#that straddles the line of being possessive

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

30 / 1.1k / soap soulmate au, part 7

...

The minutes tick by. You're alone with your thoughts. It's worse than before. But what are you supposed to tell him? All but the smallest thing you could give him would lead his entire team to Captain Graves, and you... you can't do that. You owe him a debt.

The door slams open and Soap walks back in, looking tired and angry. Before you can speak, he grabs you by the arm, drags you out of your chair, and then he's kissing you, pressing you up against the wall. His hands are in your hair and on your hips, his hard body against yours, his teeth finding the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

Everything about it is possessive, angry, desperate. One hand slides around to your ass. The other weaves tighter into your hair, holding you tight between him and the wall, his hips grinding into yours.

"Thought I was gonna have to wait till you stopped being so damn stubborn. You were never going to tell me, were you?" His soft growl is low, heated, and hurt. "You’re always gonna keep this to yourself. Even if it means letting me go to my grave."

He pulls you away from the wall and pushes you into the metal interrogation table with enough force to put you on your back. He advances on you. Straddles you. His mouth is hot and he's not giving you time to think. He's taking what he needs because he wants it, he's tired of waiting for it, and he's finally got you where he wants you. His teeth on your throat have you arching your back. His grip is tight but you don't want to escape.

His fingers dig into you. "Will you even miss me?"

You open your eyes, jolting in place. A dream, it was a dream. You're still cuffed to this stupid chair. You're hot and wet and there's a horrible knot in your throat.

The door slides open. That's what woke you--activity outside. A few people filter into the weapons closet briefly to grab rifles and sidearms. They hardly spare you looks. They leave; the voices outside begin to fade and you hear an engine firing up. Muted panic rises in your gut. They're about to leave. Are they leaving you here? Is Johnny gone already?

Then the door rattles softly and Johnny's familiar shape slips in. He glances back out the door, watching for anyone who might’ve seen him slip in before he closes it. You release a breath through gritted teeth.

"Mornin’.” Soap is suited up, radioed, armed to the teeth. Looking every inch the soldier he is. Your heart sinks. You're in deep. No matter how this situation turns out, it's not good for you. Whoever wins, you lose.

Instead of taking the chair, he circles behind you. You rattle your cuffs as he leaves your line of sight.

"Change your mind?" he asks you.

"No."

He chuckles. "Thought not."

He bends closer. Your heart races. You half-expect to feel his hands--your dream flashes through your mind--but then, to your surprise, you hear the soft clink of metal on metal. He pulls on the cuffs. One falls away. Then the other.

You get to your feet, curling and uncurling your fingers. "Why are you letting me go?" you ask, voice still sharp. "I told you I'm not helping you."

Soap looks bemused. It's like you don't know how to stop being belligerent even when you're not a hostage anymore. "Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m under strict orders not to let you leave this room. But if you just so happen to vanish..." He holds up the key--the one he'd swiped from Ghost earlier. "That’d be fine with me.”

“What are you playing at?”

“There's a chance none of us will come back. Don't like the idea of you sittin' here like a rabbit in a trap for God knows how long." He holds out a neat little square of folded cash. When you don't take it, he reaches around and slips it into your back pocket. "There's a town four miles southwest of here. Set off in a half hour and you’ll get there before sundown. Take somethin' off the wall to protect yourself."

You stare at him, your frustration growing with every word he says. Why does he trust you enough to free you? Why? He knows very well you could pick up the first phone you see, call your Captain, and tell him everything. Hell, you could call Shepherd.

You tried your dead fucking best to show him who you are. Why doesn't he believe you? Does he think you're going to grab his hand and ask him to come with you--fuck the Shadows, fuck Las Almas, you know how to buy fake IDs and burner phones, you'll figure it out a day at a time?

Your throat tightens. You could obviously never say that. And if you did consider it, you'd bite your tongue because there's no way he'd accept. You have so much to gain from running away and he has too much to lose. He cares about his team too much.

He skims his gloved fingertips up your arm and goes to touch your cheek again, but then he hesitates and stops himself. You feel radioactive.

"How 'bout a kiss for the road?" he asks. He seems to decide on taking a strand of your hair and places it tentatively behind your ear. "Just in case."

Your hands tighten into fists. How dare he.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't make me walk away from you disappointed." He gives you a small, infuriating smile.

"If you want a kiss, then come back for it when you're done."

"Ah. Fair enough."

He brings his hands up to the sides of your face and presses his lips to your hairline anyway, leaning into you for a long, silent moment.

Then he's gone.

…

You sit cross-legged on that table for a long stretch of time, spinning in one hand the handcuffs that held you. You stare at that photograph and count the seconds. At thirty minutes, you set off, walking southwest.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / [part 7] / part 8

more Soap / masterlist tag

[teecupangel]

yooooo! About the Poe/ Deaf Desmond au. Imagine him getting sent back to Altairs time like that, and the assassins are like “???” Till Altair asks the Apple what Desmonds deal is and it shows him. Cue Altair trying to figure out how to kill a man who doesn’t exist yet

Since this is deaf!Desmond and we’re going for my interpretation of the limitation of the curse (instead of @twitcherpated's which has a, frankly, much more deliciously angst-filled criteria) then this means that Desmond gets sent to Altaïr’s time by the time he had lifted his curse by accidentally making himself deaf.

In this scenario, Desmond would mostly rely on written words to talk to anyone and he is actually deliberately not trying to learn how to read lips in the off-chance that reading lips would activate his curse.

So when the Apple tells Altaïr the truth about him, Desmond freezes for a moment because he had never thought of the Apple being able to circumvent one of the orders he still can’t go against with:

Do not tell anyone.

Even when he wanted to tell Altaïr. Even as his chest hurt and his breathing grew shallower and shallower, he had wanted to tell Altaïr so many times before but he always stopped because he feared that he would breathe his last.

And he didn’t want to die.

Not when he was free here, far away from William Miles and the Brotherhood he had kept together and ‘fixed’.

He could not be an Assassin anymore, it was too dangerous for someone who cannot hear to be an Assassin.

But everyone was kind to him here in Masyaf... even if Desmond knew many of them were only kind to him because...

Altaïr…

Altaïr was here and he accepted him even though they both knew Desmond was hiding something.

He had thought that peace was finally over, that it would shatter like glass and crumble like dust now that Altaïr knew the truth.

So when Altaïr held him tight instead, Desmond could do nothing but let the tears fall from his eyes.

Because he could feel Altaïr’s warmth…

… could feel the slight trembling of his arms as he held Desmond tightly.

And Desmond…

Desmond returned his embrace as tight as he could.

Because even if he could not hear Altaïr’s voice… Even if he could not hear the words he spoke…

He knew him enough to know the words he wished to tell Desmond.

And that…

That was enough.

[whimsyeo]

pretty little thing

જ⁀➴ park seonghwa x fem!reader

❝you knew there must be another side to him. one with needs and wants and hidden desires. you couldn't help but wonder what that side might look like.❞

wc; 2.4k

cw; mdni, nerd!seonghwa, college au, SMUT, first time together, established relationship, soft dom hwa, thigh riding, slight praise kink, dacryphila, unprotected sex, overuse of pet names, hwa in glasses (a warning of its own)

notes; i hope you all enjoy♡

🎧 all mine by plaza + hrs & hrs by muni long

When you first met Park Seonghwa, you hadn't thought much of him. Other than he was devastatingly beautiful, with the kind of smile you'd expect sweet woodland creatures to flock to and a soft spoken voice that matched absolutely everything else about him. His long wavy hair curling onto his reddened cheeks and big round eyes, and his perfectly color coordinated attire. The only thing that even could possibly take away from it all were the large black rimmed glasses he wore everyday. Too big for his face, really, with the way they were constantly slipping down his nose.

They were just as clumsy as the rest of his endearingly awkward demeanor. His sheepish half smiles when you complimented his outfits and stuttered apologies after accidentally bumping into you in the halls. Everything about Seonghwa was exactly that. Endearing.

So sweet your teeth physically hurt. So cute, a constant smile remained on your face even hours after your shared elective class ended. You felt yourself fall rather quickly for the shy, darling film studies major. Enamored by his ramblings about the Star Wars franchise over lunch and the animal crossing stickers decorating his laptop case.

He wasn't the type you'd normally go for, not at all. He couldn't be more different, really. Seonghwa looked like a doll in comparison to the almost rugged quality of your previous exes. Where they were rough edges and blatant arrogance, he was all kind eyes and soft lines. Tender and pure and all things good in the world.

You didn't dare let yourself believe you had him fully figured out - it was much to early to say that exactly - but you felt you had a pretty good idea. Especially after you ended up being the one to ask him out, following his many failed attempts at getting the words out for himself. Only to then end up helping him recollect the folders he had dropped in surprise at your offer as he struggled out a flustered and enthusiastic yes.

You knew there must be something more to him. Not in a bad way by any means - in the time you'd come to know Seonghwa, you'd come to trust that a bad bone didn’t exist inside his body. But more so, another side to him. One with needs and wants and hidden desires. You couldn't help but wonder what that side might look like.

You caught a glimpse, eventually. On a night your dinner plans ran later than usual as you two sat under the setting sun hours after your plates had been cleared, eventually having to be run off by the workers who needed to close up shop. The night still didn't end for you two even then, and somehow you wound up in the backseat of Seonghwa's car, straddling his lap as you kissed each other with a ferocity that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Seonghwa had started it, a short staring match that led to him kissing you with a fever you hadn't expected him to possess. With it came his hands wandering the expanse of your torso, touching and squeezing like at any minute you could disappear from his grasp. You certainly don't plan on it, but after a while you do have to pull back to catch your breath.

While your chest is heaving, you catch sight of it. A certain fire in Seonghwa's eyes that wasn't there only moments ago. His gaze on you feels scolding hot as he trails his eyes over you, appearing much like a starved man ready to dive in. He doesn't, that night at least. He suggests you both turn in for the day and continue this another time. You pout, and he laughs and kisses it away, but stands by his word.

You gather that Seonghwa didn't want your first time together to be in his car, of all places, so you offer a weekend movie night as a sort of compromise. He agrees with a knowing smile.

It doesn't last long. You can't focus on whatever classic romance film Seonghwa picked out, even if any other time you would've gladly listen to his thoughts and critics about the storyline. Today, you only have one thing on your mind, and it appears Seonghwa does to.

It doesn't take very long to wind up with your pants discarded on the floor, Seonghwa's hands holding either side of your hips as you pathetically rut against the fabric of his jeans with a desperation you've never quite felt before.

He's still the same Seonghwa. Dressed to the nines even on such a causal hangout with you, although his newspaper boy hat has since been removed in your haste to run your fingers through his hair only moments ago. His same, unruly raven locks are now framing his face in a way that shouldn't be as flattering of a picture as it is.

It's the same Seonghwa, with the same oversized, black rimmed glasses currently sliding down his face. Your heart almost physically aches from wanting so bad to reach out and push them back up his nose bridge.

"Pretty baby," he coos, a feather like touch dragging along your jaw. Seonghwa loved calling you that. Pretty. "You could probably come just like this, hmm? You'd love it, too, wouldn't you?"

The movie he'd put on earlier is still running behind you. It had barley started before you found yourself in this exact position. Seonghwa's hardly even done anything, but your mind is almost drifting from you as your struggle to register his questions, and the verbal response you realize he's expecting.

"Y-yes," you manage, only to hope like hell it's enough.

No praise, just a nod, but he doesn't click his tongue either. You whine high in your throat. Barely enough.

"Show me then, pretty," he instructs so casually. "Come for me, just like this."

The demand causes a swoop in your lower stomach, lurching you embarrassingly closer to that high your so desperately chasing. You can't bring your hips to slow down, but you have to let him know what you actually want.

"But-but," you start, already feeling your eyes going damp. It should be embarrassing that Seonghwa could so easily bring you to tears without ever lifting a finger. "I want you... inside. When I cum."

Seonghwa nods slowly, his saccharine smile now seeming almost mocking, "I'll give you what you want, angel. I'm not done with you yet."

At that, it doesn't take more than a few more seconds for your hips to stutter as your climax crashes down on you. You ride out your high in slow motions that are almost entirely helped by his hold on your hips. Even as your movements stop, his doesn't, and you whimper from the sensitivity of your core against his now thoroughly soaked pants.

"Sorry," you mutter a little sadly, once your grounded slightly back to Earth. "About your pants."

Seonghwa laughs lowly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips, "You're okay, baby. Don't apologize."

You're sure you are already red in the face, your cheeks tingling from the heat and your unsteady breathing but the way he's staring up at you certainly doesn't help your case in the slightest.

He brings one hand up to cup your face, pulling you down to meet his soft lips. The taste of his usual strawberry lip balm still remains, despite all the kissing you've done earlier in the night. You had no reason not to believe Seonghwa didn't constantly smell of fresh fruit and vanilla. A fatal combo that caused a painful twist in your chest - he was always so sweet, even like this. Bright shining eyes glazed over with a certain haze that still didn't take at all away from his usual gentle touches and adoring words.

"Lay down for me," he directs when you pull away, his soft breath fanning over your bottom lip.

Like it's your only calling, you scramble to follow his orders. Nearly falling off his lap and onto the floor entirely in your haste. He, in contrast, moves much slower. Taking his absolute time on every button of his shirt while his intense watch on you never wavers.

Before entirely undressing himself, he helps you remove your ruined panties and finishes pulling your crinkled shirt over your head. You lay bare in front of his approving gaze as he rakes up and down your figure, back to your face and back down again.

"Pretty little thing," he mumbles, his voice sounding impossibly deeper to your love stricken ears. He runs an open palm down the expanse of your side. "All mine."

You nod, so quick you're positive your hair is nothing more than a mess sprayed across the cushions. Seonghwa grins at your eagerness and rewards you by moving his hand to cup your core.

It's a light touch, hardly any pressure applied at all, but you simply can't help the moan that leaves you. From the sensitivity and the bone deep craving for his touch that you haven't felt where you truly needed it until now.

His thumb makes lazy circles of your clit as he watches your every expression with keen interest. You wonder if it shows on your face just how hard your fighting not to buck up into his touch to seek even more friction. Take what he gives you, you tell yourself. As quickly as Seonghwa could bring you pleasure, he could just as easily take it away.

He easily slips one finger into you, and a second after only a few lone pumps of his hand. You hold his stare with some difficulty as the pleasure builds, that same ball of heat beginning to build within you.

Then just like that, he takes it away. You could almost cry, but you realize what's coming.

"Please," you beg, despite knowing you don't really have to. Maybe you're just hoping to break his resolve as much as he's completely destroyed yours - make him as rushed and desperate as you feel right now.

Seonghwa shushes you softly, rubbing the inside of your thigh, "I got you, pretty."

