#flower tree price | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitten-fruit · 2 months

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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

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queers-gambit · 7 months

Text

You Might Think It's Foolish

prompt: meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: short and to the point, angst, hurt and no comfort, drama, relationship angst, stand alone, cursing, toxic family, toxic relationship...? barely edited, author's tired of her drafts.

browse Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Fall. Autumn. A time of shedding the old and preparing for the new. Perhaps that was why this happened - the universe was trying to shed what was unwelcome in your life. Yet you wouldn't see it this way for several long months.

The trees grew over the winding backroads in a curved canopy; creating a golden tunnel for visitors to pass through on their way to remote destinations. You were no exception, cruising at a leisure speed while taking slow, deep breaths to attempt to soak in the beauty autumn in the Northern Hemisphere brought. It was impossible not to feel enraptured by the serenity of the country roads, music set so you could hear it but still have a conversation if you wanted.

Your passenger princess told you it was the next right.

"I can't believe we're late," you whispered, sighing in strained stress. "This is a horrible first impression, Aemond."

"We won't even be the latest," he smirked.

"Doesn't matter, it's still rude to show up when the party's already started."

"We were busy."

"You were getting a new tattoo," you deadpanned.

"Exactly as I said - busy. And you got your third ear piercing, so, I don't want t'hear it."

You swallowed, making the right turn. "That's the house?" You gawked.

"Mhm," he gazed out his window, "welcome to the Targaryen Manor, princess."

"I forget you're from old money," you muttered, finding a suitable parking space and pulling in. You gathered your belongings, including the flowers from the backseat you insisted on bringing for his mother, and vacate the car.

"You're gonna be fine," Aemond smirked, tossing his arm around your neck as you moved up the walkway. "Just be yourself, laugh at their jokes - you'll fit right in."

"I feel like I can't even afford to be here," you whispered, approaching the front door. He chuckled and took your hand, letting you squeeze it tight as he opened the door and lead you inward. "Jesus, Mary Mother, and Joseph," you gaped, eyes bugging wide as the interior.

The term "fancy" didn't even begin to cover it.

And Aemond just smirked at you, amused by your response; knowing your family grew up without money and the nicest thing you owned for years was a Wii that had been purchased from a family-friend for a third of the price. So to see you here, amongst luxury and money, was an absolute treasure to him.

However, that was short lived, because the next thing you noticed was the amount of people milling around. There was at least 13 different people in sight, and for some reason, you knew there was likely many, many more. Aemond lead you into the kitchen, and from there, you could barely keep up.

First, you met his mother, Alicent. She was a kind woman, but stoic and calculating; observant with a quick wit. She intimidated you, made you feel small, burned you under her stare; and since you were dating her favorite child, you knew she was scrutinizing you. You felt desperate for her approval, and when you offered her the large bouquet of flowers, she actually let her lips twitch in a small smile. She thanked your generosity and consideration, making you feel like you had some kind of breakthrough with her.

When Alicent went to put the flowers in water, Aemond assured he thought his mother "adored" you before introducing you to his father - the birthday boy. He was sweet; soft spoken and bright-eyed; all too happy to have a conversation with you. He asked how you and Aemond met, then what you were studying in university, if you liked it, what you wanted to do with your degree. He asked what food was your favorite, if you played sports, about your family, and if you had any hobbies. Viserys Targaryen had a kind soul, making you wonder how he and Alicent remained married.

Though they say opposites attract.

Aemond showed you around the house, stopping to introduce family members; then heading to the backyard where you were drug around to meet the hundred other family members. You were close to tears the whole time, knowing it was his father's birthday, but not knowing how bloody big his fucking family was - and that they'd all show up today. You felt blindsided, it felt like a deliberate withholding of information to convince you to come. You were under the impression it was a family dinner, but now, you understood, it was an actual celebration.

There was people everywhere you looked, everywhere you turned. Voices spoke over one another, children ran around playing tag or jumping on a trampoline; babies cried and screamed, the grill was loud with sizzling meats, and a radio played through intermittent static. Multiple dogs ran around, trailing mud everywhere, even going as far as to shake their coats out to shower bystanders. The smell of charcoal, smoke, and chlorine mingled with that tangy-good scent of BBQ; but it made your eyes sting.

It was a sensory overload.

It was a miracle you hadn't burst into tears yet, but you remained anchored to reality by maintaining a close proximity to Aemond.

You held his hand in a vice grip. You held his bicep with a curled-grip that left fingernail indentations in his skin through the fabric. You held his waist, belt loops, anything you could grab onto in a possessive grip. You constantly touched him to reassure yourself he was still with you; being your anchor to reality, tangible and real since your anxiety drowned you in a sea.

You didn't think it was an issue. Didn't think anyone would notice, so you obviously didn't think anyone would care if they DID notice. You liked touching Aemond, it kept you grounded; if someone had an issue with that, it was 100% just a personal problem. However, plenty of people did notice, and when you sat down for dinner, you were unprepared for the ambush.

Conversation was flowing; food passed around and utensils scraped plates. Drinks sweat into the table cloth, citronella candles twinkled, and laughter was in an abundance as each person found merriment in their family. You were feeling more relaxed, but the truth was, there was so many people here that you felt nauseous enough to only take a few small bites from your plate.

Aemond noticed and met your eyes, subtly opening his hand to you in an offer for comfort. You all but snatched his hand into yours, smiling in thanks as he only smirked broadly and continued eating. You tried to sample what you could, but it was impossible to stomach much of anything. You reached for your water, took a sip, and heard Alicent question your name.

When she had your attention, Alicent asked, "Have you had many boyfriends, dear?"

"Oh, no," you answered honestly, "no, I've gone on dates but Aemond's," you laid your free hand to his bicep, sliding down to take his hand with yours, "my first boyfriend."

She hummed and stabbed her fork into the salad set in front of her, muttering in a lower tone, "Then I guess I can overlook it all."

You cocked your head, setting your glass down, wondering, "Overlook what?"

"The clinginess," she shrugged, reaching for her wine glass. "You've been stuck to his side all day - never even parting to go to the restroom, it seems. So, because he's your first, I can overlook all this... For now."

Your head began to spin like in a bad cartoon. You felt your heart cement and drop to your stomach; throat swelling to suppress either sobs, vomit, or both. The entire table was quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Targaryen," you offered in confusion. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, but it's not with malicious intent."

"No?" She mocked.

"No," your head shook vehemently. "I did not realize my actions could be interpreted negatively, and I assume you, it was not my intention to create tension."

"Oh, spare me. You haven't let go of Aemond once all night, and even now, as we all sit for family dinner, you hold his hand hostage; preventing you both from eating. Don't you think he'd like to spend time with his family without needing to make you feel included in every single thing he does or says today?"

You gulped, "I did not mean to offend you nor your family."

"It's not offensive," Helaena Targaryen, Aemond's only sister, tried to intervene. "If you feel uncomfortable in any situation, why not seek out that in which you already know helps comfort you?"

How had it come to this?

"I am not offended," Viserys croaked, "I find young love refreshing."

But this made Alicent rage, "It is offensive when you prevent Aemond from actually visiting with his family. It's his father's birthday for God's sake! We don't have an infinite number of them left! If you want to hang all over him when you're at university, fine, but when you're here? In public? Around family or elders? It's not acceptable behavior, especially when you prevent my son from participating as a member of this family."

Your mouth went dry as you remembered your parents did not raise you to ever tolerate disrespect. If someone offered insult, sure, walk away, but they also taught you to stand up for yourself in particular fights. This felt like one of those fights.

There were also vivid memories long since repressed that flashed you back to your own parents telling you, you were clingy. They didn't want you hanging off them, distracting anyone, being an overall nuisance; so they started fighting your fire with their own. They became verbally aggressive, constantly ridiculing and belittling you; attempting to keep you humble by insulting your character - saying nobody (be it man or woman) would want someone like you. Your baggage was too heavy and you knew it, your parents telling you it was why you felt the need to cling in the first place.

If you held on tight enough, the weight of your trauma would eventually anchor your person in place. It'd be too late to swim away once that anchor sunk.

You looked at Aemond, thinking he'd tell his mother to quiet down, but he never did. He just stared at the table, so, you tossed his hand into his lap - feeling disgusting by his physical touch right now.

It was evident he wasn't going to defend you, so, you defended yourself, "I know you might think it foolish, but the reason I was 'all over' your son was because I was caught off-guard by the number of family members who attended today. I was lead to believe this would be a small, intimate affair so I could properly meet his nuclear family, and when I realized that was not the case, yes, I held onto Aemond because I felt incredibly anxious. I cannot control what makes me uncomfortable, but I was expecting under ten people - not close to a hundred. So, truly, if me seeking solace with my boyfriend upsets you, I am sorry, but I will not apologize for feeling blindsided and misdirected - I will not apologize for feeling anxious and nervous amongst such a large family that I've never met before, and - "

Aemond snapped your name, silencing you instantly out of sheer shock; your eyes widening a fraction. He growled, "That's enough, do not speak to my mother like that."

"So, she's allowed to call me clingy, but I can't - "

"I told you to watch your mouth," he seethed, "and not speak to her like you just were. She made an observation - an accurate one - not out of spite, like you want to do in retaliation."

You scoffed, while glancing between mother and son, nodding slowly. You mutely used your cloth napkin to blot around your lips, swipe your tongue over your teeth as you pushed your chair back and slowly stood. "You know what? I don't need this shit. I refuse to sit here and let you speak to me as if you're holier than thou," you told Alicent, then looking to Aemond, "nor will some mama's boy gaslight me."

