

“That’s why I pay him the big bucks,” you joke.

Standing further back you wait for Dutson, Jeffrey he had asked you to call him, set the ball on the tee. Arms folded under your bust pushed the girls up a tad more than necessary, but Dutson appreciated it. At least every glance toward you landed across your breasts before finding your face; so you could assume.

“What else do you pay big bucks for?” Dutson stood upright and lifted a brow in your direction.

“Too much, but I have a preferred standard of living. Nail, hair, waxing? All non-negotiables.” Curling your hand you show off the acrylic set.

Something lascivious surfaces like a shark in Dutson’s gaze before it dives below his politician persona.

“Good to have standards. You mentioned you’ve never golfed before right? Come on over and let me help you,” he holds out a hand.

Did all men have the same awful playbook drilled into their skulls when they got lobotomies or did they come separately? Fucker wanted his hands on you and “setting up a swing” is a perfect excuse. Skin-on-skin was designed to help bond with newborns, not grown women trying to swindle you out of your panties.

All these thoughts live below the surface. What you let out is a knowing smile and a slight lift to one brow. Let this man think he is in control. Men must think they hold the weight to tip decisions.

Too long ago men subjugated the beast of the field, the seed of the earth, and women to their whims. If they hadn’t done it when humans were all still wet from climbing from the ocean, they would had never a chance.

Setting your hand in his you ignore the bile roiling in your stomach.

Haunting your moves, Ghost catches every micro-expression of disgust, of anger. When the hour you requested has only two minutes remaining, he keys on the cart and heads toward you. The not-so-sedate pace he uses gets him lifted brows from all around. Between his glare and the security logo on his shirt, no one says shit.

Dutson has his arms around you, hands atop yours ‘helping’ you with your swing. If he wanted to help he would have set up your swing and then let you move. Bastard had his groin tucked against your ass. Ghost wonders if Dutson got any closer could he be absorbed into your body like an angler fish?

You are shifting for a swing.

“Bunny.”

The ball goes flying with force normally only seen in professionals and women with murder on their minds.

Good.

“What?” You turn to snarl with crazy eyes at Ghost.

Dying under your hand might be the closest he can get to an orgasm from you.

“Bunny?” Dutson lifted a brow, a smile toying at the corner of his Botox-filled lips.

“I pay him big bucks because he is good, but he works with my brother.” Taking a deep breath you tug the collar of your shirt and quirk a smile at your target. “My brother calls me bunny, a childhood nickname, and his teammates use it when they urgently need my attention.”

Flicking your eyes to Ghost, expression chilling, you continue. “What is so urgent you needed to interrupt my time with Mr. Dutson?”

“Jeffery,” Duston cuts in.

You look back at him with a smile. The contrast between how you look at the men starts an itch behind Ghost’s breastbone.

“Jeffery,” you correct. A hand reaches forward and squeezes the one that hangs at Dutson’s side once. Your eyes don’t leave the man.

The itch starts to ache.

“Your next appointment called. They need to move up the meeting to two.” Ghost does his level best at playing a professional.

Damn, acting must be some innate skill for you. No plan had been made for how Ghost was supposed to extricate you from this situation but you caught the lob and returned it like you had been playing baseball your whole life.

“Today?” Mild alarm settles in your brows. “Jeffrey, do you have the time?”

The doe like blink up at the man you were here to swindle swallowed any questions the man might have have.

Flipping his left hand and lifting it he read out the time, “It’s twelve fifty-eight.”

Your lips pull into the cutest pout.

“And here I was finally getting the hang of this game. Jeffrey, thank you so much for your time and your help.” Stepping into the man’s space you press fingertips to his chest. Pushing up to your toes, you lay a kiss on his cheek. “I hope I see you again soon.”

The steering wheel in Ghost’s hands creaked. Both men watch as you move back and head for the passenger seat of the cart. As your legs settle on the bench seat Ghost glares once at the man who received your affection and presses the pedal to the floor.

He slaps a palm to your thigh as you twist in your seat to wave goodbye to Dutson. Once the curve of the path hides him from view you decompress, an inflatable arm man with its air cut.

Shoulders dropping, head lolling, your thigh goes loose and pliant under his hand. If he were a worse man he would have tested your flesh beneath his fingers.

“What fake appointment are we rushing to now?”

Ghost watches out the side of his eye as you stare at his hand on your leg.

“Massage.”

There it is, that devious smile that torments him.

Looking at him pointedly you flex under his touch.

“I knew you wanted to see me naked.”

The eye furthest from you is the one that twitches.

Thinking of Soap, burying him up to his neck in the woods, and coating his head with honey is enough to delay a bigger, more visible, reaction.

“Seen enough at the club.”

“Sure will be a shame for you to know I have seven piercings then huh?”

Ghost gets a faceful of a man-eating grin when he glances at you.

Two holes in each ear, a total of four. Where the hell could…

“Christ almighty,” he breathed out the words.

Your laughter trails after cart, wild and free.

Part 12 | Part 14

Bunny Masterlist | Masterlist

Cute divider from @/jimzittos

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