You all but melt, trusting and believing his words with a baited breath. It still feels like forever until he's dragging the head of his cock along your folds. You squirm despite yourself, craving for absolutely anything more, and he finally gives in.

The stretch is pleasant, overwhelming in the best way possible. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as he takes his absolute time. Your torn between relishing in the feeling and begging him to hurry up.

You decide on neither before he's entirely bottomed out, and he keeps himself there while you adjust to the feeling. Your mouth opening and closing with no sensible words coming to mind.

"How do you feel, pretty?" He asks, sounding completely put together and collected and everything you're not at the moment.

"Good. Full," you eventually say, the words sounding broken to even your own ears. You've never been so turned on in your life. "You can move."

He studies your expression for another passing moment, "You're sure?"

You nod, and the first sign of his resolve crumbles. His props his arms up by either side of your head as he begins fucking into you, a languid pace that you can't tell is for your sake or by his choice. You lean towards the latter, as all too soon you realize it's not enough.

"More, please," you tell him, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders. "Faster."

Seonghwa's gaze lifts up to study your face, a half smirk playing on his lips, "What, am I not giving my baby enough now?"

You would have never thought after your first meeting with Seonghwa that he would have such a mouth on him. That you would ever be on the receiving end of his desire, much less, or that it would look at all like this.

"Please, Hwa," you all but beg, feeling the first tear slip down your face.

Seonghwa cooes, bringing one of his hands to delicately wipe at your cheek. He looks so pleased, his own breathing even-keeled much unlike your own.

He hums in mock thought, "Okay, love. If you're sure."

Almost too quickly, Seonghwa switches to pounding into you at a surprising pace. Your jaw falls open in a cut off gasp while Seonghwa finally starts letting sounds of pleasure fall from his own mouth.

Unable to bare having him so close yet not close enough for a moment longer, you pull him down until your chests are flush against one another. Slipping your fingers through his hair, you use the newfound hold to bring your lips together messily. As if trying to match his hurry, you kiss him absolutely breathless, until his chest is heaving nearly as much as yours.

Seonghwa is the first to pull away this time, refusing to travel far and he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. Already, you feel another climax building up in you, and you know you won't last much longer.

"Close," you manage between moans and gasps, his pace unforgiving and filling you up just right.

He nods against you, his free hand coming up to guide your lips to his for another brief peck, "I got you, pretty. Let go for me."

It really doesn't take much more than that. Still, Seonghwa brings his fingers down to rub at your clit, the overwhelming sensation nearly causing you to jerk away from his touch. Your high crashes down on you in mere seconds, and you imagine Seonghwa's must follow quickly suit, as a strangled groan falls from his lips in tandem above you.

You catch your breath for a moment, reeling a bit from having possibly the most intense orgasm of your life. Eventually you recognize the feeling of gentle kisses being left all over your face when two are pressed over your closed eyelids. You blink them open, coming to meet Seonghwa's glowing grin first thing.

"There's my pretty girl," he practically whispers. You feel like you could cry all over again, but now for an entirely different reason. "Was that... okay?"

The same Seonghwa, with a thought crease between his brows and his glasses slipping down his face once more. This time, you don't hesitate. You bring your arm up to push the bridge up his nose, leaving your hand there to cup the side of his face. Your Seonghwa is all the same.

"Perfect, Hwa," you assure him, beaming back just as brightly. “You were perfect.”

[zhonglism]

18+ MDNI; 4.2 archon quest spoilers (for those who haven’t finished it. nothing too detailed but a major spoiler, nonetheless), slightly possessive neuvi, unprotected semi-public s*x (in neuvillette’s office), handjob (brief mention), riding, neuvi has two c*cks. divider: cafekitsune

── it was scandalous, utterly improper, and impure, the list could go on and on to describe what was happening behind the unlocked doors of the iudex’s grandeur office; it held an outstanding reputation, housing the most respected man in fontaine but right this moment, it was nothing more than a mere space to fulfil both of your sordid fantasies. risqué behaviour that would absolutely tarnish neuvillette’s esteemed reputation. he could already see the front page of steambird’s papers adorned with a controversial ebony-inked title that’d make serious waves throughout the nation of hydro, flowing from conversation to conversation of each fontanian.

oh but the thing was, at this very moment, iudex neuvillette could not care less, even with his high honour on the line. to think of someone walking in on you two passionately enjoying one another was exhilarating; especially when you’re straddling him this good; one cock hugged oh-so-tightly and invitingly by your sopping cunt while the other being wickedly taken care of with your trembling hands—thumb focusing on rubbing the sensitive slit of his tip. it was ironic how the expanse of neuvillette’s office didn’t seem enough for this sinful act, it was suffocating and stuffy but maybe it was all because of the fine azure fabric he donned every day; layers and layers of fine cerulean textiles that hid the very monstrosity between his legs.

“n-neuvi—ah! this is inappropriate. . ungodly.” you panted into the crook of his neck, his intoxicating scent only driving you further down the line of insanity as it engulfed your senses. neuvillette wanted to laugh but all he could muster were heated moans and occasional grunts. “mon trésor, i’m quite taken back by your choice of words.” he let out a soft sigh, the gloved grasp on your waist mirroring the tightening grip of your walls around his cock.

ungodly? of course it was.

neuvillette was certainly no god after all, he was more than that of a lowly usurper that answered to the divinity beyond the clouds. to use such a word to describe the intimate act between the two of you as if it was sinful stirred the depths of his mind—a draconic trait he had neatly tucked away, one that was a tad too dangerous to just let loose. possessiveness. to think of mentioning the gods with his length sheathed all the way inside you flipped his switch. you shouldn’t even be thinking of the gods, especially in a godless nation like the land of justice.

offering a response would have been a sensible option if it weren’t for the sudden shift in aura inside the chief justice’s office, a ripple of unmatched power pressing on your sweat-covered skin. earlier, neuvillette gave you the liberty of riding his cock however you wanted but now the bounce of your hips were forcibly halted with a singular arm around your waist. neuvillette’s free hand dug itself amongst your hair, tugging at the roots to assert a wordless power.

with your hips stilled and body flushed against his own, you braced yourself from the merciless ramming of his hips. heated moans that once filled the office now silenced with a passionate, rough kiss—wet lips chasing one another, biting, and sucking. the change in your lover’s pace caused you to tighten your grip around his other cock, earning a fervent moan from neuvillette to slip in between the messy make out. neuvillette may solely be associated to the nation of many waters but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be as burning and fervid like the land of pyro—a blazing flame inside him that could only be fuelled by you.

the chair beneath the iudex groaned and screeched with each sinful thrust, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your slicked walls until you felt him in your stomach—unable to sufficiently pleasure the other cock in your grasp as your body bounced and jolted with his hips. neuvillette kept his lips on your own, making the room spin a little from the lack of oxygen; kissing and nipping at your swollen lips with such desire, even going as far as shoving his tongue past them.

with each passing second and his unfaltering pace, stars slowly crept into your vision, muscles tightening, and toes curling at your impending orgasm. as if on cue, neuvillette pulled his lips away, hand that was once tangled in your hair now resting on your nape, “look at me. .” he panted, his lustful lilac gaze tracing over your cock-drunk face. “look at me while you indulge yourself in immeasurable pleasure, ma belle. . s’ naughty for me, my little temptress, aren’t you?”

neuvillette loved watching the way your face contorted in pleasure while you come around his cock—eyes rolled back, and lips parted to let out such naughty noises; the way your body shivered with sensitivity as intense pleasure kissed down your spine, it was enough for him to come as well. an ardent moan of your name echoed throughout the walls of his office as neuvillette generously emptied himself into you.

scandalous and improper it may be for the iudex to fuck you in his sacred office—where all court files were stored away—he could never deny his lover.

[faetreides]

i’m thinking about modern!coryo again… ‘n the way he’d just love humiliating you. when you’ve been particularly bratty (let’s be real, any time you tell him no he thinks you’re being defiant… no matter the circumstances), he loves to shove your face into the mattress so your ass is facing him, and grip your hips, teasing his cock against your entrance until you’re whining and begging for him to fuck you. but he doesn’t! he just lets his cock slap against your clit and tease your slick hole until you’re soaking your panties. his favourite thing though, is filming you take his cock, because even though he’d never let anybody see the videos (besides maybe his friends), he gets off on the way you’re whining for him to put the phone away as he fills you up, pearly cum sliding down your soft thighs. but he won’t, because he just loves the way you’re absolutely humiliated at the thought of somebody seeing how much of a whore you are for him

CW: anal, sejanus mention (throuple au tease), typical coryo type warnings, yandere/possessive & obsessive behavior, gn reader but there is feminization (reader calls themselves a "good girl", coryo calls your pussy "sweet girl" & assigns it she/her pronouns), blood (coryo has a fantasy of you tearing), accidental slight pet play/dumbification, my modern coryo's typical inability to understand/care about poor(er) people, the ending is inspired by ghostface's finishing move in dbd, implied plus sized reader (who's afab) he loves you really.

So true, you could do something as small as say “i want to be alone in the bathroom for 5 minutes” and he’d lose his shit. Something about that arrogant rich boy behavior turned up to 100 because he’s inherently a psycho….. like he loves you deeply but wdym his prized possession has a mind of their own (if you just decided to do everything he wants, he’d support you making your own decisions). His whole vibe was being untouchable and unavailable but now it’s coming apart. Like do you know how much he planned to hoe around when his family inevitably made him get married??? But now you’ve fucked it all up and made him feel like he’s constantly writhing around in every circle of hell fr.

So yeah, he can’t take it if he feels like you aren’t “putting in as much effort” as he is. And i don’t mean that he’d be pissed if you’re not cooking or cleaning, i mean that he’d be peeved if you weren’t matching his energy (batshit balls to wall insane). He’ll do a little cute open palm wave like “Hi, baby 🥰” when you look at him over your shoulder with tears in your eyes. King of false sympathy with all the cooing and mocking your facial expression (which you wouldn’t even have to make if you were behaving). His weird ass is completely naked even though he made you keep your clothes on, and he tore a hole in your leggings with his teeth for easy access.

He’ll put his dick in between your ass cheeks and fuck you like that until the sheets are soaked because you got so desperate (you nearly pissed yourself). He’ll press the head against your asshole and see how deep he can get before you realize that he’s using the wrong whole. Sometimes he wishes that he’d tug his cock from your hole to find the whole thing covered in blood. If you catch on him, he’ll just say that it was an accident. But to be real, you knew immediately. It just gets you hot watching him go on his little power trips. The pleasure of letting your rabid dog off of his leash but he thinks it’s his idea does something to you that you’re currently ignoring.

The iPhone camera you can see from the standing mirror by your bed doesn’t exactly catch you off guard. Coryo’s got a fair few videos of you getting backshots in his family’s limo and even more of him devouring your pussy anytime and anywhere he pleases. Your stomach rolls with shame but your pussy clenches in arousal. A big part of being able to handle being his s/o means having the ability to straddle the line between calling his bluff and baring your neck in submission. So you just whine pleadingly and let your head fall forward onto the pillow.

You'd never admit that there are times where you'd be perfectly happy if your ass was all he fucked; that on mornings when the sunlight beams down on you as Coryo pushes the velvet curtains from the large penthouse windows and all you can see out of the eye that's not smothered in the pillow is your boyfriend in a pair of gray sweatpants, you feel feral with the need to swallow his cock all the way to the base and lie there forever.

A "love tap" to your clit brings you out of your thirsting. When all you do is gasp, you receive a firmer strike.

"Don't tell me you're already out of it? Did I make my smart baby all stupid already?"

"Hngh~ Uh huh, don't stop..." You beg, the carefully maintained image of the prim and proper perfect student crumbling under his touch.

Your need to be praised and to have male approval can really be a curse sometimes, because outside of the bedroom you don't let yourself be as willing of a kept pet as Coryo wants. But as soon as you're alone, you gratefully sink into the safe space he creates for you where you can just... let go and have someone else think for you for a change.

It feels like bolts of electricity go through you when two of his fingers start to trace letters on your pussy lips. It makes you think of his family crest branded on the gates of their mansions.

C-O-R-I-O-L-A-N-U-S S-N-O-W, pinching your clit after every letter. (training)

"That's okay, I like you dumb anyway. Can't use that big brain to think about anything else but me when I get this dick in you." He says and wags it in his hands at you like it's a treat.

The bed creaks as he sits back on his heels, and like a good girl you parts your legs as far as they can go.

Welcome Home.

The heavy weight of his palms clutching your hips calms any lingering anxiety, his nails bite into your flesh but you know he'll be licking and nuzzling the marks soothingly later. He's told you how beautiful you are in the beginning, that he relishes in the way you give up all tension to him with a sigh; that one of his favorite versions of you is the you that shuts down. Has him feeling like the "family man" he always vowed to never turn into.

"Now, you know the drill, take a deep breath..." He pants, somehow already pussy drunk, "It's going to be a tight fit, dove."

His grip tightens as he feeds his tip to your clenching hole, you soak in the mutters of 'aw, I missed you too, sweet girl.' You know he wasn't talking to you.

Your breath hitches when you start taking him past the tip, and like always, Coryo wraps a hand around the nape of your neck and massages it to distract you from the inevitable sting of pain. It'll always be there no matter how much of a mess he's made of your cunt.

"That's my dumb bunny, biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig stretch." He grunts, dragging his words out when the thickest part of his cock comes to greet you.

You moan when he takes his other hand off of your hip to reach it around and rub your twitching clit. More juices drip from your hole, making the remaining inches slide in a lot easier.

You hear shuffling and the bed creaks as Coryo leans over to grab something off the nightstand. He quickly finds what he's looking for and settles back into position behind you. He gropes one of your ass cheeks and gives it a couple long squeezes before he jiggles it, letting out a low whistle when he does it again.

You mewl impatiently, clenching your pussy around his long cock. He doesn't give you what you want, however, until almost a minute later. He jostles his hips against your ass, showing off for the camera that's focused down on where the two of you are connected.

Coryo's head shoots up when he hears you sniffle, and even though he could tease about how much of a needy whore you are, you're HIS needy whore so he only smiles.

"Alright, alright. 'M sorry, petal, I know your pussy's gagging for this dick. I'll give her what she wants, don't you worry."

Your mouth falls open on a silent moan as he leisurely drags his length out of you until the tip catches on your entrance; being forced to be broken down and rebuilt around it until you both turn to ash. He has never wanted anything more than he wants you to somehow grow to only survive of his own body. His blood would be your water, his very dna would be your floss, his bone marrow would soothe your raw throat, his organs would be your snacks, his bones would be your jewelry, his teeth would be your little trinkets, and his surrounding flesh would be your every meal until you could eat no more.

You have no idea how much of your boyfriend's time has been spent making sure he tastes delectable, in every way.