Helaena giggled behind her hand as you swiped your purse and phone, turned on your heel, and walked away. Aemond sighed and called your name, standing from his own chair, still trying to slow you down by calling out to you. "Aemond," Alicent snapped when he meant to move after you.

"You've done enough," he told her, jogging after your retreating form while calling your name.

"Nice one, Mum," Aegon scoffed. "That's one way to make sure he doesn't knock her up - just break them up."

"Aegon," Daeron groaned.

"What? Isn't that what she was afraid of? Aemond getting too serious with her?" Aegon snapped. "He's finally happy, and you what? Had to implode that?"

Aegon's words sunk into his mother's heart as Aemond rushed after you, nobody untouched by the things he said.

Outside, you rushed for your car while fumbling with your purse and keys. Aemond followed, still. He finally caught up when you made it to the car, his hand whipping you around to face him.

"I didn't fucking mean it," he rushed, holding you securely in his grasp. "Hear me? I didn't fucking mean it, I-I just wanted the arguing to stop, I know how Mum can get and I didn't want it to escalate. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't mean it at you - I just - I panicked - I don't know why. Perhaps we're both still very green to this whole relationship thing."

"Oh! Fuck you," you snapped, pushing him off you.

"Listen to me - "

"No, you're done talking," you raged with your manicured pointer finger jabbing the air between you in a dramatic fashion. "Your mother fully insulted me in front of everyone - your entire family, whom I wasn't even aware I was meeting, nor was I even ready to meet!"

"What?"

"I was willing to meet your parents and siblings. Not your entire extended family! You meet the nuclear family first and when ready to level-up, you bring your significant other around your aunties, uncles, cousins - whatever. You ambushed me," you snapped. "You totally caught me off guard - but instead of apologizing and acknowledging my discomfort, you just carried on on your high horse. You let me hold onto you - yet there was no word about being clingy - and you even reached for my hand a few times! Yet I was the one being slandered and labeled as 'clingy'!? But you know what? That's cool, really fucking cool, that's fine. Like I said before, fuck off. I don't need to be with someone who crumples like a wet piece of paper when Mummy Dearest starts to huff and puff. I need someone who's going to tell their mother to cut it out when they're trying to wrongfully insult me - your girlfriend. Better yet? I need to be with someone whose mother doesn't start on that bullshit! That has respect! Decency! Now get the fuck away from me!"

You shoved him back a few steps to give room for you to open your car door and get in - immediately hitting the automatic locks. You started the engine, put your seatbelt on, took one last look at your first love as he tried to plea with you through the rolled up window, then shifted into gear and pulled away.

You felt your anger boil to a new height when you replayed the entire day. How dare Aemond? How dare he try to manipulate this situation? He had no right to ask you to shut the fuck up while his mother was free to run her mouth! Well, first and foremost, how fucking dare Alicent insult and challenge you in such a public setting? How in the Seven Hells had Helaena been the only one to defend you? What the hell did you even need defending against? Why did you showing affection and needing reliable support upset Alicent that much?

Your phone began to ring, and when you glanced at it, you saw Aemond's contact photo displayed on the screen. You ignored it and put your phone on airplane mode, leaving it on for now. However, after a few long moments of stressful thinking, you turned the setting off and called your sister - knowing no matter what, she'd be your rock. When she answered, you told her a simplified version of events, and at the end, your tears had been triggered and she was encouraging you to come over to her house.

You agreed, shut your phone off this time, and drove to your sister's place. When you arrived, you were shocked to find her waiting in the driveway, opening her arms with a pout when you got out of the car. "C'mere," she cooed, enveloping you in her arms when you stepped into her embrace.

"Why do boys suck?" You whimpered.

"Because that's just how they were programed," she sighed.

"Sh-She called me clingy," you managed through your tears, "his mom called me clingy, a-and Aemond d-didn't defend me. So, when I had to defend myself, he just told me to be quiet 'cause his mother wasn't wrong - or what-the-fuck-ever."

"I know, honey," she sympathized, giving you a squeeze. "What're you thinking?"

"That I can't trust someone like that," you admitted. "And if I can't trust them, why be in a relationship?"

She nodded, "I think you know what you need to do next."

"I don't want to."

"Nobody really wants to, but it's necessary," she held your phone out for you after pulling it from your back pocket. "Don't let him or his mother disrespect you - especially in front of his other family members. I mean, shit, how're you supposed to face any of them again after that?"

"Exactly, his mom didn't exactly do it in private..."

"See?" She stared at you while you sighed, shaking your head. Your sister encouraged, "Make the call. This isn't a sustainable relationship, and Aemond shouldn't have to choose his mother and his girl - so, let's just make it easy on him, and you choose. Wanna be with someone who lets his mother say shit like that to you? Who tells you to be quiet, instead of shutting down his mother's insults?"

You frowned, whispering, "I don't think this is enough to break us up. It shouldn't be, right? This shouldn't be the end-all, be-all, should it?"

"No, honey, but the disrespect cannot stand, either," she shot back. "If he felt so comfortable to say that in front of his family like that, you don't wanna know what he's gonna get comfortable doing in more private settings." Tears filled your eyes as she reminded gently, but firmly, "Make the call."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

Clingy Baby masterlist

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citrlet · 1 month

Text

because i was asked for what mods i use, i decided i'll just make a whole post!

most of everything here is pretty cottagecore/naturey~

under the cut because my game is heavily modded this list is long!!

visual

medieval buildings

way back pelican town

seasonal cute characters base / expanded / east scarp

all cuter animal replacements

vibrant pastoral 1.6 (temporary fix)

overgrown flowery ui

medieval craftables

dynamic night time

cottagecore fences

lamps

gwens paths

animated gemstones

foliage redone foliage only

rosedryads fairies

elle's town animals

sve facelift

more grass

medieval dnt

flowergrass and snowfields

expansion fish redesign

clothing / hairs

more accessories and stuff

cozy scarves

hoods and hoodies

vanilla pants and skirts

the coquette collection

seasonal hats

ani's colour collection

improved and new hairstyles

kyuyas hairstyles pack

furniture

idalda furniture recolor

h&w outdoor furniture

h&w fairy garden furniture

west elm furniture

nano's retro style furniture

asters big furniture pack

gameplay / mechanics

cjb cheats menu (just to walk a little faster)

cjb show item sell price

greenhouse gatherers

craftable mushroom boxes

advanced casks

lumisteria serene meadow

growable forage and crop bushes

cornucopia more flowers / more crops

atelier wildflour crops and forage pack

wear more rings

tree transplant

passable crops

no fence decay redux

multi yield crops

crop fairy

challenging community center bundles

better chests

automate

spawn supply crates on beach

expanded storage

bigger backpack

blue eggs and golden mayo

better ranching

npc map locations

data layers

expansions

stardew valley expanded

east scarp / lurking in the dark / never ending adventure / always raining in the valley

lumisteria visit mount vapius

misc

jen's cozy cellar

cozy farmhouse kitchen

asters walls and floors megapack

wrens expanded greenhouse

cuter coops and better barns

nicer sewer

also recommended

hudson valley buildings

elle's seasonal buildings

seasonal fences

ridgeside village

immerisve farm map 2

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley mods #stardew valley mod list #stardew valley mods list #i just know some players are probably like apalled i've modded it so much haha #i just downloaded a load of these today #i wanted to dive headfirst into a fairycore style playthrough #i also used to have ridgeside installed but i think im going to take a break from it #with the other expansions things get a little too overwhelming for me real quick

828 notes · View notes

gurugirl · 4 months

Text

Can We Start Over? | Ch. 1 The Winter Ball

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 1. Summary: You meet Harry at your boss's retirement party and your night ends with a bang.

Word Count: 10k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, alcohol consumption, angst

Can We Start Over? masterlist

The winter ball was something Mr. Spector threw every year for his clients, colleagues, and other wealthy people he wanted to be seen with. This one was like the past three you’d attended, but unlike the others, this would be the last. Your boss, Mr. Spector was retiring, and he was moving to Italy. You were happy for him. Truly. He’d been good to you the past three and half years you spent working for him. You took on the duty of a personal assistant and friend. The friend part came naturally, of course. It wasn’t part of your job description but you honestly really liked Mr. Spector. He wasn’t nice to most people. But to you, he was kind of like the dad you never had. He was hard-nosed but he was fair and somehow you two just clicked.

You worked for one of the most elite household talent staffing companies out there. Your clients usually consisted of, not just wealthy people, but filthy rich and usually the kind that wanted to fly under the radar and needed the utmost discretion. In Mr. Spector’s case, he didn’t want his spiteful children to know how much he was really worth. Sure they were in the will, and they’d certainly do well upon his passing (that was all they seemed to care about), but they’d never see the real number of his assets until it was too late and everything was already doled out according to Mr. Spector’s wishes.

And so you helped him in any way you could to achieve this façade. You found a private accountant for him to move money about and helped him keep the appearance of not having the kind of money he actually did. You suggested, for example, that he not buy the Rolls Royce but that the Mercedes should be sufficient, and that rather than wearing a 31-million-dollar Patek Philippe, diamond-encrusted watch, he go with the more basic, 25-thousand-dollar stainless steel sports model Rolex instead. So he still maintained an air of wealth and prestige because there was no question to anyone that he was super rich. But you just helped him bring it down a notch.