Like those people from Pompei who are forever immortalized in the arms of their lover, chained to the passage of time but the eyes that dust them off are the only things about them that change.

You made him watch Titanic once, saying that your MasterChef binge could be paused for a night. He huffed but complied, and gun to his head, he wiped his tears on the arm of the couch before you could notice that he was crying. Rose could've done a little more to help Jack in his opinion (they both could have fit on the wood), he'd have never just let you go like that. But there was something in the way all they really had in the world was each other, in how calm the old couple was as the water creeped into their room; because they were together, and to Coryo, death after a very very long and happy life is an experience that's meant to be shared (no matter the circumstances).

His body has been moving on autopilot during his usual mid-sex spiral monologue. There's ringing in his ears as he tunes back into your hiccup-y whines and high-pitched moans (he loved when you stopped being so fucking shy). His thrusts had gradually sped up until they were at the speed they were now, your bodies now making wet smacking sounds as his dick pulverizes your pussy. He had been so lost in thought that he nearly dropped his phone, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was still recording.

He removes his death grip on your ass cheek to slap your swaying tits one after the other. He can never resist showing love to the chub of your tummy either, so he hits that too.

"Yeah, you like that, bunny?" He sneers, tonguing your ear and gnawing at the lobe as the excess saliva trickles down the valley of your breasts.

It's a rhetorical question, of course you do.

But you answer, using your words like he often "urges" you to.

"Like it so much, Coryo.... fuck!"

His thrusts become even faster, and he gathers as much of your hair in his hand as possible. Your moans cut off into a gasp as he wrenches your head up off the pillow by your hair, bringing the phone around to put your tear-stained face into frame.

You're helpless to do anything but take every inch he slams inside your puffy cunt, which will no doubt be sore and red by the time Coryo's done with his latest fit. He bends down to whisper in your ear about braindead you look, sobbing with your eyes glazed over and your mouth gaping.

"Shh, that's it, keep going baby. It's all about you, these'll just be fun memories so I can have little parts of you forever, so you could never really leave me."

You never look away from the camera though, and he's suddenly overcome with so much gratitude that he uses his grip on your hair to bring you into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss; your tongues making it so wet you'd think he'd been eating your pussy nonstop with how soaked the lower half of his face gets.

He doesn't let you pull away, the impulsive french kissing only ends so he can lean his head against yours and get into the shot with you. He's smiling so warmly like you're taking a selfie on one of your numerous vacations, but his hips never stop their rough assault on your already thoroughly debauched pussy. Coryo tightens his hold on your hair and pecks your round cheek when you whimper due to the sting.

"Smile, petal."

The videos are kept in a locked folder on his phone titled “💍💒", and while he threatens to show his friends (in actuality he’d only show sejanus in some version of this au where he’s trying to force him into a throuple), he’ll apologize with his tongue swirling around your sensitive nipples once he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. If you’re really upset, he’ll offer to make up to you on his father’s yacht in Greece. (he has your bags packed already)

faetreides 2024. request rules. please consider tipping/reblogging if you enjoyed!

[fanaticsnail]

Restrained

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,300+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid didn't know what possessed him to allow his lover to restrain him against his Captains' chair. But yet, here he is: stuck and loving it.

Themes: MDNI, smut, established relationship, Sub!kid x Dom!reader, gn!reader, nipple play - Kid receiving, untouched reader, untouched Kid.

Notes: I don't know why I needed to do this, but I did. He's just crept up on me. Send help. Something about large, powerful men being made to squirm.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @carrotsunshine

Eustass Kid's eyes widened, his muffled voice growling past the material of the woven gag. Saliva coated his chin, his red paint far from present within the boarder lines of his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he continued to strain against the seastone cuffs that bound his ankles to the chair legs.

Woven rope cinched tightly beneath his armpits, his right arm was bound to the backrest of the chair, while his stumped left was coiled tightly and restrained against the side of the chair.

Why did he agree to this again? What was the safety signal again? He just felt helpless, small, stuck - restrained.

As his eyes met with yours, your wicked smile crept up to decorate your face with suggestive intent. Your fingertips gently traced his scarred cheek, trailing down his jaw to brush lightly against his clavicle bone. As your fingertips trailed delicately lower against his chest, he writhed beneath your hand as it barely skimmed over his left nipple.

His belt buckle jingled as he attempted to greedily seek your touch where he desperately craved it. The waistband of his decorative pants and underwear fell further down his knees to pool at his boot-covered feet. The swollen tip of his angry cock throbbed, twitching in anticipation as it stood alert to receive its orders.

You remained fully clothed, your smile now softening into a small smirk. Your thumb casually traced over his left nipple once more, watching as Kid mewled within his gag and arched his back. His eyes widened further in shock as the first few droplets of pearly precum gathered in the slit of his cock.

This was the first time you had suggested such a thing: finally being the one in control for once. After much negotiating, and back and forth with what exactly that means, Kid agreed to be a willing puppy and accept all that he was given by your hands.

And what he was given was shibari restraint within his Captains’ chair, a gag thrust in between his lips, seastone cuffs attached to his ankles and a verbal reminder that, should he ever wish to stop, he was to tap his right heel three times firmly on the floor.

“Does that feel good, big guy?” you purred your sultry whisper into his left ear, “Like feeling my fingers on your sensitive nipples?”

Flicking your thumb over his left nipple, you began to focus your attention on his right: pinching it lightly between your index and middle finger. In scissoring motions, you rolled the tender skin between your secondary knuckles: always gentle, always soft, always tender.

Kid was panting heavily now, brows knit in a deep furrow with sweat pooling beneath the band of his blast goggles. Scrunching his eyes tightly shut, his black eyeliner began to smudge with a mixture of glassy tears at the stimulation he was and wasn't receiving.

The dance of his untouched cock bobbing in the air, veins pulsating with desire, held your attention for a moment: debating whether you should pay the poor, neglected boy some attention. Your smile widened as you chose to continue your negligence, focussing solely on his nipples.

You straddled his lap, hooking your thighs over his knees and intentionally keeping any stimulus away from his needy cock. He cried out in muffled desperation, opening his tightly scrunched eyes and begging you with his accusatory gaze.

The twitch of his knob enchanted you, watching as the blood rush deepened the hue and had his breath hitching.

“Am I not treating you well?” you taunted him with a mocking pout, “Too much and too little all at once?”

He bobbed his head frantically, his mind dizzy with the focus of his sensation being so far from his cock. He truly did not understand why this zone of his body had the pit of his stomach coiling within his belly, his balls sucked up deep within his stomach and the tip of his cock twitching like he was about to explode.

“You think this is too much,” you commented in a low hum, “Just wait until you feel this.”

Leaning down, you licked a clean stripe with the tip of your tongue down his left pectoral, rolling his right nipple within your thumb and index finger as you thumbed over his left. He mewled, keening and whimpering like a needy puppy as he tucked his head into his shoulder to avoid your eyes.

His breath hitched, his cock straining as his mind fogged. Your flattened tongue ground itself against the sensitive nub of his left nipple, before you swirled the tip in skillful circles. He honestly felt like the pit in his stomach was about to burst. He clamped his eyes shut once more, blood flooding to his cheeks: dusting his skin with a warm hue of vibrant red.

Tugging and sucking at the flesh had him writhing in his seat: gyrating, thrusting, and circling to attempt to rub his touch-starved cock against any surface to provide it stimulus. You giggled against his flesh before vibrating a hum into his peaked nipple.

He almost forgot how to breathe, the feelings were too overwhelming for him to process. You released his nipple from your mouth with an overemphatic ‘pop’, Kid’s eyes reopening to meet his whisky-hue orbs with your own. His irises were almost completely missing, the dark onyx of his pupils claiming dominance against his eyes.

Floating your eyes between his own, briefly fluttering down to his gagged mouth, you leaned forward and pressed a small kiss against his lips. The kiss was chaste, his lips barely being able to meet with your own beneath the woven gag. Pulling away, you smiled at him while still flicking at his right nipple.

Without tearing your eyes from his, you leant down to his left nipple once more. Kid held his breath, fully expecting you to toy with him with your lips and tongue. What you did instead was lean forward, hover your lips in a perfect circle, and blew a lengthy breath of cold air against the saliva coated surface of his left nipple.

The band snapped within his stomach; the sudden shocked arrival of an unsuspecting orgasm erupting from the swollen tip of Kid’s impressive cock had his voice crying out for you. You pulled away from his nipples, sensing a twitch in his thigh that only ever occured when he was about to explode in passion.

Thick ropes of his cum spent itself on his stomach, smaller squirts of pearly, translucent droplets spurted within the air and coated his pubic hair at the base of his shaft. His thick, red pubic hair was marked by his sticky cum: coating each strand with his passionate release.

Cries of his bliss were caught within the material of the saliva-dampened gag, halting the true sobs and whimpers he was desperately screaming in gratitude to you. Your shock was evident in your eyes, a surprised smile swelled up to your cheeks as you watched this impressively larger man become undone without any stimulus to his quivering cock.

Huffing and panting, the final spurts of his spend leaked from his shiney tip, pooling down his velvety shaft with several whimpering twitches. You cooed at him in awe, softly pressing a small kiss against the apple of his cheek as you halted the pressure on his nipples.

“Aww, that was so cute!” you chirped at him, his eyes snapping open with his brows triangulating in the center of his forehead, “You wanna do it again?”

His right heel bounced frantically against the floor, indicating in panic that he was completely and totally unprepared to have that occur again. You giggled with your head nodding, hands presenting your palms upwards in defense before removing the gag from your lover’s lips.

“Okay, big guy,” you smiled at him, tugging down the material and shimmying it down his chin, “How do you feel?” you caressed his cheeks, pressing gentle kisses against his temple and forehead.

“Like I-...” he choked on his words, glancing down at the mess coating his lap and chair, “...like I shouldn't have liked that as much as I did.”

[maximotts]

i feel like cowboy wanda would be so gentle the first few times she has sex with you bc she’s worried she’ll hurt you and scare you off but eventually she loses control a bit and manhandles you into position and when she pins you down, you moan and then the most DEVILISH smile spreads across her face

Ooo okay okay it's interesting you brought this up because I've been thinking about their first encounter a bit lately! We'll ignore that this turned into a whole fic, okay? I love them sm Also this isn't really edited because it was supposed to be a short answer and now it's uhm.. not short, so forgive any typos

18+ only please . wc: 2.7k . cw: first meeting hookup, drinking, dirty talk, oral, fingering, v light spanking, lap sits, possessiveness, Wanda being smitten, the pickup truck sex a lot of y'all have been asking me about that I said was coming, morning after with Wanda because she's as proper as she is filthy

Basically right now I have their first time more as a hookup where bunny is new to town and goes out to a bar one night to maybe make friends and see the environment, but then she meets Wanda and her group of friends who are all more than welcoming and you're having a great time hanging out with them.

But your eyes keep drifting to Wanda. Of course Wanda notices and, being the smooth talker she is, starts flirting with the new girl. She buys you as many drinks as you want which, end up being stronger than you're used to, but your nerves keep you ordering more. When she finally slips an arm around you, cornering you in the booth you'd only just plopped yourself into, you're more than ready for Wanda to kiss you— and kiss you she does.

You're shy by nature, never having made out with anyone in a bar, much less with a girl you'd only known for a few hours, but Wanda's thumb brushing over your cheek while she bites down on your bottom lip has you forgetting everything you're used to which admittedly, isn't much. Somehow she's pulled your thighs over her own, toying with the stretchy hem of the form-fitting skirt you'd decided to wear last minute. When she touches a particularly sensitive spot, you shiver and Wanda chuckles, "You cold, darlin'? Pretty as your arms are, I'll let you borrow my jacket if it'd help."

And so the night goes on with Wanda's thick denim jacket slung over your shoulders, her arm around your waist wherever the two of you walk. Normally you'd hate the presumptive way the cowgirl was handling you, as if she owned you already, but you'd be damned if you didn't admit you wanted her to stake her claim. So, in your slightly inebriated state, you took a leap, "Wands, I'm sleepy..."

Which catches her attention immediately. "Well now," Wanda pulls you close then, fingers carefully treading the line between caressing your hip and groping your ass; it would be the first time she whispers in your ear, but it'll never stop being insanely hot. "I hope you're telling me because you're going to let me take you home. I'd be real sad leaving tonight without you."

You wish your giggle of a reply didn't sound so girlish and naïve, but in hindsight, you had no idea the sheer intensity you were in for. "Only if you promise to behave yourself."

—

She's driven about halfway back to her house before she has to pull over; technically it was her land, pulled over to the side of the winding road and turning her truck engine off. "I know I promised to take you home, I still will, but I can't take another second not having my hands on you."

It takes you back a little; all you'd been doing was scratching over her jeans while you stared at the woman driving, but you weren't going to argue with her. "I don't really-"

"I've wanted you on my lap since I laid eyes on you. Get over here." Thankfully she doesn't have to convince you any farther, holding back a groan as you straddled her legs, skirt riding up inch by inch. It was a tight squeeze with you between her and the steering wheel, but Wanda hardly noticed once you started kissing her. This time was impossibly hotter, Wanda's tongue taking control of the kiss before moving on to shamelessly leave marks along your jaw and neck.

And Wanda is too good at getting your clothes out of the way, leaving you topless with record speed, squeezing at your breasts roughly while you struggled just to keep up with her mouth. "What if someone sees..."

The brunette only starts toying with your nipples, relishing in the way it got you rolling your hips. "It's pitch dark, silly girl. I can barely see you out here, don't worry your pretty little head."

You lost the last bit of your restraint the moment Wanda passed her fingertips over your underwear. They were thin lace, chosen by design so as not to show under your skirt, but they drove Wanda wild. She pushed them aside to slide her fingers along where you were already warm and sensitive, hips stuttering as she stroked over your clit. "O-Oh.."

"Look at you, already wet and needy. Were you like this all night? That why I caught you squeezing your thighs together so often?" You shook your head, trying to deny it, but you weren't even fooling yourself.

Wanda's had you rocking in place for hours by this point; you thought sure you'd been subtle and being called out for your behavior found your head ducking into the crook of Wanda's shoulder to avoid her knowing gaze. "Aww, it's okay! It'll be our little secret, promise..."

Wanda discovered night one what a responsive person you were, delighting in the vice grip you held on the back of her seat while she rolled your nipple in time with her other hand on your sensitive bud. You rocked against her hands as best you could, fighting to keep pace, but hopefully not finish so easily— it'd just been so long and you needed this much more than expected.

The next morning, you'd blame the alcohol. "Wanda please, I- I need.."

"What do you need, sweetheart, wanna cum? Make a mess in my truck after I barely got started with you?" You were nodding so hard your neck hurt, moaning quietly as you felt your body reach its peak; the first of many that night. Ears ringing and thoughts so pleasantly fuzzy, you couldn't recall a time you'd felt more free, in an old pickup truck or otherwise.