And his winter ball was more like his retirement party this time around. He’d really gone all out. Despite your hesitation with some of his selections, you figured you’d give him this one. And you could admit that helping to plan his parties was one of your favorite tasks. You’d fly to venues all over the world seeking the best (once they’d been narrowed down of course) for him. Find the best chefs and mixologists, the perfect planners and decorators. You got to help select finishings, menus, and staff, right down to the types of linen and even the theme of the events.

And the theme of the night was A Secret Garden in the City. For this, you found a penthouse in Manhattan with full 360-degree views. The space was empty when you first arrived to look at it. You were told it wasn’t a place normally rented for parties but that the owner had intended to make it a fancy restaurant at some point. But it had been sitting for years, empty. And you found the place because Mr. Spector knew everyone. You had a number for a real estate agent to the wealthy in New York City and he gave you a bit of insider information. The penthouse space, he’d told you, could be negotiated by the owner to rent given the right price.

You had landscapers come in and make a garden of the space. Flowers, grass, trees, bushes, vines, even a lily pad pond… when everything was put together, it really did look like you were in a secret garden in the middle of Manhattan. Delicate string lights lit the space, the ceiling was painted a dark sky color so it felt as if you were outside. The table settings were like something out of a Hobbit’s Tale with knotty oak chairs with green silk cushions. The linens were of green satin silk with gold embroidery design and the napkins were gold satin. Centerpieces were potted leafy plants of all types, and moss was placed around the pots to give them that fairyland look. Tiny candles illuminated each table all around. Gold cutlery. Big golden lighted globes hung from the ceiling in various sizes between plants that cascaded down. It really was quite the spectacle.

You were proud of how it all turned out. And the 200 guests that Mr. Spector invited all appeared to be in awe of the space.

The stringed music playing for most of the event in the background was live. The musicians stood to the side of the room on a newly installed platform, trees lined the back of the stage. And now that the night was finally coming to an end, well, the main event had ended, it was time to drink and dance and let loose, the band was switched out for something rockier and more upbeat.

Mr. Spector kissed your cheek and gripped your arm, “My dear, you never cease to astonish me with your hard work. Thank you for this. I’ll see you in the morning okay?”

You tried to get him to stay and enjoy the after-party. And like every year before, he declined. He liked his private time. Liked reading and writing and the quiet. He preferred his guests to enjoy what he’d been able to give them. It was, after all, for them, he always said.

“Even though it’s your last event like this? You won’t get this again, sir. Are you sure?” You smiled at him and he nodded. You knew he’d decline to stay.

So, you ordered your second cocktail of the night once Mr. Spector left. Some type of green concoction with a blackberry-sized red flower floating atop. You didn’t know what was in it. All you knew was that it tasted delicious and it was going to get you into some trouble. But maybe that’s what you were looking for that evening. After all, this was your going away party as well. You’d be put back into the system as active again once you were officially out of Mr. Spector’s employ. It would be time to find your next role.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Many dancing, some sitting and chatting, others making their rounds to network and schmooze. You stayed at the edge of the dance area and let your body move to the rhythm. You kept your eyes on everyone. Even though you were trying to just enjoy yourself you still felt somewhat responsible for all the attendees. It was ingrained in you.

You definitely fit in with everyone, though. Your outfit was couture, high fashion like the rest of the guests. Mr. Spector had paid for everything for you, as always. You picked out a beautiful cowl neck, deep navy-blue velvet dress with a slit that went up to your mid-thigh. The back draped down tastefully but the drape at the front was dangerously low. Just like you wanted. You had red pumps with gold and ruby jewelry. It was always difficult finding things in your size that weren’t from a big box store but the hunt for the perfect dress and accessories was always worth it. And the dress? You felt absolutely sexy. From head to toe.

The song was swingy and fun. More people covered the dance floor and somehow you’d gotten pushed further in. You still had your drink in hand but now it was nearly empty so you were less worried about spilling any of the liquid on yourself.

A woman you recognized as a small IT business owner greeted you and you both chatted as you danced together. When the song changed Elsie pointed at your drink, “You’re low. So am I,” she lifted her glass to show you, “Should we grab more?”

The answer that night was yes. Yes to anything.

The bar that lined the wall opposite the band had people hovering, waiting for their drinks. You let Elsie take the lead in getting the attention of the bartender. She was a tall, slender blond with smooth shiny hair so you figured she’d do better at getting your drinks faster. And you were used to that. Being the fat one, you tended to get overlooked and ignored. When you were younger it hurt a lot more, but these days you learned to use it to your advantage.

It wasn’t that you thought you were ugly or unworthy. You just understood how most people perceived you, even if they were wrong. You were confident when it mattered and took good care of yourself. And you rarely ever mistook a man’s kindness for him flirting with you, which was nice in a way. You couldn’t ever wrap your mind around assuming every guy who was kind to you was flirting. A lot of your friends had that mentality. Any time a man would chat them up they’d automatically jump to thinking they were being sized up somehow. You couldn’t imagine feeling so confident that you thought a man having a conversation with you meant anything more.

So that’s why when the tall, gorgeous man with dark, soft curls, sharp green eyes, and an even sharper jawline leaned in and asked, “Are you having a good time?” You didn’t assume he was flirting with you.

“I definitely am. How about you?” You turned to look up at him. Deep pink lips, broad shoulders, a very expensive suit and shoes, cocky grin.

“Sure. But I had to fly out here to attend last minute. My assistant forgot to add the event to my calendar so I had to settle for this suit and here I am. I’ll deal with her later. Luckily Alfred always throws the biggest and best parties so it’s been worth it.”

You noted the tiny dig to his assistant in the back of your mind and nodded, “Yeah, Mr. Spector loves to go big. It’s turned out great I think.” You had planned on mentioning you were the man of the night’s assistant until Mr. Cocky complained about his own. So you’d keep that little detail to yourself.

He was drinking whisky, neat. And when Elsie finally returned to your spot at the edge of the bar she handed you your tasty green drink and you introduced her.

“Elsie, this is… uh… What was your name?”

“I’m Harry. Harry Styles,” he held his hand out, gaudy rings on most of his fingers toward the pretty blond and she nodded, “Elsie Powers. Nice to meet you.”

The pair got to talking the moment Elsie mentioned her company and so you decided to dip out. You didn’t need to stand around and watch them flirt, which is what you assumed was going on. They were both gorgeous so that seemed natural to you.

But before you could take even a step outside of the little bubble the three of you were in you felt Harry’s hand at your low back as he leaned down to speak into your ear, “Don’t go too far. I was hoping to ask you something.”

You looked down at his arm and back into his eyes, “Okay… I’ll be around. You can come find me.”

When his fingers slid off your back as you stepped away you still felt the heat of his skin where he’d touched you. You liked his touch, but you assumed it happened because you took up so much space. It was more likely, in your mind, that he hadn’t meant to touch you there at all.

After another cocktail and a bit more dancing by yourself, Harry did find you. You didn’t realize it was him at first. You felt a warm body dancing behind you, not touching, just near enough that the heat emanated from him to your back. But then you heard his voice, “Found you. Thought you left.”

You turned to look at him over your shoulder and spoke, “Was planning on staying til the end. Felt like I deserved to enjoy tonight.”

“And why’s that?” Harry’s hand brushed along your bare arm softly before he removed it. You felt the trail of where he’d touched your arm and it made you wonder if he’d done it on purpose.

“No reason. I just deserve it,” you kept swaying your hips and you felt Harry moving with you, standing over you. You could smell his cologne.

“You don’t mind me dancing with you, do you?” His voice was close to your neck as he spoke.

Shaking your head you turned your body to face him, swinging your hips softly, “Not at all.”

He grinned down at you and the dimple that appeared on his cheek had you taken aback. He was truly stunning.

“Good. Wanted to chat some with you. Find out more about you…” he took your hand in his and pulled you closer, shifting the mood a little as you both danced. You silently inhaled in surprise at his gesture.

“And what did you want to know, Mr. Styles?” You raised your brows and smirked at him. You weren’t sure at that point what he was doing. But he was certainly leading you to believe this was more than just a friendly chat.

“First, what’s your name?”

You laughed, “I’m Y/n. I guess I forgot to introduce myself.”

“Are you here alone, Y/n?” His free hand found a spot on your side over your hip.

“I am. What about you?” You weren’t used to receiving this kind of attention from anyone. Much less a wealthy handsome man.

“I’m here alone too,” he kept a cocky grin plastered to his face as he drew nearer and spoke lowly so only you could hear, “But was hoping I wouldn’t be leaving alone.”

It was at that moment you were truly surprised. Was he…? Couldn’t be. You’d surely misread this situation just in the way all your pretty girlfriends misread it every time a guy showed any friendliness. Maybe it was the three cocktails you’d drank and that had you wondering what was in them.

Harry's hand released yours and he brought his ringed fingers up to your shoulder where he brushed the side of your neck, drawing you in closer with his other hand at your hip, “What about you?”

You blinked your eyes and looked up at him in confusion, “What about me? What do you mean?”

Harry’s grin deepened as he looked down at your mouth and took a clear glance at your cleavage before responding, “Did you hope to leave with someone tonight?”

You scoffed and looked around the dance floor before looking back at him, still not quite believing the direction this conversation was headed, “I hadn’t imagined I would leave with anyone. Figured I’d just go back to my hotel room alone after.”

The ridiculously attractive man licked his lips and kept his gaze on yours, “Really? You don’t want someone to take you back to their room and help you out of this pretty dress tonight?”

You began to cough. You’d choked on your own saliva as you inhaled a sharp breath at the wrong moment. His words caught you off guard.

But now you were hacking and bent at the waist, red in the face like an idiot.