"Ooh, aren't you just a masterpiece..." The brunette took her time letting you down, pointer and middle fingers wandering until they just barely pushed into you: less than an inch, but unendingly torturous. "Sounds like I was able to make you feel better, least a little bit."

Tired hips tried every which way to sink onto Wanda's long fingers, the same ones you'd felt on you over your clothes back in the bar and had lists of naughty places you wanted her to put them. But each time, your lover avoids delving anywhere past shallow. "You're being mean, just fuck me."

"Mean? After I let you cum as early as you wanted? You don't know what mean looks like on me. Don't think you want to," A succession of wet slaps echoed in the truck's cabin, the silence of everything around you both amplifying the sound of Wanda lightly hitting your sensitive cunt and your resulting whimpers.

"Told you so. Now, bend over and stay still while I get a proper look like the obedient girl I know you are," Manhandling you over the length of her seats shouldn't have been as easy as it was after the long night out, but Wanda was strong and you never fought her while she pushed your arms to the passenger car door and spread your bent knees apart.

If you were begging her to fuck you out loud, you wouldn't be surprised, wishing so hard that if Wanda still refused to give you exactly what you wanted, she'd at least use her fingers, tongue, anything to fill where you currently felt so empty. "Please- I need more-"

Your thighs shake as she licks over your puffy folds, mumbling the most depraved things about you, your taste, your warmth, leaving you with the most intoxicating combination of feeling both used and adored. "You just keep dripping into my mouth, baby, it's impossible to keep you clean..."

"Can't help it, sorry," But your words aren't matching your actions, not when you kept searching out Wanda's tongue each time she flicked at your clit, pitifully rolling over the rough surface whenever she flattened it out.

You'd long since fogged up the windows, smudging the fog as your overheated cheek met the cold glass; each time you managed to open your eyes you remember exactly where you are, woods rustling in the middle of the night. "W-Wanda! 'm close again, please please...!"

"Mean girls wouldn't let you have two orgasms back to back, no matter how pretty." Wanda likes to believe she actually thought about whether or not to give you what you wanted, but in reality she knew she would leave you wanting the second you turned bratty. Sure it was a risk, not knowing how you'd react, but it was well worth the test to see if you had a chance of handling her past a quick night's distraction. "Straighten up, we're only a few minutes from home."

"That's not fair—"

But Wanda was already pushing you upright again, haphazardly fixing your dress, going so far as to buckle your seatbelt as if it'd keep you from your uncomfortable wiggling. "My car my rules! Like I said, we're not far."

Wanda expected you to pout and huff the whole way, worried in the back of her mind you wouldn't let her lay another hand on you after her denial, but she was pleasantly surprised. Somewhere shortly after she pulled back onto the road, you'd taken her hand; first just to play with her fingers, innocent fidgeting at best, but before she knew it, her digits were engulfed in sinfully wet warmth.

Her fingers in your mouth made the pair of you dizzy, hands holding her wrist as you pumped her digits in and out, tongue swirling over the tips and grinning once Wanda's neutral expression cracked, lips parting in a low groan. "Do mean girls let the good ones suck the strap they've been feeling near them all night or do they only get to play with their hands?"

"Depends on if they show them how bad they want it." Wanda could only look your way for seconds at a time, the visual of your half-lidded gaze trained on her jeans while you so obviously used your imagination to envision some other scenario, muffling your own needy sounds as you forced her fingers to the back of your throat... she'd underestimated the new girl.

Whether it was any lingering alcohol talking or whatever boldness Wanda unlocked that night, something urged you to continue goading her, making a show of spreading your legs and slipping her wet fingers to your sex before closing them once more, slowly grinding her shaking digits to sate yourself for that last tiny stretch of road to the farmhouse. "Bad enough to turn your hand into a toy for as long as you let me."

Wanda made that final turn up her driveway, parking her truck fast as she could with only one hand, "You're lucky I didn't crash just now, you little devil, can't wait to get you inside."

"Lead the way, since we're playing by your rules and all." As soon as she got her hand back, Wanda practically dragged you from her vehicle and for as many hours as you spent awake in her home, you couldn't remember a single detail of any room she brought you through that night.

—

When you wake up, it's to a dimly lit bedroom, curtains drawn so only a sliver of late morning sun peeked through. Your body ached, but it wasn't from the drinking, taut muscles and lethargic thoughts bringing back bits and pieces of everything you got up to the second Wanda got you past the front door.

The same Wanda whose bed you assumed you were currently sprawled out in. Doubt crept in as you realized you're alone, fretting over if you should've fallen asleep there or not. You were deciding whether it'd be more awkward to sneak out and go back to town on foot or to search out Wanda and ask if she'd mind driving you back to your place when you heard a single knock on the door. "Can I come in?"

Your brow furrowed, "It's your room, of course you can come in." Wanda cracked the door slowly, the back of her loose flannel shirt greeting you first before she turned around, a small tray in her hands. "Sorry for crashing."

"Never said you were unwelcome, I'm sorry for letting you wake up in a strange place by yourself... and for not leaving you at least a shirt, my bad." Your arms hastily bundled the blankets to cover your chest, your nakedness pointed out to you, but Wanda laughed, setting the tray down before heading for her dresser. "Don't worry, darlin, I love the view just as much in the daylight."

"What a reassuring hostess I have," Pulling the t-shirt she tossed you over your head, the delightful scents coming from the tray down the bed now catching your attention. On it was a short stack of pancakes, bacon, orange juice, strawberries... the biggest breakfast you'd seen since you'd come to town. "Did you make that?"

Wanda nodded and slid the food closer to you before sitting on the edge of her mattress, "I don't typically make this much food, but I had to get up early to make some rounds in the barn and I figured I owed you a hearty breakfast after such a nice night."

There was something so endearing to how she explained her actions, rambling on to offset her nerves, No one had even gone to such lengths to make your morning so comfortable after a single hookup, but this set the bar high for anyone else who tried. Not that you'd ever have to worry about another first night, but neither of you knew that yet.

For now Wanda scrambled to find the right way to show genuine interest in the girl she'd brought home and fucked every which way until they passed out and you amusedly ate your special pancakes while watching Wanda try, her fumbling charming you more than she'd ever imagine.

Eventually you put her out of her misery, putting down your utensils to sit up on your knees and stretch over to plant a quick kiss on her soft lips. "I really appreciate it and I'm not even a bit mad with how I woke up, but it's very sweet of you to care, Wands."

"Oh good because I'd really like to see you again sometime, if you're up for it." It would be a rare thing to see Wanda so continuously shy, but she was uncharacteristically smitten and she wanted to get to know you before the rest of the small town came for their changes too.

You hummed as you popped a strawberry into your mouth, licking your fingers in a way that painfully reminded Wanda of the previous night, "How's today?"

"Today?" The farmgirl ran a hand through her long hair, cocking her head to the side much like a lost puppy.

"Yeah, today. If you wouldn't mind me following along." With each minute that ticked past, the less you wanted to leave, much preferring a Sunday spent with Wanda than in your flat full of moving boxes.

Her eyes lit up, smile brighter than the sun, “Can’t complain about a beautiful girl all to myself all day!" Wanda was practically buzzing with everything she wanted to show you, from the chicken coops to the haylofts, but she forced herself to keep her cool.. on the surface at least. "Finish up breakfast and I'll find you some kind of pants."

"But I'm so cozy right here without them." Maneuvering over the last bits of food on your plate meant you more fell into Wanda's lap than sat on it, but she caught you nonetheless, tugging you down for the proper kiss she'd been waiting to share with you since early morning light. "Come back to bed with me?"

After the long sleep your energy was renewed, finally able to take Wanda into all your senses again, the taste of her lips, the subtle earthy smell from the work she'd already done that day, her strong hands settling confidently on your upper thighs... getting dressed was the last thing on either of your minds. "Wouldn't be much of a hostess if I didn't let my guest do as she pleased."

In the end, the pair of you might've set the world record for longest date from Sunday morning to when Wanda finally dropped a reluctant you back into town Wednesday afternoon.

[criminalmindswife]

please write something with bondage and sub!spencer reid with fem!reader

Shh, shh, it’s alright.

Fem!reader x sub!spencer reid

18+ !! Smut, tying up/bondage, mentions of edging, overstimulation, tears, breeding?, praise and pet names.

“Color?” I ask as I tie the final knot that was on his ankle. He had a total of 4 knots on him; one on both of his wrists and one on both of his ankles, bounding him to the bed.

“Green- green, please..” He rasped out, tears already filling his brown eyes. His cock was standing tall; the tip an angry red from the edging I’ve been doing for the past hour beforehand.

“Please.. what?” I tease, walking over to him and leaning down; my face inches from his.

“Please.. I-I-I need you, please.. ‘m such a good boy, please..” He cries, pulling at the restrains.

“Only because you asked nicely..” I coo and climb into the bed, swinging my leg over his waist and straddle him. I stroke his cock for a couple seconds and he groans and whines, then I sit up and line him up with my entrance.

“Please!” He cries again, I chuckle, slowly sinking down on him causing a strangled moan to fall past his red plumped lips.

“You fill me up so nicely, don’t you think Spencer?” I hum, slowly circling my hips and painfully moving up and down on him.

He’s already a whimpering and crying mess, whispering, “Thank you- yes, oh my, ah, fuck, so tight-, warm, hphm-“

“Sh sh, I know sweet boy. Let me take care of you, hm?”

“Yes, yes-.. please, please, please!” He rasped out as I started picking up speed, pulling at all of his restraints as he gets closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss. I was surprised he’s already lasted this long since I had edged him for an hour before this even started. Tears run down his pretty red cheeks and onto the pillow below him.

“You gonna cum?” He nods frantically, “Fill me up, Spencer. Fill me with your cum. Make me a mommy, hm?”

My words bring him to the edge as his lips part in a silent moan and his back arches, so many tears streaming down his eyes as his body writhes and squirms.

His eyes snap open and look up at me with basically horror as I don’t stop even after he’s come and starts to writhe on the bed from overstimulation, “N-No more! I-I c-can’t!” He sobs, tears streaming down his face.

“Color?” I ask, slowing down a tad but not stopping.

“G-Green.. green..!” He whimpers.

“Good boy, doing so well, you can do one more for me can’t you?” I say, smiling. He nods frantically, already feeling another orgasm enlighten in his tummy embarrassingly fast.

I resume my past rhythm, leaning down and pressing kisses to his tears, he whimpers. “‘M you’re good boy..?”

“You’re my good boy, my bestest boy, doing so well for me, always do so well,” I coo.

He writhes on the bed and pulls at the restraint even harder now, mentally reminding myself to apply extra care to his ankles and wrist after this.

“Cum for me baby, fill me up, make me feel so full pretty boy, my sweet boy.”

He pulls his restraints like he’s being possessed, face scrunched up in pure bliss and tears run down his face as he lets out a—borderline—pornographic scream like moan and his limbs twisting as more hot seed spills into me that I don’t think are going to leave. I slow to a stop and get off, standing on shaky legs as I undo all of the restraints.

He’s just laying there with a small content smile on his face, staring at the ceiling. “I have to use the bathroom I’ll be right back, sweet boy.” He hums.

After quickly using the bathroom and cleaning myself up, I walk back into the bedroom and clean him up, applying cream to all of the red and blistering marks from the restraints. I climb into bed and he immediately clings to me, “T-thank you.. so nice.. so good..” he murmurs lazily, burying his face into the crook of my neck and blabbing nonsense.

I’ve known Spencer for years and know he always has a sentence planned out in his head before he ever says it, so now, him just blabbering nonsense makes me giggle and hold him closer.

“Sleep, sweet boy, I’ll be right here.” I coo in slight amusement and place a kiss to his temple.

He obviously doesn’t have to be told twice as he’s out like a light, so much for insomnia.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Breakfast

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT

Locked in a bathroom stall with a hungry vampire was not how you planned to spent your time hiding from a herd. Inspired by a post by @norman-fucking-reedus

The herd came out of nowhere, giving you no other option but to be yanked into the tiny toilet stall of the abandoned restaurant.

Bless it for at least having a seat cover so you could sit down while you waited.

Daryl was breathing heavy below you, clearly at his limits after the morning's hunt failed too thanks to possibly the same walkers ruining your camping spot for the day.

You also thanked the overgrown greenery that covered most of the milky glass above you, keeping the sun away from you to a point where it would't hurt Daryl.

"Hey, you gotta eat." You patted his cheek and held out your wrist to his mouth. "It'll be fine, I can't go out and hunt for you now."

He went rigid and shoved you off him, against the stall door. It was as far as you could go seeing your situation. "No humans. Ya know wha' happened. Ya saw me."

You huffed and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "So you killed that guy, we all hated him anyways. He was harrasing you." Taking your hands out of your pockets again, you had materialized one of your tiny knives and flipped it open. "I'm not scared. And you love me too much to kill me." With a wide smile you sat back in his lap again. "Come on, you need the energy. I have my food in my bag, I'll be okay."

It was clear he didn't want to, but he knew it was his only choice if he wanted to make it out alive. Neither of you had any idea how long the herd was gonna stick around and while you could survive two days on your rations, Daryl would be unconcious by nightfall if he didn't feed.

"Yer insane, ya know tha, right?" He shook his head but still braced himself for what he was about to do.

You had straddled him in the most comfortable position you could get in and ran your fingers through his hair to calm him, ever so slowly pressing his face closer to your neck. You were pressed up against each other with no change to get away now, and with a last deep breath you felt Daryl's lips against your skin. He kissed a few times before the harsh sting of his fangs made you tense up. A soft gasp and a squeeze of the strands of hair you held onto went on deaf ears as he busied himself feeding off you.

And god, it felt.. good? It stung at first, but the gentle sucking now went straight down to your core.

But it was clear you weren't the only one enjoying it more than you though, feeling Daryl grow hard in his jeans underneath you.

While you kept one hand in his hair to yank if he got too far, you lowered the other one down to his pants and worked on getting him out of them. He must hurt so bad..

You rolled your hips in trial and earned a moan so deep you didn't think he had it in him. He was normally so quiet.

You pulled his head back but kept yourself attached, moving to shove off one sneaker. With your pants undone and off one leg you sat back down on his lap fully bare before going back to working on his pants, freeing him and continueing to rub against him. "Do I taste that good, baby?"

"Mhmmm.." A rut of his hips and a positive moan answered for you, wasting no more time and lining him up with your entrance and letting him push all the way in, a soft rut with each suck on your neck. You tried your best to keep your moans as quiet as possible but it was difficult with how good it all felt.

Once he was all the way inside he finally took his mouth off you with a deep intake of air. "Fuck, yer even crazier than I thought.." The punctures still bled, slowly trickling down the neckline of your shirt before they were being lapped up in rythm with Daryl's thrusts that kept picking up the pace.

You planned to ride him slowly while he fed but he was holding you still and fucking up into you like he was possessed.

With just one hand he kept your hips in place while the other had your body pressed against him, giving him the perfect angle to keep licking and sucking at your neck while he mumbled praises against your skin.

"D.. Daryl please, fuck, my legs.." You weren't made for bathroom stall sex and especially not while being drained by a very blood drunk vampire.

You held no power against him, every tug to move him was futile. You had to power through the feeling of your legs becoming like jello and his body rubbing against your clit with every thrust. His grunts were getting more frantic. Wet, openmouthed kisses trailed all the way around your neck before he sucked hard on the puncture wounds and you felt the blood flow out in a gush.

He didn't swallow, instead seal his lips and move his hand up to pull at the back of your head and shove his mouth against yours. As his tongue forced its way into your mouth a good amount of blood followed, running out the corners of your mouth and making a mess all over yourselves. His kisses were never very coordinated but this was messy, grunts and moans, open mouthed and all teeth and tongue as you both chased your highs. Your fingers tugging his hair and rubbing your clit between your bodies.

Clenching around him, so close to your climax you hastened your touches and gathered yourself to meet his thrusts halfway to intensify the feeling.

You finished with a harsh bite on Daryl's tongue to muffle your sounds and pulled him right over the edge with you.

He let go of your hip then and you slumped against him, groaning in protest as he licked at the bitemarks on your neck. "Daryl, no.. please.." You barely mamaged to raise your hand to push at him, but he ensured you it was needed. "Helps healin'. Jus' relax." You felt his smile against your skin and let yourself breathe.

"So.." You leaned back a bit to look him in the eyes. "Changed your mind about humans?" Your sneaky smile had him let out a breathy laugh.

"Ya know wha? I'll keep ya with me fer emergencies." He licked his lips, cleaning some blood off them as you weakly smacked his arm and giggled.

Damn. You really had to get cleaned up and eat something..

[thevalleyisjolly]

There’s a weird recurring take in D20 fan circles that Zac doesn’t play “complex” characters and that people are just waiting for the day when he “finally” plays an asshole, which kind of baffles me.  Quite apart from the idea that only morally grey characters are complex or compelling, are you sure we’re watching the same show?

In Fantasy High, we have Gorgug, an adopted biracial teenager whose journey includes realizing his self-worth, coming to terms with his rage (literally), seeking out and navigating new relationships with others (his birth parents, the Bad Kids, Zelda), and discovering what he’s capable of. 

From The Unsleeping City we have Ricky, a second-generation Japanese-American, who has a very personal struggle across two seasons between doing the dutiful/sacrificial thing for other people’s benefit and expressing his own needs, wants, thoughts, and feelings; it’s a very particular exploration of immigrant generations and the relationship between the sacrificial model of your ancestors and the culture you grew up surrounded by which emphasizes the self.

There’s A Crown of Candy and Lapin, whose snark and one-liners are honestly less interesting than the way he engaged with and sought to understand religion and faith; the different yet similar ways in which both the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Church exerted control over their followers, and the search for spiritual meaning beyond these figures/institutions.

Then there’s Cumulous, whose every character aspect navigates a space of tension - the ultimate war guy who made himself hardened (literally) and pragmatic to get the job done but who also remains soft and caring and empathetic at the same time; wielding the power of death without glorifying or giving into it; the cousin who both is a member of the family and yet who remains at somewhat of a distance from the centre; a literal warrior-philosopher who is single-minded in battle and quietly thoughtful about the mysteries of life and death outside of it.

As for actual assholes, we have Norman Takamori in A Starstruck Odyssey, a bitter man who is the living embodiment of both the Superior Orders excuse as well as scapegoating.  On a side note, the amount of absolute vitriol and double standards which people threw at Norman during ASO for being an unapologetic asshole -and he had less than two full episodes of screen time- kind of underscores the calls for Zac to play a “real” asshole.  Zac can and will play whatever type of character he wants, but is fandom really ready for him to play an asshole if that asshole doesn’t have a secret heart of gold?

From the same season, we have Valdrinor/Skip, who starts as the “prince running from his destiny” archetype with a dash of brain slug possession, has a humorous yet oddly profound exploration of what humanity is and what it means to be human, and springboards from there into “wait, who am I really and actually, why are we doing things (brain slug possession) this way when there are other ways to engage with the universe.” 

Most recently in Neverafter, we have Pib, who apart from the fascinating meta element of being a literal character archetype, constantly straddles the line between self-absorbed self-interest and putting himself on the line to help others; his repeated demonstration of both at various points throughout the season is a subtle yet intriguing manifestation of free will and choice-making in a story all about lacking free will and agency.

So, I mean, lack of complexity where?  Does a character need to be an asshole in order to be deep or compelling?  And because I’ve heard this specific rebuttal quite a few times now, does a character need to vocalize their innermost thoughts loudly and frequently in order to prove their complexity?  If a character is “less vocal” compared to other characters, does that mean they lack interiority? 

Also, other people have brought this up before, but I am once again asking that people remember the difference between fictional characters and real life people.  Zac playing one (1) himbo on the show does not make him a himbo in real life, nor does it make him incapable of creating or playing complex characters (especially as said himbo is himself an extremely complex character), nor does it make him a lesser player than other cast members.  You don’t have to find all or any of his characters interesting or complex, but can we stop conflating character with player?

[deception-united]

How to write a character who’s very much on the line between genius and madness ?

Thanks for asking! It can be pretty challenging to write a character who straddles the line between genius and madness. Here are some tips:

Here are some tips on how to create such a character:

Complexity of Thought: Show that your character possesses a brilliant mind capable of extraordinary insights and innovations. They should have a deep understanding of complex concepts and be able to see connections others might miss.

Unconventional Behavior: Have your character exhibit behaviors that seem eccentric or erratic to others. This could include talking to themselves, being intensely focused on their work to the exclusion of all else, or displaying unusual habits or rituals.

Intense Passion: Give your character a fervent passion for their work or interests. This passion can border on or develop into obsession, driving them to pursue their goals with single-minded determination, even at the expense of their own well-being or social relationships.

Emotional Vulnerability: Explore the emotional vulnerability that often accompanies intellectual brilliance. Your character may struggle with feelings of isolation, frustration, or inadequacy, leading to moments of intense despair or even rage.

Unpredictability: Keep your character unpredictable. They might have sudden mood swings or behave in ways that seem illogical or irrational to others, reflecting the unpredictable nature of genius and madness.

Conflicting Traits: Show conflicting traits within your character. They may exhibit moments of profound insight and clarity followed by periods of confusion or irrationality, blurring the line between genius and madness.

Social Alienation: Explore how your character's brilliance and eccentricities can alienate them from society. They may have difficulty relating to others or forming meaningful connections, further isolating them from the world around them.

Internal Conflict: Highlight the internal struggle your character faces as they navigate the fine line between genius and madness. They may grapple with their own identity, questioning whether their brilliance is a gift or a curse.

Symbolism and Metaphor: Use symbolism and metaphor to represent the internal turmoil of your character. This could include imagery of light and darkness, order and chaos, or the juxtaposition of brilliance and madness in their surroundings or actions.

Evolution and Change: Allow your character to evolve over the course of your story. They may undergo periods of growth and self-discovery, coming to terms with their own complexities and finding a sense of balance between their genius and madness.

Remember to approach your character with empathy and nuance, allowing them to be more than just a stereotype. By crafting a multidimensional character with depth and complexity, you can create a compelling portrayal of someone who walks the line between brilliance and madness.

Happy writing!

[itsswritten]

when the sea calls for three | 1

Paring: Azriel x Reader x Eris

Word Count: 5K

Summary: In the aftermath of war, peace reigns over the realms of Prythian, but the delicate balance hangs in the hands of two unlikely mediators—You and Lucien. As the newly appointed Emissaries of Peace, your duty is clear: maintain alliances, foster understanding between courts, and navigate the intricate webs of fae politics.

But when fate deals an unexpected twist, revealing that you possess not one, but two mates, the tranquillity you've worked so hard to uphold is suddenly threatened. Caught between two males who refuse to share, you find yourself thrust into a precarious position, torn between duty and desire.

What will you do and who will you choose?

Intro | Masterlist

The Dawn's Meeting Chamber, served as the esteemed location for all court attended meetings. Through previous trials and tribulations, and now amidst the settled peace, its significance remained steadfast. Thesan, your own High Lord, presided with grace and authority, embodying the essence of a perfect host.

And despite this being a time of peace, alliances were still rocky. Dawn served as the perfect neutral territory. 

Cushioned oak chairs were meticulously arranged in a circle around the reflection room,  offering a comfortable seat for attendees. Positioned opposite each other on either side of the reflective pool, you and Lucien stood poised amidst the chairs. He occupied the twelfth hour, while you claimed the 6th, a silent yet powerful representation of the balance and harmony you held within your new positions. 

Up until this moment, the weight of such responsibility had never rested upon your shoulders. For years, you had drifted through various roles within the Dawn Court, from the serene halls of the Library, the bustling markets of the city and the melodies of the theatre. Even during the war, Thesan had recognised your unique talents and utilised you on the border, a role that had never quite settled comfortably within you.

As a soldier in the midst of conflict, you had often felt like a square peg in a round hole, grappling with a sense of unease that gnawed at your core. It was as if you were searching for something, yet never quite finding where you belonged. Perhaps it was because you were different, your nature straddling the line between worlds in a way that defied easy categorisation.

As much as you passed for High Fae, it was clear to those who truly listened, that wasn’t the case. 

So when Lucien came to you with his proposition, a plea wrapped in a promise of purpose and significance, you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him. For the first time in your life, an opportunity had arisen that held the potential to make a tangible difference, to offer a sense of fulfilment, a sense of belonging.

A subtle exchange of nods and smiles passed between you and your friend. With a confident stance and a lifted chin, you prepared to address the esteemed gathering.

As the chamber filled with representatives from the solar courts, the seasonal courts, and the human alliance, a palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air. You and Lucien exchanged respectful greetings with the High Lord and Ladies in attendance, bowing your heads to their esteemed positions.

Once everyone was settled, Lucien stepped forward to take his place at the head of the meeting, assuming the role of leader with poise and authority. With a nod of approval from Thesan, the meeting commenced, setting the stage for discussions that would hopefully shape the future of the fae lands and beyond.

Lucien’s voice rang out, commanding the attention of all present. You felt the swell of pride fill your chest. That was your best friend. Lucien had been selected by all courts for this role, and you couldn’t envision anyone better. 

A kind male, with a huge heart and smart mind. He was perfect for this.

"We are here today in the first allied meeting of peace since the cessation of hostilities," he began, his tone measured yet commanding. "It is a testament to our collective efforts and determination that we gather here today in pursuit of peace and prosperity for all."

Pausing briefly to allow his words to resonate, Lucien continued, his gaze sweeping across the assembled dignitaries. "This is a pivotal moment for our land, a time to address any lingering concerns, to foster open dialogue, and to reaffirm our commitments to cooperation and understanding."

He gestured with open arms towards the reflective pool at the centre of the chamber, "I invite each of you to speak freely, to raise any issues or grievances regarding borders, trade agreements, or any other matters that may impact the stability of our realms."

Lucien had set the tone for the meeting, and you gave him a proud smile in return when his eyes flickered over you. You, along with Lucien and the courts were shaping the course of the future. A better future for everyone.

You had never been a part of these meetings before, but from what Lucien had shared, they usually didn’t go well. Before the most recent peace treaty, Lucien had briefed you on the usual hostility that hung in these meetings. Hostility so rife, that Lucien’s own brother, Eris, had almost met his end at the hands of the Shadowsinger. 

A male who you had spotted as soon as he had entered the chamber. How could anyone miss him? His features were chiselled and angular, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline that clenched as he listened to the conversations of the room. He demanded a dark ethereal beauty that was all encompassing. You were smart enough not to let your eyes linger too long when he first arrived, but now while everyone was distracted by debate you took a moment to take him in.

Azriel stood tall and imposing behind his High Lord and Lady. You and Lucien had restricted how many attendees were allowed in these new meetings. High Lords and Ladies of the court were allowed to bring up to two attendees, whether that be scholars, soldiers, courtiers. Whoever they deemed fit. These were meetings of peace, there was no need to flex muscle and power.

It seemed the Night Court had selected their Spymaster for attendance with them today; his presence spoke volumes of the Night Court's cautious approach to diplomacy. Especially after what Lucien had shared about the Shadowsingers unrestrained actions of the last meeting.

His dark hair fell in sleek short waves, framing his face. The black strands were a stark contrast to those hazel eyes. Beside him, his shadows lingered, a constant and enigmatic presence at his side. Though you had grown accustomed to their role as messengers in your correspondence, it was a whole other experience seeing them now in the flesh, accompanying their master.

You were aware of his delicate relationship with Lucein, the crossfires they had found themselves in regarding Lucien’s mate. And although you’re not entirely sure what went down, the repercussions left neither males fostering any type of relationship with Elain. 

Azriel’s expression was inscrutable, much like his earlier cryptic letters you had exchanged with him over the past two months. Hard to decipher. 

Perhaps it was your natural charm, or your way with words though, that managed to entice the Shadowsinger to show a different side. It was exactly 2 weeks of correspondence before the tone started to change.

Before officially taking on the role of Emissary, Lucien had to request approval for you to join him. In the meantime, you took on the difficult task of helping Spring Court. Those earlier weeks were dire, Tamlin would hide in his vine covered house and you were left to pick up the pieces best you could. Surprisingly it was Azriel’s letters that you received the most, him wanting daily updates on Tamlin and the progress of the court. No doubt, his own High Lord breathing down his neck for all information regarding his mate's ex lover.

Your notes were always polite and concise, but when writing to Lucien you often signed them off in jest. And after a particularly depressing update on the Spring Court, you signed at the end.

Send prayers, I worry I won’t even make it till Solstice. 

You signed with a scribble of a sad face, knowing Lucien would read your sarcasm well. However, thanks to the Shadowsigner’s meddlesome shadows, Lucien’s and Azriels letters somehow got swapped. So when you were expecting some witty remark from Lucien, it was in fact Azriel that took you by surprise.

I worry you won’t too…and what a shame that would be.

It was a taunting reply, one you hadn’t expected but made you smirk all the same.

A shame indeed… but do you doubt my capabilities, Shadowsinger? I’ll have you know, I am to be the new Emissary of Peace.

I know exactly who you are, y/n.