Harry patted your back and you heard him speak into your ear, “You okay, darling? Need some water?”

When you’d recovered you and Harry were standing at the edge of the dancefloor away from the crowd and he had a comforting hand on your back.

You laughed and shook your head, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened…” you wiped your face, which was moist from the tears you’d forced out from all the coughing.

Harry took your hand and led you to a free seat, pulling a chair out for you and then sitting next to you, his hand still on your back, “Do you feel better now?”

You nodded and smiled at him. You hadn’t forgotten what he said. But now you were sure whatever he was getting at was all but out the window after your little display.

“Come back with me to my room, Y/n.”

Well, that just blasted your little theory.

You sat up straight and your jaw dropped open wide, “Why?”

Harry laughed, “Because I don’t want to go back alone. Spend the night with me tonight.”

Were you in a dream? Had you drunk too much and were blacked out and hallucinating?

“I don’t… I’m not sure what you…” you were unable to put your thoughts together coherently. You hadn’t expected it. You assumed you weren’t his type. Too chunky for a man like him. Imagined he preferred a more modelesque figure on women he found attractive given his appearance.

“Look. I’ll just be very straightforward with you. I think you’re gorgeous and I’d like to have you in my bed tonight. Naked. How does that sound to you?”

You whispered the word naked back to him as if it were a word you’d never heard before. You took a deep breath and looked around the room.

“What are you drinking? I’ll go get us another so we can chat a bit before you make any decisions.”

Now this question was one you could actually answer, “The cocktail is one from the menu. Called the Grove.”

Harry got up and left you at the table by yourself. You sat back in the seat and sighed. What were you going to do? He was mouth-watering, which is why you choked on your spit in the first place. Your mouth was literally watering at his proximity on the dance floor. And now he was asking you to go back to his room to hook up. He couldn’t have made it clearer. There was no room for you to misinterpret what he meant.

And why should you say no? Why should you go back to your own room and sleep in that big bed all by yourself? Well, mostly because you were worried about getting attached. Sure you didn’t even know the guy but that’s just how you were. You weren’t built for casual hookups or one-night stands. And you were sure that’s all this would be. Could you handle it? Would you be able to have sex with someone and then move on from it?

When you saw Harry walking back toward you you’d made up your mind. You’d finish your drink and tell him your verdict. You needed one more drink, though. Just to really loosen up. If you were going to do this if you were going to take a risk and have sex with a stranger, one more drink would help you relax about the whole situation.

Harry handed you your cocktail and sat down with his whisky in hand. He brushed his fingers over your arm as he spoke about how he knew Mr. Spector, “His cousin was my boss years ago. Before I got started in my current line of business. And since then, Alfred’s been inviting me to his parties. I can’t usually go but I rarely miss the winter ball.”

“And what is your line of business?” You asked before taking another sip of your verdant drink.

Harry grinned and licked his lips, “Let’s not talk business.”

You frowned and looked down at your red-painted nails. It wasn’t always polite to ask people what they did for a living but you figured given the circumstances, those being that he’d just asked you to have sex with him, it was okay. Clearly, you’d misjudged.

Harry gripped your chin and pushed your head back up to look at him, “Don’t feel bad for asking. You were just curious. I think the less we know of one another the better. Besides, work talk is boring. Don’t you think?”

You blinked again, his intense gaze was really working its way under your skin.

“Okay. Sorry. You’re right.”

Harry shook his head, keeping his hand at your chin, “And don’t say you’re sorry. Wouldn’t you rather talk about anything but work right now?” He let go of your chin and sat back in his chair as he kept his eyes on yours.

“I guess. It’s just that everyone here is networking and I thought it was only natural.”

“You and I are not networking, Y/n.” Harry grinned.

By the time your drink was but a clear puddle of melted ice at the bottom of the glass, you could feel how hot your face was from the alcohol. Your neck and ears were burning and all of Harry’s soft touches were making you fuzzy. The way he was whispering in your ear…

“Okay. I’ll go with you to your room tonight,” you spat out quickly before you could change your mind.

Harry’s gaze lowered to your breasts again, his arrogant grin in place, “I know, darling. I was just waiting for you to admit it. You ready then?”

If he wasn’t so hot you’d have changed your mind at his cocky response. But god was he alluring. And somehow, his egotistical attitude was putting you at ease a bit. Because it would possibly be much easier to not get your feelings mixed up for a guy like him. It could just be a one-night stand. Like so many other people indulged in (which you always found absurd).

You both walked to the coat check to get your things before Harry led you, with his hand at your low back to the elevators.

You draped your wool coat over your shoulders and stood awkwardly in the elevator next to the man you were leaving with. You couldn’t believe yourself. You were 28 years old so it shouldn’t have felt like such a big deal but it was. You’d never done anything like it before.

“Are you nervous?”

You sighed and nodded as you looked up at the man, “A little. Haven’t ever done anything like this.”

Harry hummed and nodded, “I can tell. That’s okay. I’ll take the lead.”

There was a black car waiting for you at the curb as soon as you exited the building. A man who was standing near the car opened the back door and gestured for you to get in. You followed behind Harry and the door was shut, closing you off from the outside and loud noises of the city to the dark leather interior of the car. Harry’s hand slid up your exposed thigh the moment you’d settled into the seat, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun, me and you.”

You turned your head to look at him, “Are you always like this? So confident about everything?”

Harry laughed and squeezed at your thigh, “If I wasn’t confident I wouldn’t be as successful as I am.”

You guessed that made sense. You just found it so strange that he was so sure of himself even when he hardly knew you at all.

You felt Harry’s long, ringed fingers slide upward over your plushy thighs in search of your panties most likely. And when he leaned over you and took your jaw with his free hand and smushed his mouth against yours it felt like crystalized water beginning to melt and drip and pool onto the ground.

He pulled your hand onto his lap and pressed your palm over his crotch, to which you felt as he grew harder and harder as the seconds passed with your lips connected.

When he was satisfied that you would be keeping your hand in place as you pressed down harder he raised his hand to your breast, his palm placed over the soft velvet before he lowered his mouth to your neck causing you to lean back the slightest for his access.

The car ride ended before you even realized you’d been moving through the city streets when the door you were sitting next to opened and the driver looked in at you two all disheveled and mid-kiss with his hand out for you to take.

Harry walked you into the hotel, which happened to be the same one you had a room at (how convenient you thought). The elevator ride up to his room was not unlike the car ride where you’d lost track of time and space when his lips were on yours and his tongue softly swiped at your mouth. You’d never had a man act this way with you before. It almost felt like desperation. Like he couldn’t keep his hands off you.

Guiding you off the elevator and to his room, you felt buzzy and your heart was bouncing around in your chest wildly. His hand was at the back of your neck, his long fingers gently ghosting over your skin.

The moment you were pushed into his room Harry stood over you and began to loosen his tie, “Take your dress off. God, I need to see you.”

You were already worked up as you panted, keeping your eyes on his, slowly unzipping the back of your dress and stepping out. You had forgotten that you were wearing a nude shapewear slip that kept your tummy rolls in place and your breasts pert. The back of the slip was low cut to accommodate your dress. You looked down over yourself and stuck your fingers into the fabric to pull it down and as your breasts were revealed Harry groaned and leaned down to wrap his pink lips over your nipple. You watched his tongue drag over your plump flesh and his fingers dig into your heavy tits as he worked his way around both sides.

You were pressed against the wall as he pinned your arms back and kissed his way up your tits to your neck and then he found your lips.

Finally, he backed away, giving you space to finish the reveal of your body to him as he continued removing his own clothes.

You watched tattoos appear on his skin and the more buttons he undid the more you saw of him. He was strong and muscular. His pecs were impressive and he had a soft six-pack hidden under the fabric that you only saw once he tossed his shirt off. Tattoos on his arms scattered over his skin.

Tugging at your slip to get it off you knew Harry’s eyes were on your body. But you weren’t going to stop now. Even if you were slightly embarrassed. This was happening and you knew he wanted it. Sometimes you worried about the logistics of sex being as heavy as you were, especially when it came to being with a guy who was not at all. But Harry’s build was masculine and broad and he was clearly going to be able to handle you.

When his pants were off and he was down to his underwear you knew he was enjoying the view of all your bits based on the thick lump under the fabric. You were left standing in your silky black panties when he stood over you and smoothed his hands up your arms and palmed over your tits, “Jesus fucking Christ look at you. Get on the bed for me.”

You swallowed and stepped toward the area of the room where the bed was and sat at the edge, watching as he stalked after you. His eyes were dark as he crawled over you and nudged you with him into the middle of the perfectly made bed, soft and luxurious feeling under your skin.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he smoothed his lips against yours as he palmed over your skin down to your thigh, pinching at the fleshy insides as he pushed your legs open, putting his knees down into the mattress to keep you spread with his thighs.

He kept his lips working over yours, his tongue smearing against your tongue wetly as you felt his fingers dip down to your panties and then to the wet patch at your center. You could tell you were wet before he even touched you. He’d turned you on with ease. His voice, his body, his eyes, his confidence…

You felt him smile against your lips when he dredged his fingers up and down over your wet panties, right where your labia was. Soft strokes of his fingers pushed the fabric of your panties between your pussylips until he dragged a finger up and found your clit and you gasped. He circled over your clit, pressing the wet fabric into you.

When he lowered himself, using his lips and his tongue down your body as he went he looked up at your face after dotting kisses over your fleshy tummy, “You’re gorgeous and you smell so good. Such a dirty girl, though, aren’t you?” He dabbed more warm kisses down your stomach to just above your panties, “All wet for me like you’re desperate for cock,” he licked along the band of your panties and looked up at you again as he adjusted himself between your legs, “Are you desperate for cock, Y/n? Need me to take care of you tonight?”