That had just been the beginning of your playful mockery, and there was a small part of you that felt guilty for looking forward to his messages so much. Especially considering who he was to Lucien. But you couldn’t help but reply. Spring Court had been so dreary, it was sometimes the only thing to lighten up your day.

You were intrigued to hear Azriel’s voice, hear what the ripples of his vocal cords would reveal. What did your pen pal sound like? What else would you discover about the Shadowsinger, now his court resided under you? 

༄ 

Your eyes carefully swept over the other attendees, absorbing the nuances of their discussions and concerns. Kallias's voice carried across the chamber as he delved into the intricacies and concerns of trade agreements between Summer. His worries about the quality of products traversing such diverse climates were evident, but you knew how desperately Summer needed the trade.

Tarquin was the youngest in the room beside Feyre– the Night Court's High Lady. 

The first High Lady ever you reminded yourself. 

With Summer now falling under your jurisdiction, you couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy for the younger ruler, still finding his footing amidst the complexities of court politics. He had never even ruled during a time of peace when the only concerns were whether his goods would freeze as soon as they crossed the Winter border.

This is where you came in. This was your job. Maintaining vital exchanges for the prosperity of all involved.

As Kallias concluded his remarks, you chose that moment to interject, your voice cutting through the air with quiet authority. "You've made such a valid point, Kallias," you acknowledged, drawing the attention of the room toward you for the first time.

Your voice was soft and gentle, yet filled the room with a warmth that perhaps these meetings had always lacked. 

“I know it’s been a long time since trade as ran between the courts, and we want to make this transition as smooth and successful for everyone”

Your gaze shifted to Helion, the High Lord of Day, a thoughtful expression on his face as he observed you. "I wonder if this is something Day could help with," you continued, laying out your proposal with careful deliberation.

“Solan, your spell weaver has quite the talent for weathered charms. His expertise is extraordinary, I’ve seen his work” You sung the Day’s residents praises brightly.

You had met Solan many years ago when he collaborated with Nuan on one of her ingenious inventions. 

“I believe he has the capabilities to create such a charm that could assist with smooth tradings and deliveries, across all the seasonal courts” 

To win the favour of this notion, it would have to benefit not only Summer.

Helion met your gaze, his eyes betraying a hint of intrigue as he considered your suggestion. "You are correct," he conceded, nodding in agreement. "Solan could create such a spell. But of course at a cost."

“Of course,” you smiled. You wouldn’t expect anything less.

Tarquin's smile was genuine but soft as he responded, "That is something Summer would be happy to discuss."

“As would Spring” Tamlin spoke. A quietness settled after, his transgressions still creating an uncomfortable tension.

Your eyes flickered to the familiar auburn hair of Eris, someone you had not seen in years. He merely nodded reluctantly, almost as if he detested how smooth that had been.

“I will speak with Solan, and be in touch shortly, gentleman” Helion said with grace, sending you a smile and a soft wink.

Turning back to Kallias, you addressed his concerns directly, offering the solution. "With Solan's expertise, we can ensure that shipments between courts are unaffected by weather conditions," you assured him. 

"Send me a quote Helion '' Kallias nodded beside his wife, mate, Vivnae– the second High Lady in history. “As long as the goods maintain their quality, I’m happy to move forward with confidence."

A sense of relief washed over you at the resolution. You were smooth, decisive and quick.

༄ 

As your perceptive gaze traversed the room, meticulously dissecting the nuances of each attendee's demeanour, listening to their breaths, smacking of lips and the clicking on tongues. It all revealed so much. You could hear it within the unspoken. 

Your eyes abruptly came to a halt upon falling into a familiar amber gaze—the penetrating stare of Eris Vanserra.

His eyes locked on yours like a hawk. A tight smirk graced Eris's lips as his gaze roved over your form with a predatory intensity, sending a subtle shiver down your spine that you quickly suppressed.

You couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in his appearance—the shorter hair that framed his features in a way that suited him, a departure from the longer locks that had once adorned his head. You wondered if he had cut his hair before or after he had killed his father? Or had he cut his hair for that reason alone?

A new chapter. Cut the dead weight. Just like he’d cut down Beron.

To kill a parent. To kill your own father. Not that Beron didn’t have it coming, it was rightfully deserved but you wondered what toll that would have on someone. You knew of the scars Beron had left on his sons, even if they hadn’t told you. You had always heard under their words. And you hoped now, that they could heal and find some semblance of peace with their monster of a father gone.

Memories flooded back of a time when your mother would take you for playdates in Autumn. Eris along with his brothers would often tease you. It was because of those moments you and Lucien had gotten so close. Seeking unity in one another when hiding together as children from his older brother's taunts.

Eris was the kinder one out of the pack, at least back then. Perhaps kind wasn’t the right word to choose, but he was indifferent to you. He stood out as a somewhat mitigating force. Being the eldest and already grown, his words always carried a sharp edge, laced with venomous undertones, however there was a distinct lack of malice directed at you. Eris would often intercede his brothers teasing with biting remarks, questioning the rationale behind their actions when they would corner you and Lucein. 

I didn’t realise you were so weak that you had to pick on our baby brother and his little friend.

Perhaps if you weren’t so obsessed with Lucien and his little girlfriend you might have figured how to channel fire by now.

Why do you always bother her, do you like her? Should I tell Father about your little crush on the girl from Dawn?

His words were often curt and abrasive, but they never failed to disrupt the relentless onslaught of ridicule. You were young then, your ability had only reared its head in your early adulthood. But you wondered what you might have noticed within his words if you had been able to hear.

Your loyalties always lay with Lucien, but as much as you hated to admit it- you couldn't deny the undeniable allure of the eldest Vanserra brother. Sure, Lucien was undeniably beautiful, that was a fact you didn't need reminding of. But there was an enigmatic quality to Eris that had always intrigued you. In your early adulthood, you often caught yourself searching for the eldest Vanserra brother during your visits to Lucien, a secret desire you hoped Lucien never caught wind of.

You pulled your eyes away, not allowing him the satisfaction of noticing any indifference on you. You honed into the rest of the discussions, aiding Lucien when needed to keep conversations moving freely and light.

The new peace treaty between the courts and the humans was still fresh and hung delicately in the air. Despite the fervent desire for discussions to revolve solely around diplomatic relations and fostering harmony, there were inevitably topics that couldn't be skirted around.

Rhysand had taken charge of ensuring that any lingering remnants of former enemies were swiftly disbanded. It appeared that, for the time being, any remaining threats had retreated into the shadows.

Good. You hoped they withered away in their caves. The resentment you harboured against the people who had caused your home, your land so much pain was something you were sure everyone in this room could relate to.

With a successful conclusion the meeting came to an end, leaving you with ample opportunity to mingle among the courts and assess the collective mood and gain insight to how this inaugural gathering had been perceived. A quick look at Lucien told you everything you needed to know, and you both swiftly walked in opposite directions to begin addressing the courts independently.

Tamlin was first on your left. And you offered him a respectful bow and small smile.

“Heard you’re abandoning me” there was that bitterness that always hung on his words nowadays. However the depressive lull of his tone wasn’t as prevalent as it once was.

“Tamlin” you spoke softly, with an endearing look. “Your court is about to embark on it’s renewal, something you should be tremendously proud of.”

His features were set in a tight expression, lines of frustration etched into his brow as he regarded you with a mixture of wariness and scepticism. His once noble visage now bore the marks of weariness and resentment, a shadow of the High Lord he had once been.

You continued “But with Lucien once being your emissary, we felt he had the best expertise when it came to resettling some of your residents, I’m sure seeing a familiar face will be reassuring to them” Tamlin's response was guarded, his jaw clenched as he absorbed your words. He couldn’t deny you were right.

You usually always were.

"Of course, I'm only a correspondence away if you truly need my help," you reassured him, reaching forward to give his forearm a delicate squeeze. "Don't be a stranger, Tamlin."

With a reluctant nod, Tamlin conceded to your words, his expression softening ever so slightly as he bid you farewell and winnowed away.

That went better than expected, you thought. Grateful that Tamlin’s days of tantrums seemed to be over, but you did worry for him and his court. You hoped he and Lucien would be able to work through their problems together and get Spring flourishing once more.

You knew of the friction between Tamlin and other courts, particularly Night. It was not lost on you. Lucien had provided insight into the underlying conflicts and grievances, filling you in on the gaps that gossip hadn’t shared. While you understood the ramifications of Tamlin's actions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of compassion for the Spring Court and its inhabitants.

You wanted to see Spring thrive once more, to provide a safe haven for those who had spent their lives within its borders. This was a goal both you and Lucein shared.

As Tarquin approached with a radiant smile, his white hair flowing gracefully over his blue and gold attire, you returned the gesture with a respectful bow of your head. His presence exuded warmth and vitality, his rich brown skin glowing under the gentle rays of dawn that filtered into the room.

"I believe you'll be taking care of Summer," he remarked, his smile widening as he acknowledged your new role.

"Tarquin, Varian," you greeted, inclining your head towards both him and his attendee with a bow. "I'm looking forward to supporting you both, and I have to say… I am a lover of the sun and sea, so I'm sure my visits to Summer will be my weekly highlight," you added with a light smirk, hoping to sweeten the interaction with a touch of flattery.

"I hope that will be the case,” Tarquin replied warmly, his tone filled with genuine enthusiasm. As he took your hand, you felt a rush of warmth as he pressed a gentle kiss upon it. “I look forward to our relationship and seeing what we can do together for my court, and of course for all of Prythian," he bid you farewell, and with a nod to Varian, they both winnowed away.

You didn’t need to rely on your ability to hear the unspoken to understand what that was. It was evident in the way Tarquin looked at you. A genuine fondness in his eyes, a warmth that spoke volumes. It was clear that he liked you…and attention from a handsome High Lord was not something you were opposed to. 

You felt a gaze and you looked back gently to see Lucien giving you a knowing look with a slight smirk. He’d seen the interaction then. You’re sure he’d have something snarky to say later about it.

༄ 

You were left with the looming shadowy energy that had been in the corner of the room – the Night Court. Azriel was to greet you first, stepping away as his High Lord and Lady were engrossed in a conversation with Winter.

You turned to the Shadowsinger, your hand outstretched in a very human gesture of greeting, a deliberate choice made by you and Lucien to foster bridges with both the Fae and humans. Adopting some of their mannerisms wouldn’t hurt. Plus, Azriel was your equal; you would not bow to him.

Azriel hesitated for a moment, a fleeting pause that had you searching for its cause. But that reluctance dissolved as you felt his large hand envelop yours. You felt the jagged edges of lines on his palm pressing against your soft skin, scars that covered every inch of his hand, that had you curious to what had caused such a thing. Without glancing down, your eyes remained locked on the Shadowsinger's gaze as you gently squeezed his hand back in a firm shake.

“It’s nice to finally put a name to a face,” Azriel spoke as your hands parted.

“I hope I don’t disappoint,” you teased, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Perhaps it was the familiarity that had grown in these past weeks that allowed such a remark to escape.

A glint of something unfamiliar flickered in Azriel’s eye, his lips quirking into a slight smirk. But before you could hear his words, you sensed the powerful presence of another, and you swiftly turned to bow to the Night Court's High Lord and Lady.

“Rhysand, it’s been a long time. It’s good to see you again,” you greeted warmly, recalling brief encounters at events when you were both much younger, before he’d even ascended to High Lord. 

Rhys nodded in agreement before introducing you to Feyre.

“Your reputation precedes you,” you remarked, turning to the High Lady, who returned your smile.

Cursebreaker. Cauldron-blessed. High Lady of the Night Court.

“As does yours. Lucien said he was enlisting the help of a trusted friend. Glad to see another female in the room,” Feyre replied, her tone light and welcoming.

“Ah, yes.” You gave a knowing nod to the outdated misogynistic rules of the land “I have a long-term plan. Just give it a year, and I believe it will be us females who dominate these meetings,” you joked playfully.

“Now that is something I would like to see,” Rhys teased, nudging his mate playfully.

Feyre laughed lightly before continuing, her voice carrying a warm tone. “We’ve been told we fall under your jurisdiction now.”

You nodded, acknowledging the shift. “I will be splitting my time equally across the courts under my care.”

“I’m glad,” Feyre replied, her gaze thoughtful. “Azriel said you were quite adept in your work. You've apparently got Spring Court back up and running”

You smiled at the mention of Azriel's appraisal. You noticed him shuffling slightly on his feet at his mention, his shadows swirling around him in an almost teasing manner “Nice to know someone was singing my praises,” you quipped, but you heard the unspoken words of Feyre’s remark. 

You knew of her time in Spring, a time she was definitely not fond of. But you could hear in her words that she was digging for something. “Sure, me and Tamlin have been able to collaborate for the renewal of his court. I’m pleased it has been so successful, to finally have it’s residents returning home”

Whether that was the response Feyre was hoping for you’re not sure, but she merely nodded her head. You excused yourself from their company to finally greet the flickering energy that had been heating it’s way across the room to you. You stood before Eris, his imposing presence overshadowed by his two brothers snickering behind him as you offered a respectful bow.

“Eris.” you greeted respectfully. There was a part of you that had been hesitant to look after Autumn, however you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them under Lucien. 

Eris merely smirked, his demeanour suggesting he relished the moment you had to bow before him. He reached out, his touch warm yet firm as he grasped your wrist and examined your sleeve with a critical eye.

“Leaves, really? I thought flames best represented my court,” he remarked, his tone teasing.

You withdrew your hand quickly, his touch feeling oddly inappropriate in the formal setting. It served as a stark reminder that regardless of your newfound title, you would always be seen as his little brother's best friend.

Swallowing hard, you met his gaze with narrowed eyes, defending your choice of attire. “Autumn has always symbolised a transitional time within the seasons, a new beginning. I felt it best represented the fresh start we are embarking on. I thought it mirrored the new chapter you seek as well.”

Eris’s brothers rolled their eyes behind him, but you held your ground, unyielding in your stance. Eris couldn’t refute your words; you had spoken the truth. With Beron’s reign over, Eris was indeed ushering in a new era for his court.

“You and your pretty words…” Eris mused, his tone bordering on slight admiration.

“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know your court falls under my jurisdiction,” you announced confidently.

“Oh good, do we get you for two months as well? Or do you only whore yourself off to Tamlin?” one of Eris’s brothers interjected with a crude remark. Eris shot his brother with a deathly reprimanding glance that shut him up instantly.

You bit back a retort, knowing that maintaining composure was paramount. Especially in this setting.

Instead you would use your pretty words and smart mouth.

“I didn’t realise Autumn felt neglected. I’ll make a note,” you replied evenly. “I will be visiting Autumn for two days every week, if that suffices. But if your court is in dire need of additional support, I can inquire with the other courts about allocating more time to you.”

“That will not be needed,” Eris replied curtly, cutting off any further discussion on the matter. He would not have any insinuation that his court needed support, that his reign was weak.

That was exactly the response you had expected. You gave him a knowing look, his stare challenging yours as a small smirk played on his lips. He was enjoying this you realised, enjoying your company, enjoying the challenge you presented. And as he gently licked his bottom lip, his gaze still prowling over you, you realised he was enjoying what he was seeing too.

As you stood in the midst of the exchange with Eris, you noticed a slight movement out of the corner of your eye. Sensing the shift in energy, you turned slightly to glance over your shoulder, finding the piercing gaze of the Shadowsinger fixed upon Eris. His eyes bore into Eris with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, an unmistakable venom simmering beneath the surface.

You were aware of their previous altercation, but you hadn’t realised how deep their hatred ran.

The Shadowsinger didn’t like any of the Vanserra brothers then– noted.

Eris, catching the subtle exchange, rolled his eyes lightly, a small huff escaping his lips, barely noticeable to anyone but you. 

"It'll be nice to see you among the autumn leaves again, y/n," Eris purred with an air of indifference before he and his brothers swiftly winnowed away. However for a split second you swore you saw it. When his amber eyes fell back to yours, you swore you saw that kindness he always kept hidden.

༄ 

As the last of the attendees left the meeting chamber, you and Lucien shared a glance, a mixture of relief and satisfaction evident in both your expressions.

"I think that went well," you remarked, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Lucien nodded in agreement, linking his arm with yours. "Better than expected, considering the diverse personalities we had to deal with." he chuckled with an eye roll.

You nodded in agreement, smiling softly with a playful glint in your eye. "Looks like the real work begins now, eh?"

Lucien laughed heartily, falling into step beside you as you made your way out of the chamber. 

“Make sure you’re being careful though” Lucien said in a moment of seriousness. You tilted your head to look at him, trying to understand what he meant in that. 

Was it your interaction with Tarquin, or something else entirely?

"I’m always careful Lucie” You replied, offering a reassuring smile before pivoting back.  “Let the peacekeeping begin." You declared, your fist pumping the air with determination.

Lucien couldn't resist a playful jab, muttering under his breath, "Why does this feel more like we're babysitting everyone?"

Laughter bubbled between the two of you as you exited the meeting chamber, ready to embrace the challenges of maintaining peace and unity among the courts.

How hard could peacekeeping be anyway?

Next Part >>

a/n: Sorry this took so long, and again I'm still setting the role and relationships up so it's gonna be a slow burn- but bare with! It'll be worth it <3 would love to know your thoughts on it all! Enjoyyyy - Lottie xx

[glossyfairytears]

if you could do a fem!yandere whos possessive but gentle and is trying to force feed the fem!reader, bonus points if the fem!yan is keeping the reader at her home!!

Coactu

Female Yandere X Fem Reader

Warnings: Talk of previous drugging, Talk of previous kidnapping, talk of force feeding, tied up, pet names (Sweetie, Good girl, Baby, Dear)

A/N It has been over a year since I added to Amoura's story T_T for those of you asking, don't worry I have a few things lined up for her. University is kicking my ass so I have had to lock in and study for a while.

“Come on, it’s been two days since you last ate”

You grimaced and turned your head away from her, causing Amoura to sigh.

It had been two days since she pulled you from your bed and took you to her home. Two days since she ripped your life away from you all the while saying it’ll be good for you, better for you to be hidden away from the world.

Your first day was spent being nauseous and out of it from the sedative. Almost wishing to be knocked out again if it meant avoiding the sedative’s hangover. Now, she had you cuffed to a chair with a couple of dishes in front of you. Knowing her, there was a good chance that the food was drugged. If it was not your food, then it would be your drink. you couldn't trust her after she kidnapped you, and rightfully so. No sane person would just blindly trust whatever their kidnapper gave them, regardless of how hungry they were.

Your stomach grumbled loudly, snapping you out of your thoughts. Amoura giggled, a prideful look on her face.

“I know you’re hungry, dear.” She waves a slice of buttered bread in front of you. “Be a good girl for me, you need to eat.”

Much to your stomach’s dismay, you still refuse. Amoura frowns and lets out a tired sigh.

“I really didn’t want to force you, sweetie, but you’re not giving me a choice here.” She steps towards you, causing you to pull against your binds. "Either you eat the food or I'll make you eat it, and we both know you don't want that. It's much better to eat it on your own isn't it?"

She has a point, but really there were no good options.

"I'm not eating that." You glared at her, "You probably drugged it, or worse."

Amoura shot you an offended look before taking a deep breath and exhaling through her nose.

"I did NOT drug it, but I might have to since you keep refusing to eat." She smiles, and you shrink a little into your chair. "you certainly can't fight if you're all drugged up, huh?"

She places the bread down and gets up, going towards the door, laughing a little as she hears you begin to struggle and call out for her.

"oh so now you want to eat, huh?" Amoura turns in the doorway, considering your pleas, "How do I know you won't just spit it out on me. I saw that look earlier."

"I won't, please just...don't drug me, I can--I will eat, please don't drug me again."

She takes a second to consider, but seems to decide to trust you, and you're glad for it. It may be drugged, but at least she won't be injecting you with whatever she used when she kidnapped you. You didn't want to feel that sick again.

Smiling, Amoura picks up the bread and slides onto your lap, straddling your legs, before holding the slice of bread up.

"Open wide, baby."

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IX ║ Warmblood

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹

Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.

Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.

This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season. 

When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.

The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.

‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.

With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’

Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’

You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’

‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’

You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’

He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’

Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’

Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress.  ‘Oh, Poppy.’

‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’

Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’

You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’

Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.

When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.

The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar - 

‘Darlin’?’

You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.

Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.

Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’

He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’

With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’

‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.

‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.

He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’

You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real. 

But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.

Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.

When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.

It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.

Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.

There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes. 

He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’

Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth. 

‘Yes, cowboy.’

The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze. 

The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too. 

It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over. 

Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself. 

You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down. 

Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -

An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’

He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’

You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’

When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body. 

‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’

A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.

From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.

It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.

Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’ 

He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.

But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.

‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’

Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’

Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’

Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’ 

It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.

There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.

‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.

‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.

He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’

Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’

‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.

‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’

Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’

Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’

Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’

Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’

‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.

‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’

There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.

‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.

You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’

There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’

You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.

When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.

The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.

The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.

The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.

Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.

You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.

Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’

The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back. 

Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag. 

‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’

‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’

She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’

Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’

‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’

Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather. 

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’

Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.

‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.

‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’

Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’

Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek. 

The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.

‘Ready, darlin’?’

You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.

The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off. 

Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat. 

Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.

It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.

He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’

You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’

Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’

Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’

You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.

‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.

He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’

Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you. 

Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ‘Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’

Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.

The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact. 

Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’

‘Pull over. Now.’

He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition. 

You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.

The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’

He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.

‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’

Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’

‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’

Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.

Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.

‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’

‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.

‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’

From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.

In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.

‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’

The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.

‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’

Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.

Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.

His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’

Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’

Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’

You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.

‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’

‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.

‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.

‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’

There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.

He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’

‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’

His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips. 

‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’

‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.

‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’

Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -

And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.

A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.

Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.

His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’

You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’

The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.

‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.

He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’

And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.

‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.

‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.

You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.

You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.

‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.

Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’

You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’

‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.

Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’

‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’

‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.

He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.

All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon. 

Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.

You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.

But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.

Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’

Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.

That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’

‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.

He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest. 

‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’

‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.

‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’

You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’

‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’

Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’

He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’

‘Just for me?’

And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.

You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’

He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’

You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.

Then it hits him. 

You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.

You’re not going to be there.

Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.

The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’

He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’

Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.

He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’ 

Jack glances at him with a questioning look.

He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’

His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’

With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.

Empty. He feels empty.

The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.

Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.

The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.

I want to ride off on a palomino

Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go

Why the hell am I even looking back for?

For I know, where you go my love goes

For I know, where you go my love goes

He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up. 

As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds. 

He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.

Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -

The same country roads that brought you to him.

Fin

More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.

I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.

There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️

LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.

Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.

Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.

Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!

Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!

Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.

Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!

Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.

Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!

Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!

A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities

And needless to say, thank you for every single one of you (I wish I could tag everyone but we'll be here all day!), every comment, reblog, ask, tag for Palomino. You have been an absolutely joy to write for, your love and encouragement kept me going, I really don't know how I've been so lucky, y'all have my heart forever ❤️

Last but not least, thank you @saradika for these adorable dividers!

[hamsterclaw]

Desecrate

A fall from grace causes you to stumble into the hands of a demon prince. Inspired by Lilith.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mention of murder, non-explicit attempted assault, angels and demons

Min Yoongi is older than most creatures to walk this Earth, this much he knows. It’s been years since he last felt that any of the petty skirmishes mortals involve themselves in was worth any of his interest or his time. 

Even though time, for him, stretches out, almost infinitely. 

He doesn’t know your face at all, but you catch his attention, and hold it. He can sense your mortality slipping through your fragile grasp as you grapple with the men holding you down. 

You’re not going to win, though he admires your grit. 

Yoongi’s no stranger to blood but he has no desire to watch you get used and torn to shreds. He’s moving on when your eyes meet his. 

You plead with him wordlessly, desperately, as the light dims in your eyes. 

Yoongi knows that this is a dangerous time, the twilight between living and dying. You’re straddling both worlds, dying even as you push uselessly at the hands around your neck. 

It would be facetious to say that Yoongi kills without a shred of remorse. It’s more truthful to say that he kills without a thought. 

He’s standing amidst the mess he made, you at his feet, your face pressed to the ground. 

You’re unconscious, but you’ll live, unlike the men Yoongi dispatched on your behalf. 

There’s something unbearable to him about the way the lovely line of your cheek is touching the dirt of this human dumping ground. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him, but he takes you with him as he leaves. 

***

You wake in stages, in a very human way. 

Your eyes flicker open, shut. Yoongi can hear your heart accelerate, your breathing quicken, he can see your muscles tense. 

Your mouth opens on an inhale, and your eyes flicker open again. 

‘Where am I?’ you rasp. 

Your voice is soft, plaintive, your vocal cords swollen from your assault. 

‘You’re in my home,’ Yoongi replies. 

When you turn your head to look at him, your eyes are more focused. 

‘And who are you?’ 

‘I saved your life,’ Yoongi tells you. 

He watches as your eyes scan the domed ceiling, the painted frescoes, the stained glass. Your gaze stops at a scene of the Madonna. 

Yoongi studies your profile, the dirt smudged on your cheekbone he’d not bothered to wipe off.

Your gaze returns to him.

‘You’re Min Yoongi.’

It’s not a question, but Yoongi’s compelled to answer anyway, because the fact that you’ve guessed his identity means there’s more to you than he first thought.

You sit up, and Yoongi wonders how he managed to miss the celestial aura emanating from you. 

Lords and beings.

You’re an angel.

Seokjin is never going to let him live this down.

Min Yoongi, ancient slayer of humans, demonic legend from the mediaeval history of man, saved an angel.

Yoongi gets up, lets a tiny fraction of his darkness show. His voice deepens, resonating through the chapel.

‘Leave.’

You’re frightened, he can see it in the way you’re tensed, body held taut like a bow.

‘I can’t. It’s the night of Pandemonium.’

Pandemonium marks the beginning of when the Gates of Hell open each year. From your reaction, Yoongi guesses you’re a young angel, limited in power, incapable of cloaking or protecting yourself.

He laughs sardonically. ‘I don’t think the home of the bulgasari Prince is the right place for an angel on the night of Pandemonium, do you?’

You clasp your hands.

‘I’m not an angel.’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘Not anymore. I was cast out.’

For the first time, Yoongi feels a flicker of interest.

He can feel the scales in his mind threaten to tip by the tiniest of margins. 

For the first time, he thinks he might not kill you.

Seemingly unaware of his internal debate, you take a step closer to him.

Towards the most dangerous being in the room.

Yoongi flicks his tongue over his lower lip, steps forward so you can see him in the red glow.

His human form is beautiful, drawing others in. Leading them to their own destruction.

He can see the way your pupils dilate, your tongue wets your bottom lip, as you see him clearly for the first time.

‘You want to stay with me?’ he asks, silky. He takes another step.

You tilt your chin so you can keep looking at him.

‘Show me how much you want to stay.’

Yoongi turns his head towards the painting above the hearth.

‘Destroy it.’

You turn to the painting. 

It’s from the 14th century, by a little known Italian painter called Diavollo, depicting the death of Santa Lucia. He was gifted it by a corrupt nobleman in exchange for his life. Yoongi had taken both. 

You cast a defiant look at him, rush towards the painting. You stop, head bowed, before it.

‘I can’t.’ 

‘You can,’ Yoongi says, pitching his voice low, letting the heat of it flare out to you.

You clasp your hands together again, despairing. ‘I can’t.’

Steps heavy, head bowed, you head for the door. 

You stop just inside the front entrance to the chapel, as if giving him a chance to change his mind before he sends you to certain death.

Yoongi’s had countless beings plead for mercy from him in his long life and he has never once given in.

There’s a stirring in the recesses of his mind as he admires your profile for the last time. It feels like longing.

Then you’re gone, door swinging closed behind you.

***

Yoongi dislikes gatherings like this, when the princes of Hell and their delegates celebrate their misdeeds in front of the beings who serve them.

If Seokjin hadn’t asked him to attend as a personal favour, Yoongi would be in his home.

Oddly, he’s not been able to look at the Diavollo since you gave your life rather than destroy it.

He wonders if that sort of foolishness is what got you exiled.

He’s thought about your face so much that when he sees you, he’s momentarily stilled.

You’re knelt at the feet of Malvarius, the highest ranking demon of Yeomna’s court, save for Seokjin, and Yoongi himself.

Yoongi watches with revulsion as Malvarius scratches a bloodstained nail along the line of your neck, stopping at the iron collar around your throat.

Malvarius wraps his fist in the chain attached to your collar, tugs.

You fold to the ground in a heap of loose limbs and the sheer drapery he’s dressed you in.

Yoongi finds he still doesn’t care to see your face against the ground.

He approaches the demon, and you.

When you see him, there’s a flicker in your eyes.

‘She’s mine,’ Yoongi says, unceremoniously, to Malvarius.

Malvarius, the treacherous devil, says smoothly, ‘Pardon me?’

‘I made her a deal,’ Yoongi replies, preternaturally calm. ‘She owes me.’

Malvarius sits up, and Yoongi realises there’s a crowd gathering.

It doesn’t take much to have demons baying for blood.

Malvarius draws himself up to his full height.

‘Do you mean to say, Yoongi, that you own the soul of Azariel’s only daughter?’

Yoongi blinks.

Azariel, the most revered of the archangels, is a name that strikes fear even in the hearts of the most seasoned of demon princes.

You’re Azariel’s daughter? 

Yoongi remembers the way you cried over the Diavollo as you walked to your death.