You nodded, “Oh my god…” your words came out as a whisper, “Yes, Harry.”

When you felt his tongue glide up your crease over your wet panties your mouth dropped open wide. He was not holding back with the foreplay so far. You were usually disappointed in sex, the few times you’d had it. Foreplay was an afterthought. And only a handful of times did you ever receive any kind of mouth-to-pussy action, which you assumed was due to your size.

But Harry was having no trouble treating you like some kind of irresistible sex pot. He pushed your thighs harder and raked his tongue up and down over you until you’d bucked upward just a bit.

Harry’s fingers pulled at the waistband of your panties, “Taking these off because I need more.”

You felt your panties being moved down your legs then Harry returned with enthusiasm, his lips all over your cunt, sliding his tongue through your folds and his fingers pinching into your flesh before he poked the tip of his wet muscle to your clit and began to lick all around it, lapping you up and teasing you to the point you were shaking and whining, proving him right about how desperate you were.

When he finally stopped his teasing licks he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. You gasped loudly and moaned, to which Harry moaned into your pussy.

His shoulders were against the back of your thighs as he masterfully licked you out and kissed your clit until you were reaching down with one hand to slide your fingers into his thick curls.

And that only seemed to stir something more ravenous in him. He growled when he felt you pulling at his roots and suddenly you felt his fingertips at your entrance before he pushed them in slowly, the metal of his rings being nudged in the slightest. You were in an alternate universe. Somewhere that only existed you and Harry and the bed you were on as you laid spread out for him to pleasure.

He was good with his tongue. He used it over your clit like he understood what you needed, putting pressure where it was vital and then slurping you into his mouth making your entire body quiver in ecstasy. His repeated movements, soft tonguing, pulling at your clit, the bump of his fingers through your walls and into your delicate warmth, the precipice of your orgasm was taunting you.

“Harry!” You yelped when he sucked your clit in especially roughly and his fingers dug in deep making your pussy squelch.

He smiled and lifted his mouth, speaking against your cunt, hot breath coating your labia and clit, “Feels good, Y/n? You gonna let me give you an orgasm?”

You moaned pitifully and nodded to yourself as you scrunched your face when he attached his wet lips back to your clit and curled his fingers just right, “Yes! Oh my god…”

You had never felt anything like it before. Like Harry. And maybe it wasn’t that he was all that good at cunnilingus (he was), but perhaps it was the way he was handling you. The way he was so eager to make you feel good. The way he wasn’t worried about his own throbbing cock between his legs, growing heavier by the minute as he sucked and licked and kissed your cunt.

His focus was on you completely and you felt that. You felt his attention and his devotion to your pleasure before his. And that was what did it for you. It was the care and thoughtfulness of it all. It wasn’t like anything you’d experienced with any man before and it pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm rolled out of you in waves as you writhed under him and cried curses and nonsense into the room. He held you down with one hand as well as he could so he could lavish you with his mouth until you were done with your unraveling. His fingers stroked your insides as you pulsed around them and felt the tingle of your clit being overwhelmed by his lips. You gasped and laughed at the way he continued ravaging you well past what was necessary.

Releasing his hair you pushed yourself up by your elbows to see his face still between your legs, his eyes closed like he was enjoying it just as much as you had. It might have been the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your life. But that could have been all those feel-good chemicals being released in your brain post-orgasm.

You pushed at his forehead to indicate you were done, “Okay!” You tried closing your legs but Harry pulled his fingers from your pussy and pressed you down as he licked up and up and up. Until finally he opened his eyes and looked at you, lips still making out with your pussy as you laughed and tried pulling away.

“It’s too much!” You giggled and moved your hips under him.

Finally, he parted from your labia and pushed himself up over you, caging you in as he hovered, “Good?” He raised his brows.

You rolled your eyes, “Obviously.” You laughed as you spoke.

Harry grinned and you watched him move away from you, pulling his underwear down and exposing his weighty cock, thick and long. Yes. He’d be able to handle you just fine.

He grasped it in his hand and moved next to you. You sat up and reached out to feel him, velvety and warm under your palm before getting to your knees and looking up at him as you lowered your lips to his shaft. You wanted to feel it on your mouth and in your mouth.

Dragging your wetted lips down until you reached the base you gripped him and tongued your way up to his tip and heard a shallow gasp from his chest. Licking around his crown you pulled at his skin and wrapped your lips around just the very tip of his head before slipping your tongue around him and sucking softly.

A beautiful deep moan was music to your ears. He was enjoying it. So you indulgently lowered yourself down a bit more, feeling the width of him take up space inside your mouth and on your tongue. Gentle strokes of your lips over the top part of his shaft and over his swollen head felt good for you. You hadn’t given head in a long time. And you could tell Harry was into it.

He smelled good. Nice and clean and warm. You used your hand to pull at the base of his shaft up to your parted lips as you sucked on him and lapped around his skin.

When Harry’s moans turned into a rhythmic panting you felt his hand at your jaw, nudging you up until your lips were pulled away from his pretty cock, “You are desperate for cock. Sucking me like that? If I didn’t want fuck you so bad I’d let you finish me off with that gorgeous mouth.”

You shifted back as Harry leaned over you and pressed his mouth against yours, his hand at your neck pushing you down into the mattress. His mouth was wet and smelled like you as he smeared his lips on yours. You moaned when he parted from you and got off the bed.

You could hear the crinkling of the wrapper from the condom as he sorted himself out and then crawled back next to you, taking your hand, “How’s that sound, Y/n? Want my cock inside your soft pussy? Hmm?”

Looking down at his hard length, covered in a condom, and back into his eyes you nodded, “Yeah,” you were breathless.

The grin on Harry’s face as he moved between your legs, his eyes on yours was like someone who’d just gotten the best news they’d heard all day. He thread his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hand down into the mattress near your head.

The front of his strong thighs pushed against the inside of yours as he positioned himself over you. His cock heavy on your belly before he moved back, letting go of your hand to grasp himself.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. I want to hear how good it makes you feel, okay?” His tip dragged through your wet labia, up and down, “Just lie there like the pretty little thing you are, and let me fuck you deep.”

You nodded as you watched his eyes. He was looking down at where his cock was brushing over your wet and puffy pussylips, his lips parted as he bumped into your clit and then smacked his girth down over you.

The sound of his cock dragging through your arousal made you feel like a different person. No man had ever taken the time to indulge the way Harry was. It was clear by the look on his face that he liked everything he saw and even how soaked you were.

You felt the tip of his broad head nudge into your entrance as he looked at you with dark pupils. He pulled his brows together as he savored the feel of you and gently pushed through the ring of your wet muscle. Just knowing that you were making him feel like that had you moaning with your eyes locked on his.

“Feel that, Y/n?” He slowly dipped in and pulled back, wetting the condom as he went, pushing in deeper on each thrust forward.

“I feel it…” your words came out shaky as his length was forced through your slick walls, spreading your insides apart slowly.

Harry inhaled a breath and let out a deep moan when his cock reached as far as he could take it, “Taking my cock so good,” he pulled back and looked down at the scene between your legs. All wet and puffy, his cock coated in your creamy arousal. He loved the way your pussy gripped him and your labia stretched around his cock, “Gonna be dreaming of this,” he pressed his thumb over the space where his cock was moving into your entrance and then up to your clit to rub circles softly, wet and warm.

“Ohhh…” you whimpered when his thumb pressed into your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your entire body was boiling and buzzing as Harry rocked into you, his balls thwacking slowly into your ass.

“Yeah? Tell me how you like it, pretty girl.”

How could you answer this man with his dick lodged so deep in your tummy? How did he expect you to make a coherent sentence with the way his thumb was stroking your clit back and forth? How could your brain form any sort of response when his cock was dragging through your insides and pressing into all your bits, hitting your hidden spots like his shape was made just for you?

“I want it… Mmm… like that…” was all you could bear to squeak out when he smacked into you in one harsh thud.

“Harder? Softer?” His thumb never ceased the yummy caressing of your fleshy pearl.

“Fuck!” You gasped when he smacked into you again, causing your body to jolt upward from the force.

“Like that? Need it a little rougher, Y/n? Need my cock to split you in half?” Again, a harsh thrust into your guts that had you gurgling and falling apart too soon.

“Oh she wants it a little rough, I can tell. Your cute pussy likes a good pounding doesn’t she?”

You held your breath when you felt him angle over you and sink down into you until it hurt. Until his long cock was buried in so deep his balls were tucked against your ass as he ground himself in, “Pussy like this needs a lot of attention. Lots of care…” he moaned when you clenched around him, “Want me to take care of you? Want to feel what my cock can do to this pretty little pussy?”

“Yes, please, Harry!” You grasped onto his forearm as he rolled solidly into you, deep and slow, slushy and sopping between your thighs.

“Yeah? Gonna stuff myself so far into you that you can’t breathe. Gonna make you come so hard you’ll never want another cock again.”

You moaned and felt his crushing weight over you as he continued grinding his hips against yours but then suddenly he was pulling out and you felt a sting on your thigh when he smacked you, “Get on all fours.”

You were blurry and floaty as you rolled over and pushed yourself up to do as he asked. Your pussy puffy and begging for more of his cock.

His hands gripped the side of your hips tight and you smushed your face down to the mattress before you felt his cock rip into you in one punishing stroke. You cried out and he did it again. And again. His cock pummeled into you repeatedly, punching the air from your lungs and giving your pussy the best fucking of its life.

You did like it hard. A little rough. Nothing wild, just something that you could feel for a couple of days. Something that made you gasp and brace for more.

“Holy fuck…” Harry gritted as he fucked into you, watching his dick disappear repeatedly. Your pretty round bottom bouncing and wiggling at each plunge. He dug his fingers into your ample flesh and spread you out so he could watch as you gripped him exactly like he loved. The little noises you were making had him reeling.

It was his favorite. A beautiful woman with her ass in the air as he railed her deep. But especially when it was a nice big ass. He loved to be able to grip something in his hands. To squeeze and smack. It always felt so much better to have something to hold on to. Not that he didn’t love slender women. He certainly did. But there was nothing like the feminine physique of a woman with meat on her bones, wide hips, a big tummy, and extra bits to touch and run his fingers over. It was fucking sexy.

You could feel him as he worked you open. He buried in deep and then pulled back until his thick tip was being pushed through your entrance again and again. He was long and every inch of him pulled and pushed through your walls, sliding along all your bits and ridges making your skin heat up.

Then you felt his chest against your back and his cock was angled so far inside of you that your eyes nearly crossed, “Love your little gurgles and moans, Y/n. Feels good on my cock?” He rolled into you, keeping himself stuffed to the hilt.

“Yes! Fuck, Harry!” You turned your head to speak so he could hear you and then you felt his lips on your back as he kept rocking into you languidly, never pulling back, only dipping into you, swiveling his hips to ensure you could feel every part of his cock moving through you.

You felt a tear drip from your eye as he reached down for your hand and moved it toward your pussy, “Rub that wet clit, sweet girl. Want to see you quivering under me again.”

The moment your fingertips came into contact with your puffy nub you moaned and all you could feel was Harry’s warmth and his big cock and your clit being worked just how you liked.

He began to rut into you with unforgiving strength. Your body was being smacked into and your skin was beginning to burn where his hips were striking your ass. It felt incredible. It felt like a man who knew what he was doing.

“Yes! Yes!” You shakily cried out. Harry’s long shaft was gliding in and out and you could feel him every time your fingertips moved back the slightest. His heavy cock slipping into your pussy vigorously as you ran your fingers back and forth, up and down on your clit.

Harry put a hand on your low back and settled his thumb into the top of your crack as he watched your cunt swallow him on each thrust. He bit his lip at the gorgeous sight and lowered his other hand to your right cheek, pulling at your flesh to give himself a better look at how you were taking him. How perfect you were for his cock.

When he noticed your moans growing louder and more desperate and then saw your thighs shaking he pounded into you with deliberate, long strokes so you could really feel him inside of you.

And feel him you did. His length filled you up and pulled back, before pressing back in until your world began to spin and your pussy was powerless to your orgasm. You reared yourself back onto his cock and cried out pathetically as Harry breathed heavily and felt your cunt sucking him in and spasming around him.

“Oh, baby…” he moaned and watched more cream coat his cock from your pussy. You were coming hard, lips wide open as you cried out and gasped, and the way you were clenching around his cock felt like the best thing he’d ever experienced during sex. You were fucking sexy.

When your voice lowered and your body stopped quivering Harry halted his movements and ran his hands on your back gently and down to your bum, keeping his cock lodged inside of you, “Creamed all over my cock, Y/n,” swiped his thumb around the area where you two were connected and lifted it to his mouth to taste.

You panted and smiled into the blanket when he suddenly pulled out and popped your bottom with his palm, “On your back. Want to see that pretty face again.”

You were on the verge of being completely wiped out. You knew he hadn’t come yet, though, and you felt like he deserved it with how fucking good he was. Two orgasms already. That was unheard of for you.

Harry helped you situate and he fit himself between your thighs. You looked down at his cock and noted he was right about you creaming all over him. White gobs of your arousal at his shaft and in the thatch of dark, trimmed hair at his base. God his cock was good.

“You feel so good on my cock, Y/n. You know that?” He pressed his tip inside of you, making you drop your mouth open and he gasped. The way he stretched you apart was insane. It felt incredible.

“Fuck… your pussy needs my cock inside of her. Yeah? I could fuck this sweet cunt all day and never get tired of it. Fuck, baby…” he moaned his words as he thrust into you, his hips dragging against you and your clit being pushed into with each plunge.

You took your breasts in your palms and kneaded at them as you watched Harry’s face twist up in rapturous despair. Every roll of his hips was torture for him. His body wanted to come but he had planned on you having one more orgasm. Wanted to feel you squeezing and pulsing around him as he came with you. The decadence of being able to feel your pussy coming around him as he was pouring into you would be bliss.

The edge of his hairline was wet with sweat. You knew he was working hard to give you his cock the way you needed it. His arms were flexing as he held himself up over you, back and thighs clenching and stretching as his muscles exerted, loosening and tightening.

Now there was no slap of skin or the sound of thuds filling the room, it was only hot breaths and gasps and wet pussy being fucked. The occasional distant sound of people moving past his suite on their way to their own.

Deeper and deeper he stuffed himself as he kept his radiant green eyes locked on your face. Your insides were bowing and tensing and vibrating with delight. It was the best you’d ever gotten and his handsome face watching you had your head spinning and your body melting under him. He was too good. The way he was tugging his cock inside of you and stroking your walls and fitting himself deep into your guts like he was trying to reach up into your spine and your lungs under your ribcage… it was going to stick with you for a long time. And he was probably right. You’d be dreaming of his cock. You were sure of it.

His pacing was perfect; smooth, wet thrusts and a satisfying angle that had your whole body resonating with sex and electric crackles like you’d never felt. His undulating hips kissing your clit each time he ground into you.

“Look at your tits jiggling, Y/n. Fucking so hot…” he panted his words like he was out of breath, “Damn baby,” he moaned as he slowed his stride for a moment to collect himself. His balls were already tightening against his body, ready to release too soon.

He leaned over you and pressed his lips against yours and it made your skin and pores and nerves spark and convect. Little by little your pulse accelerated until you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. His tongue inside your mouth and his perfect cock inside of your tummy, the smell of him and of you and the soft bed beneath your back- it had you nearly going up in flames.

When he finally began to move again, when he’d steadied his composure so he could last a little longer you gasped into his mouth.

Now his long strokes were thick and stunted, his shaft inching in and in and in until you couldn’t breathe. His nose pressed into yours and his lips moved around your lips, smearing saliva over your warm, plush mouth with his tongue. It was filthy, the way he kissed. Wet, aching. Like he was fucking your lips with his tongue at the same time he was filling your pussy with his cock.

You felt his muscles begin to shake as he parted from your mouth and looked down at you. Blown-out pupils, pink parted lips, and a flushed face. He was about to come and you could see it on his face and in the way he was panting and getting louder with each jerk of his hips. It was delicious.

“You gonna come, baby? Gonna milk my cock with your cunt, squeeze around me, and drain me?”

Grabbing onto his forearms you nodded and feebly whimpered, “Yes… oh my god…”

Harry groaned as he canted his hips sloppily and his thrusts grew erratic as he held back to wait for you to come first.

You’d always heard of the mythical concept of a cock fitting together perfectly with the right pussy and how it could make women come from penetration alone when they’d never been able to before. You’d never experienced it and thought it was just a made-up fantasy. A wild fable.

But you were wrong. Harry’s cock proved you wrong. He was nudging into things inside of you that even your vibrator missed and as shocking as it was to know you were about to come, yet again, you were of no mind to think too much about that because your body was submitting to the way he was handling you and your pussy was already beginning to flutter around him and pulse as you gasped and dropped your mouth wide.

Yes, you were having one of those kinds of orgasms that you could feel from the inside out. That made your ears feel stuffy and your vision go white as you cried out loudly.

Harry choked out a gasp as soon as he felt your walls gripping him and you tossed your head back, moaning his name over and over again like you needed the room to know who was making you fall apart.

Your pussy wrapped around him so perfectly and he looked down from your perfect tits to your face and he lost it. His own cry of your name was loud as he threw his head back and throbbed, releasing into his condom, his come filling the tip full as you milked him with your pulsing orgasm.

Divine. Complete and utter perfection. He hadn’t come so hard in years and the way you responded to him only coaxed him deeper into his own ecstasy.

When his cock stopped pumping and twitching he opened his eyes and looked down at you looking all fucked out and satisfied. Exactly what he had hoped for when he brought you to his room. Better even.

When your gaze finally found his he smiled down at you. He figured it would be nice to have you again in the morning if you were up for it because he certainly didn’t want to have you leave. Not yet. Maybe he’d order room service and you two could talk some more. Maybe another round or perhaps you’d both just crash after that marathon. But he knew he’d want to give you a parting gift in the morning at the very least. One of those soft and lazy morning fucks before kissing you and sending you off so he could catch his flight the following afternoon.

Yeah. That sounded nice to him.

But the sudden sound of his phone buzzing had him turning to look at the nightstand. You’d barely recovered from your scorching orgasm when he rolled off of you and quickly picked up the phone, his back to you, “Hello?”

You inhaled deeply. You still couldn’t believe you’d just done that. With a stranger nonetheless.

“No, I’m okay. Just ran to grab the phone is all.” He was panting just enough that whoever was on the line had wondered what he’d been doing. You turned your head to look at him. His back was to you.

“Sure, babe. See you then.”

You sat up quickly. Babe?

Harry stood from the bed and picked up his pants, “I’m sure you can get your clothes on and be on your way quickly. Yeah?”