You’d not used your father’s name as a bargaining chip. 

Yoongi says, coolly, ‘One fallen angel is just like any other.’

‘She’s a lusty slut,’ Malvarius remarks. ‘Can’t stop opening your legs for me, can you, angel?’

You gasp in pain as he pulls up on the chain, making you dance on your toes to keep from being choked.

Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for the sight of you in pain, either.

‘Give me what’s mine,’ he says, bored. ‘Or we can ask Yeomna to mediate.’

At the mention of the lord of Hell, Malvarius scowls. The last time he clashed with Seokjin, Yoongi had come very close to removing his power, Yeomna’s rules be damned.

He tosses the chain on the stone floor with a clang.

‘To your new master,’ he says, with little grace.

Yoongi removes the collar from around your neck.

‘Follow me,’ he commands.

Yoongi leads you through the debauchery, ignoring your gasps and sobbing breaths as you step through blood, entrails, sex. 

It’s only when you’ve followed him all the way back to his door that he speaks to you.

‘I’m deciding what to do with you,’ he tells you. ‘You will stay here, whilst I decide.’

‘My father won’t engage in barter for me,’ you say immediately. ‘He’d as soon as I was dead as alive.’

‘You must have done something terrible, angel.’ 

Your mouth clamps shut, lips flattening into a straight line.

‘Did you kill?’ Yoongi asks. ‘Maim?’

You barely react to his taunting tone.

‘Were you envious? Greedy?’

You’re quiet.

‘You’re not wrathful,’ Yoongi observes. 

He waits until your eyes meet his.

‘That leaves pride, and lust?’

From the way your face tightens he knows he’s stumbled upon his answer.

Yoongi lets his eyes travel to your beautiful form in the sheer silk you’re draped in.

Your breasts press against the material, rounded, enticing, and as he looks, your nipples tighten visibly.

‘Ah,’ Yoongi says, voice dropped to barely a whisper. ‘He said you were lustful.’

Yoongi leans down, close to your cheek, and enjoys the way you shiver as he breathes on your skin.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your skin, and your pupils dilate so much your eyes are practically black.

Your lips part on his name, and Yoongi, for the first time in a long while, feels a surge of lust.

You stay completely still as he touches your cheek.

‘What do you want from me, angel?’ Yoongi taunts. ‘Aren’t you fallen enough?’

Your breath trembles in your chest as his fingers tighten on your face.

‘Come,’ says Yoongi. ‘Show me how you fell.’

He lets go of your face to caress the swells of your breasts, and you gasp, but you don’t stop him.

Instead, you arch your back to press your breasts into his palms.

‘You want more?’ Yoongi asks. He knows you do.

He grasps the front of your gown, rips it all the way down.

Your thighs tighten on his hand as he reaches between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand explores you, leisurely, slow, until you’re twitching and trembling.

Your nipples are so sensitive now that when Yoongi rolls his tongue around one you buck your hips into his hand.

‘Uhngh,’ you moan. 

Yoongi thumbs the bud at the top of your sex, and your warmth pulses around his fingers.

Wet, hot, tight.

Yoongi drags his tongue along the round of your breast, and your breathing hitches.

Your nipples are so puffy and erect they almost look painful.

You whine as he grasps your rounded flesh. The sound causes a stirring, low in his belly.

Yoongi’s cock swells at the sounds you make. You’re so pleasured, breathless, and he’s barely making any effort.

He’s already almost fully erect when your soft hand brushes the front of his groin.

‘Bold for an angel,’ he says.

There’s a spark in your eyes, clouded with lust. 

‘How many angels have you defiled, Lord Min?’

Yoongi considers your question as his eyes roam your beautiful body.

‘None,’ he tells you.

You smile, and you’re so pretty he can’t take his eyes off you.

‘Luckily, I’m not an angel any more.’

Yoongi smirks. ‘Let me show you how the other side lives.’

He turns, and you follow.

***

You’re lost, Yoongi isn’t sure when it happened, probably between your fourth, maybe fifth peak.

He’s covered in your arousal, he can taste you on his lips, on his tongue. His cock’s still so rigid inside you he’s aching, caught in the delirium between pleasure and pain.

He plunges into your wet warmth, rocking his hips against yours.

Your arms are limp, one draped around his neck, just barely holding on, the other splayed out, fingers uncurled. You look dazed, fucked out, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

You cry out as Yoongi moves, dragging his cock against the walls of your cunt, and he notes with grim satisfaction how hoarse your voice now is.

‘Yoongi,’ you beg, ‘wanna feel you.’

‘You’ll feel me,’ he promises.

You shake your head. ‘I want to feel your pleasure.’

Yoongi groans as you hold your legs apart for him, letting him see exactly how he cleaves you apart , the way he looks entering your core.

He wraps a hand around your neck, tight, and your eyes close. Your hand snakes around his wrist, urging him on.

You’re clenching around him so sweetly Yoongi’s disarmed, and when you press a kiss to his temple he releases, shouting your name, spilling inside you.

Belatedly, he remembers to loosen his grip around your neck, and as you remain still he feels an unnerving wave of fear that he might have hurt you.

He says your name, and you stir. Relief floods through his chest. 

‘Stay,’ you mumble into his chest. ‘Stay.’

Yoongi curls his arm around you, a display of skinship he’s unused to but that you seem to want.

He wonders, curious, why he’s swayed to want to give you what you want.

***

You wake during the night. 

Yoongi’s flat on his back, arm propping up his head. He watches with dark amusement as you look your fill at his naked form. 

‘You’re too wide-eyed considering you have my seed all over you,’ he drawls. 

You blink at him. ‘I was surprised to wake, my lord.’

‘You thought I’d kill Azariel’s fallen daughter?’ Yoongi muses, not bothering to acknowledge how close to the truth you are. 

‘You do have a reputation, Lord Min,’ you say, so seriously that it takes him a moment to realise you’re teasing him. 

He’s startled into laughter that sounds rusty even to him. 

You turn over, breasts spilling onto the silk bedcovers, lush and beautiful like you were made to tempt him. 

His cock stirs, and it doesn’t escape your notice, minx that you are. 

You reach for him, gentle, soft against his hardness. 

Yoongi groans, eyes never leaving you as you stroke him. Your lips part on a breath, tongue flicking between. The cavern of your mouth feels like the heaven Yoongi will never know. 

He’s never rued being born a demon prince until this moment. 

Yoongi pulls you off his rigid shaft, seeks the warmth between your legs. You’re already gasping, spreading to take him, so soft and slick and willing he can barely hold himself back. 

His hand finds its way around your neck again, squeezing, and the pleasure ramps up a thousandfold. 

Your back arches as you peak, and this time Yoongi doesn’t have the patience to deny himself. He groans into your hair as he fills you, remembers to loosen his grip. 

You’re emboldened to press a kiss to his lips, a moment of contact so searing Yoongi’s jolted out of his post-pleasure daze. 

Neither of you speak, and neither of you makes a move to leave. 

***

It’s just past dawn when Yoongi stirs to the back of your entirely naked body. 

You’re getting re-dressed, helping yourself to his clothes. 

‘I should go,’ you say. 

Yoongi hadn’t realised you’d noticed he was awake. 

Pandemonium has passed, but Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for any possibility that you might get hurt. 

He rises, unclasps a chain from around his neck, fastens it around your own. The ancient rune now hanging between your collarbones is distinctly, identifiably, his. 

There aren’t many who would seek his wrath. 

‘My father will —--’ 

‘Rue the day he let you fall into the hands of a demon prince?’ suggests Yoongi. 

The hint of a smile plays around your lips, and Yoongi can’t tear his eyes away. 

‘I’ll be back,’ you say. There's a faint question in your voice.

‘See that you are,’ Yoongi replies. 

You bow slightly. ‘My lord.’ 

You take your leave, and Yoongi allows himself to watch you go until you slip between two buildings, and then you’re gone. 

©hamsterclaw 2023

[monzamash]

possessive!Carlos is one of my absolute faves, so no. 27 for him pls?

27. “i'm not jealous, you're just mine.” rating – mature 18+ (smut, swearing, possessive language, google translated spanish because i'm an uncultured swine) word count – 1.3k a/n – look, i love carlos - think he's gorgeous, but i struggled ya'll. i've learned a lot from writing this so that's something! hopefully you enjoy it x masterlist

The softest giggle you’d been suppressing slipped past your tightly zipped lips, your body completely betraying you as you read over the text you’d just received – a stupid but insanely cute dog meme from your new work colleague, who just happened to be a man.

The reason you tried to quash your amusement was sitting right beside you, huffing every time your phone vibrated between the two of you on the lounge, completely taking you away from him and into your screen. And you sympathised. If the tables were turned, tables would’ve physically been thrown upside down.

You and Carlos were fiery and the passion had been palpable from the moment you locked eyes at a mutual friends wedding – he could blame it on his Spanish heritage but you had nothing. Nada. You were hot headed, strong willed and stubborn, which was why you couldn’t just ignore someone because he didn’t like it. Hell, you almost wanted to do it more whenever his thick eyebrows furrowed and he peeked over at your phone silently. Nosily.

“That better not be the work friend again,” He murmured under his breath, eyes now back on the mounted television that was lighting up the dark room.

“He’s just being silly, darling – relax and watch your game,” You soothed in response, hands still cradling your phone as Carlos grumbled and turned his eyes back to the Real Madrid vs Man City match filling the now awkward silence.

That was until your phone started ringing, your mystery friend’s caller ID in bold letters spelling, Cameron popped up and caught the full, undivided attention of your otherwise sweet, unruffled significant other. And he wasn’t happy – you could almost say he was seeing red. Before you could decline the call and salvage the situation, Carlos lunged over the discarded bowl of corn chips and snatched your phone, eyes black and uncompromising.

Hello? No she’s busy right now having dinner with her boyfriend. Yes she has a boyfriend… Carlos’ eyes narrowed, fuming that you'd failed to mention him and you shrugged, the one sided conversation giving you way more entertainment than the football playing in the background. No, you cannot call her back. Call ended.

“You done?” Your question came out a little more vexed than intended. Carlos’ head snapped your way, eyes darker than the night sky above as he flipped your phone back into your lap with a scoff.

“I think he got the message, no?” He muttered, arm slinging around your shoulders and resting on the couch behind, closing the gap between you. Possessively.

“And I think you’re an arsehole.”

“Ahh, I’m not an arsehole. I’m just making him know what’s what. No worries.” He replied, nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just totally crossed the line with your co-worker and made you feel like an idiot.

“You making him ‘know what’s what’ makes you look like a possessive dick, baby and I know you’re not like that normally so what the hell? Is it because you’re jealous? You’re jealous aren’t you!?

Carlos was beyond exasperated now, hands flailing about expressively as he tried to conjure some kind of response – but coming up short as his temper started to take over. He wasn’t possessive by nature but he didn’t like people taking what was his, especially not the woman he’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with. Not on his fucking watch.

“No soy!” I'm not was all he could come up with and you were unconvinced, wickedly grinning as you slung your leg over his lap, straddling his hips and literally pinning him down for an answer.

“Yes you are – I can see it in those dark, mysterious eyes,” You teased, cracking his stoic façade little by little.

Carlos huffed and toyed with the hem of you skirt that was mocking, eyes glued to the dip of your waist, begging to be gripped. And so he did, firmly, holding you in place and ever so slightly rocking you forward, tauntingly. The mood had shifted – you both knew that but you still wanted him to admit that he was envious of not having your full attention, it turned you on thinking that he’d ruin any man who ever put a move on you. On his.

“I’m not jealous, mi amor.” Carlos started, fingers skimming down your inner thighs, “It’s just you’re mine – and I’m yours. Simple como eso.” Simple as that.

It was hard to hide the smirk tugging on the corners of your lips, internally cheering your small victory but he sounded so genuine, too sweet to gloat and he was speaking truth. “All yours.”

Carlos hummed in agreement as you felt the pad of his thumb brush over your clit – the rough, sudden circles causing your mouth to fall open in a moan. You fell forward and rested your forehead on his, trying to form a coherent thought but coming up with absolutely nothing except soft moans, the only noise you could muster before your lips were seized, captured by his. Soft kisses turned to desperate ones, deeper ones as you freed him from the confines of his shorts – the Ferrari logo looking better on the floor than on his thigh.

“So pretty on your knees for me.” Carlos’s husky voice rang through your ears, mouth watering from the anticipation, “Where you belong.”

Mmm-hmm, you hummed, mouth full and eyes watering as you took every inch he had for you, tongue wagging. A hoarse moan tumbled from his throat as he occupied yours, loving nothing more than watching Carlos unravel and succumb to the pleasure that your lips were so graciously giving him. Sharp panting, fingernails digging into your skull and the tight grip on the crown of your head were all tell-tale signs that he was right in that sweet spot. Ascending to heaven. 

Mutterings of thick Spanish tumbled from his parted lips as he fucked your mouth, chasing his high, head banging back against the lounge. Mierda, he whispered, spilling all over your tongue before he slid down your throat again, now pushing you to the limit. You gagged, and looked up through hooded eyes, observing the man you loved completely under your control.

One last languid snap of the hips and he was done. You could tell he satisfied with his work as he peered down and watched as you licked your salty lips, mascara and sweat staining your flushed cheeks. You were fucked and you looked it as his fingertips brushed over your tensed jaw, Gracias.

Carlos tenderly interlocked your hands in his and carefully tugged you back into his lap, desperate to taste himself on your tongue. And you happily obliged, snaking your arms around his shoulders and sinking into his warm embrace, lips intensely locked.

“I have a secret to tell you,” You finally mumbled, pulling apart and taking a deep, revitalising breath. Your fingers were entrenched in his thick locks of hair – combing them back into place after all the tugging he’d done during his frenzied high.

Carlos hummed, eternally eager to know all of your secrets, “We’re having dinner with Cameron and his husband next week so that'll be interesting now, won't it?”

It took Carlos a couple of seconds and a flurry of blinks of his wide eyes to process your words. Husband. This man had a husband. His typically sharpened jaw slacked in shock and his grip around your waist took your breath away, again. “No, no, no! Mi amour! Why didn’t you tell me before I did what I did?"

“Because I like it when you lay down the law and I like it even more when you show me that I’m yours… How could I resist?” You cooed, smoothing your hands down his thumping chest with a smile that was mirrored on his handsome face. Head shaking.

“Give me your phone so I can call him back, plēz.”

Carlos wasn't defeated. He sounded more relieved that he could scratch one person off his hit list, wishing it was that easy to fight off the rest of the men who crossed your path. He trusted your judgement, always, but that didn’t mean he sat back, by standing while they made their move. And you loved how protective he was, how loved you were by a man with such integrity. Even if it was a little silly from time to time. But that's what you signed up for.

You were his and he was yours – for life.

let me know what you think!