You instinctively covered your chest with your mouth dropped open, “What?!” Harry paused before putting his shirt on and looked at you with an unamused expression, “I said you need to leave.” He raised his voice a notch as if the reason you asked him what was because you hadn’t heard.

You shook your head and slid off the bed feeling dirty and shameful, reaching to the ground for your discarded dress, “I know what you said. I was surprised that you were… never mind.”

The sudden change in his attitude toward you was a shock. He’d been so attentive and affectionate and now he was cold. Inconsiderate. You struggled to keep up with the abrupt shift in his temperament.

Harry walked to the window as you shimmied into your dress and attempted zipping it up, “Fuck…” you mumbled under your dress. The last thing you wanted to do was ask this asshole to help you but really didn’t want to walk out of his room with your dress half unzipped and your ass crack hanging out.

“Can you please help?” You sighed and looked over at him. God, you hated how attractive he was, especially now that he was being so cold to you suddenly.

Harry silently shook his head to himself as he tucked his shirt in and walked toward you as if it were some terrible chore to help you.

“There. Now I really need you to go. Quickly.”

You hadn’t even had the chance to wipe up in the bathroom or pee. You were stunned at his behavior.

You gave him your dirtiest scowl, scooped up your underwear, and grabbed your small purse, stuffing your bra and panties inside. The slip you had to carry in your hands. As you pulled your shoes back on your feet one at a time, Harry was plucking the condom off the floor and looking around the room in a slight panic.

“Fuck you, Harry. This is rude. You didn’t have to treat me like garbage. Not like I was gonna fall for you or something you prick.” When your feet were securely in your shoes Harry walked across the room toward you as you tried to make your way to the door to leave.

“Y/n?”

You turned to look at him.

“Can you toss this in the garbage near the elevator for me? Thanks,” he pressed the used condom that was stuffed into a tissue into your hand and you nearly lost it. Nearly fucking karate chopped his ass to the ground and stomped on his face. But then you realized something. He was in a hurry to get you out of his room because he had someone coming up to see him. Someone he wanted to hide the condom from. A lover? Girlfriend? Wife?

Instead of responding verbally you flipped him off and slammed the door behind yourself. But before you walked away from the door you pulled the condom from the tissue and put it over his doorknob, nice and tight. The used rubber was still heavy with his come and you smiled as you dropped the tissue onto the floor and pulled out a cocktail napkin and pen from your purse, pressed your lips into it to leave it lightly stained with your leftover lipstick, and then wrote Thank you, Harry xx. You balanced the napkin right over the condom on the doorknob and then grinned to yourself as you walked down the hallway to the elevator. You sure were glad your room was in the same hotel. When the elevator doors opened a pretty blonde stepped off and rushed past you, headed in the direction of Harry’s room. She barely even glanced your way before you stepped onto the elevator and pressed 2 for your floor.

So maybe it wasn’t a terrible ending to the night after all.

Part 2

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shadow4-1 · 4 months

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Everyone loves to imagine "King of the Forest" Price or Soap, but why not Ghost?

Obviously, he wouldn't be as benevolent. He'd definitely be more of the wendigo, shape-shifting type. A "What are you doing in my woods?" kind of deity. He's definitely a creepy cryptid urban legend king who would most certainly take the souls of those who don't respect his nature.

Imagine being the type who skirts the edges of his woods on your daily walks. You respect the area and even disarm hunter traps (because it's not trapping season). As time goes on, you start to notice a shadow out of the corner of your eye.

Every time you blink, you see it between the trees. But when you try to focus on the very tall figure, it disappears. You don't fret. Instead, you go home and get some sleep, thinking the apparition is caused by fatigue. You wake up in the middle of the night to a broken bedroom window with an offering on its sill.

It's a small yet wickedly sharp knife made of antler bone, tied together in twine with a bushel of herbs and wild flowers.

You glance out of the broken window, confused and nervous to see him standing there. Despite the bright moonlight, he's just a black mass standing in the clearing in your backyard. You catch a glimpse of his white eyes beneath his deer skull mask and suddenly you know.

The forest has chosen you.

#cod imagines #mw2 headcanons #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley

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raviollies · 4 months

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BOUND TOGETHER

Stained Glass depicts a family tree with the father's side being broken and Lorelai's portrait weeping, a depiction of Lorelai's past as she had accidently killed her father.

The Skull has fangs, the nature of vampirism being tied to undeath, the Black Roses surrounding reinforce the theme of decay, death and dishonour. The Blood dripping from behind it is the price she paid by spilling her father's blood for her vampirism.

Blythe is depicted Dancing - a call back to her nature as performing to make herself liked and play a character to hide her true self.

Pomegranates, an allusion to the Greek myth about how Hades tricked Persephone to be chained to the underworld using pomegranate seeds, Theta tricked Blythe to become a hexblood to chain her to herself

Butterflies and empty cocoons are found in the Daffodils, both are symbols of rebirth, new beginnings and metamorphosis, tying back to Blythe's journey from Elf to Hexblood, and the eventual possibility of being a hag.

The Tied Magpie in the Mirror is reflection of Blythe's true self, a bird being captive by Theta, Magpies are considered an omen of bad luck, believed to have a drop of devil's blood underneath their tongue

Broken Elven statue is Raha's ties to his cultural identity are broken and decayed. The Creeping Vines symbolize the lack of upkeep to preserve this past. The flowers surrounding it are the Spring Snowflakes, known to bloom at the end of winter/beginning of spring - a new beginning to life and hope.

The Empty nest is representative of him having lost his family, and leaving behind the Elven commune he stayed with afterwards. Having left, and no one in his family being alive, all that's left is an empty nest.

A Borzoi is running from the statue, symbolizing Raha running from his past and wishing to distance himself from what hurt him. Dogs are often tied to symbols of loyalty, love, and protection, all things that are true to Raha's character as an individual.

A Red Ribbon surrounds them, the red string usually symbolizes the old myth of the red string of fate, binding people together.

#blythe #raha #lorelai #dnd #oc #below cut is a giant explanation of all the imagery #because i cant shut up #my art

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catfern · 14 days

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deliverance

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: priest!abby anderson x afab!sinner!reader

music: the deliverance playlist

word count: 5k

summary: your mother is dead, and you're left returning to a home that never really was to pick up the pieces. memories are haunting creatures, insistent on destroying you. luckily, your redemption may come by the hands of god yet.

WARNINGS: READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED ─ themes of religious trauma and abuse, hint of encouraged disordered eating, mother issues, non-major character death, some internalised homophobia

you never thought you had missed the magnolia trees. you had very little thought about the soft, white flowers of your youth after you left, scattered the pieces of yourself across the midwest to rot, forgotten.

a foreign pit sits in your stomach now as the jaunty convertible rolls across the dirt of the road. pillowy cream petals line the overgrown grass, dance in the wind and fall in your back seat. a concession. the only welcome you’ll ever get.

the soft smile on the solicitor’s face is a cruel, mocking joke. you don’t know how long he’s been waiting for you to roll down the long drive, but you can see the imprint of his shoes on the decaying wood steps, the scuffle of his path through the dead leaves, the rotten petals.

you had gotten the call late at night, breaking through an unwelcome silence. not from the hospital, but from the state. your mother was dead, and a team of lawyers had chased a harbinger trail left by your sixteen-year-old self to find you.

you left those breadcrumbs, in delusion, for your family. a final call, love me, love me, love me. years passed, no one followed.

you pull the car into park, the echo of the radio dying across the empty plains.

“miss-“ his voice is syrupy, a deep rasp coddled in the kindness of an all-american accent. he’s cut off by the slam of the car door, the scratch of your heels on the gravel driveway. you eye him, slowly, the foreign entity on your mother’s porch. stood by the neglected swing, the smell of rust and sand and infestation clinging to him, inane.

“can’t you leave me to clear this place out in peace?”

he stutters something unsure, you can feel his eyes draping over you, a quick flash of something delusionally hungry, “w-well, miss, there’s the matter of the funeral. your mother named you executor of her will.”

of course she fucking did.

you sigh, something innately powerless nipping at your heels. your mother’s last laugh from the grave. well, from the morgue, really. if you could let that woman sit in a faithless freezer, an eternal purgatory, you would. she’s not worth the embrace of her god’s dirt.

“fine.”

you supposed you had hoped to get it all done in two days. pack everything in flimsy cardboard boxes and dump it in the parking lot of the nearest salvation army, purposefully forgotten.

and now, with the door forced open, the warm, unmoving heat of the sun pouring through and eating at your back, ghosts of a slighted childhood tease you, in the rotted landscape of your home. perhaps once, there was something happy here, but the domain of a conformist hoarder shows you no such peace.

the looming feeling of the cross your father nailed above the fridge when you were fourteen was something you had hoped to never feel again. a jittery taunt as the light inside it comes alive,

‘god sees your gluttony,’

clearly, considering the only thing left in the fridge was the whispering stench of rotted milk. you hold the carton at arms length as you toss it in the small waste basket in the pantry, and weigh your waning options.

spend a hundred bucks on food delivery fees, or make an appearance in town, for the low, low price of the dignity you lost years ago.

summer hasn’t changed, in the breast of the small town you grew up in. nestled between the buzz of marshes and the sprawl of empty, overgrown farmland, stately buildings with wasting foundations cast shadows, small reprieves from the unforgiving burn of the sun on the pavement.

the small chatter of young housewives echoes in the quiet of the late afternoon as you step out from the shield of the air conditioned supermarket, heaving your bags in tow. you forgot how much the underhanded heat sneaks into your body, lays in your bones. even still, with the foreign freedom of shorts and a shirt your mother would have never let you wear, summer sits in your crevices, uncomfortably in the hollow of your skin.

something flashes in the corner of your eye, something unfamiliar hiding in the sunlight. you squint, a misguided effort to chase the feeling settling deep beneath your stomach, pushing in on your organs. awareness abandoned, you stand in wait like a dog tied to a pole outside the corner shop, lips ajar as you stare into the blown light of noon, eager.

slowly, the anomaly comes into blurry focus.

that’s new.

gold catches in the sunlight, a soft sheen of sweat like diamonds in your eyes.

a woman. you’ve never seen her before, and this place is hardly somewhere people choose to come.

She was shaking the hand of Mr. Collins, your neighbour. God, he aged poorly. Next to the shrivel of a man, she looked as if sculpted by god. a gift, the contour of her muscles beneath the relaxed fit of her shirt a taunting appraisal. cargo shorts and a graphic tee, not the expected attire of a woman. she definitely looked out of place, especially here, but the air of comfortability she carried said otherwise. people were happy to see her. her face, made so harsh and angular, was soft in conversation. figures.

you, an abomination. her, this stark difference to everything you were ever taught, welcomed.

your name echoes across the tranquility of the plaza, and for a moment, your eyes meet. the woman swallows.

“i thought that was you! my stars, i never thought i’d see you again!”

a manicured hand grabs at you, and you’re broken from your haze.

prudence was smiling at you. you’d never seen her smile, only snicker and whisper.

“i haven’t seen you since high school!”

for a reason. you clear your throat, and manage a strained smile. friend, tormentor, you were always unsure whether she was going to unhinge her jaw and swallow you whole. you had hoped to never see her again.

“how’ve you been!” her voice was too sugary, too loud for the daze of a summer afternoon. you felt hungover.

“hm? fine, i’ve been fine.” you’re trying not to sound distracted, disinterested. you’re watching as the woman from earlier disappears around the corner of the store. her face, curious and kind, lingers in your mind.

the oppressive heat of the morning breeze wisps through your hair, beating the tenets of unease down onto your skin. the church stands foremost, casting a shadow that offers no cool relief, no reprieve. per her last wishes, you will bury your mother in her congregation.

the solicitor assured you that the old pastor has passed since you left.

an early morning appointment, for privacy, to discuss the burial. the way to go about it.

might as well get it over with.

it hasn’t changed, since you were young. you remember sticking to the pews, sweat melting your skin as you leaned to find a whisper of a breeze. the walls do well to trap the swelter of mid-year.

“for a minute there, i was sure you weren’t coming.” a low, calm voice echoes in the emptiness of the hall.

there, the woman from yesterday stands, not yet looking at you. instead, she opts to fiddle with the cuffs of her blazer, her golden hair tied back in a neat braid, falling down her back and shimmering in the artificial light. when she meets your eye, there’s that flicker of curiosity and disquiet, the way she looked at you in the square.

she clears her throat, holding her hand out. “i’m abigail. you must be-“

“yeah,” you say all too quickly, taking her hand tenderly.

there’s a beat of silence, your bravery seeming to pin you looking at each other, unable to shake the gaze of the other.

finally, abigail speaks, “why don’t we-uh, do you wanna? let’s sit,”

you nod, following her as she leads you back, through the twisting, turning halls, a path so densely taken by you once. you knew the way, but you followed behind her all the same.

her office is .. different, to how father mckenzie decorated it. where his walls were bare, imposing, quiet and godly, abigail’s is showered in kindness, in humanity. pictures of her soccer team, of her volunteer work, her smile a littered memory through all of them. her degree in theology from a far off university is pinned proudly behind her.

learned, real, tangible.

“i was.. sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. i’m sure it was quite a shock to you as well.”

she uses that voice. the voice of pastors, the voice of god. for years, you’d wondered how long they practiced it. walking the line between genial and authoritative, the voice that brings others to kneel.

you nod slightly, remembering your obligation to reaction. your throat is dry, “yeah, well, we hadn’t spoken in a few years, so…”

she frowns, skin deep, a purchased expression, “i’m aware. she often confided in me her troubles, she was… kind. i can imagine a life without her support must have been difficult.”

a vicious laugh half erupts from your throat before you struggle to contain it, but you half expect abigail to shoot you a knowing smirk.

kind?

“are you sure we’re talking about the same woman?” you eye her now, slumped back in your seat, like a defiant child. tongue in cheek, you let your head roll back, “speak to anyone, i’m sure ‘kind’ isn’t the word they’d use.”

abigail clears her throat again, shuffling around some papers on her desk, letting the discomfort of the room get to her, “dutiful, then. i apologise if i struck a cord.”

“no, no,” your gaze is scrutinising, painful to be underneath. in a way, gratification snuck under your skin with how easy it was to upset her, to finally be the bigger, badderperson in this godforsaken room, “she was kind to you,” your eyes flutter over the heave of her body as she breathes, “you’re lucky then. that’s not a courtesy she extends-extended to many.”

“well, then i’m particularly grateful.”

“you should be.”

a stalemate, almost. your words sit dry in the air, hanging like a taunt.

“right, well,” abigail begins, looking down at your mother’s will, “your mother requested that i speak the sermon at her service. i know you aren’t particularly religious, but i would encourage-“

“did she tell you that?”

she looks up at you, her eyes hanging through her eyelashes. perhaps she grew tired of your contempt, perhaps she grew firm, “would it be such a bold assumption either way?”

that actually brings a laugh from you, harsh as it is. a beat, “no, i suppose not.”

you watch as she continues, skimming through the will and taking anecdotes with her right hand, penmanship on show. you can see the etching of her arm even underneath the cursed wool of the jacket, the broadness of her shoulders hiding beneath her holy uniform. you wonder how long it took for her to carve that out of herself. you wonder if the clergy collar was the thing stopping you from something you would’ve usually done.

“just do it according to what she wanted,” you say quickly, readjusting yourself in your seat as you break from your own glaring, “i suppose i’ll pay for it either way,”

abigail looks at you, a stare akin to a kind, confused dog. “oh, alright, well,” she stands curtly, going to shake your hand once more, “thank you for coming in then. it was good to finally meet you,”

you nod as if to say the same, but the words don’t actually fall from your lips. turning to leave, your name in her voice hooks you,

“i would encourage you to come to the sunday service, if you have the time.” she says, her face painted genuine, generous, “perhaps peace with the lord is something that you find you’ll need.”

it’s not like the invite was a mockery, you tell yourself as you buckle your heel. she was extending something kind. maybe she read you better than you did yourself.

you hadn’t exactly packed for a formal occasion, disregarding the knee length black dress you borrowed from walmart the day you found out you were staying for a funeral.

this was the next best thing.

dark red against the bare of your skin, your dress barely brushed mid-thigh, although the omission of fabric on your tits would be welcome in the afternoon trapped in the church. you eye the ornate glass cross your mother kept propped up on the console table,

oh, well. if god loved you, you suppose he would just have to forgive you.

you resolve to be david attenborough, you think to yourself as your convertible jaunts into park on the dirt road leading up to the congregation. scholar of these creatures in worship.

you can feel the town eyeing you as you take your first brave step, whispers a background to your arrival. makes you feel special, at least. you hardly have the time to act tough before prudence rushes you, husband on arm.

“we didn’t think we’d see you today!” she smiles, “you remember anthony?”

of course. anthony, the frightened young boy you had once shared a cigarette with outside the hubbub of the church’s youth mixer. you had comfort in you, back then, enough to share. you had told him once that his ‘weird feelings’ toward another boy at school was nothing to be scared of. nothing trumps the fear of god, though. he ran home and opened his mouth, he got you run out of town.

you stifle a laugh, and nod as you follow the swarm of people inside.

you know it’s narcissistic to assume that all eyes are on you, that every slighted giggle was directed at you, but right here, right now, it’s true. your mother no longer around to backhand your rebellion, you bare it full force.

you slip into an empty pew at the back, not scared, but rather hopeful to capture the breeze of one of the two standing fans.

the torrid heat already getting to you, a sheen of sweat is sitting on the cup of your cleavage that’s bare, heaving with each thick, heavy breath. your eyes trail abigail as she takes to the pulpit.

“i am so, so happy to see you all here with me today, under the eyes of the lord,”

something about summer agrees with her, you suppose. the brutality of it doesn’t seem to cling to her, her stride and keen smile unbroken. you can still eye, from the back, the details in her hands as she flips through the paper of her sermon.

there’s strength behind how gently she carries herself.

for one neurotic moment, you think you see her eyes dance over you, meeting yours before flittering away. you cross your legs and shake the feeling.

instead, you find yourself swallowed by the steel of her gaze. the authority that so well suits the sharpness of her features. you can tell she was not built to be generous, that god believed her stare to be absolution. the benevolence that she wears, that so illy sits on the brawn of her body, was never meant for her.

you wonder what abigail was like when she was mean. you wonder if she ever was.

“before we begin today, i want to remind you all that we will be bidding farewell to an esteemed member of our beloved community tomorrow. i beseech you all to attend if you can,”

softness doesn’t belong to her.

maybe, in another life, you would’ve seen the abigail god intended. crossed paths in the dive bar you frequent in the city, found her in the bathroom of a club, framed by the deafening beat of bad music.

you think to what her hand would feel like, rough and blistered with work unholy, pinning your wrist to the grime of a bathroom stall.

the warmth of her breath, coddled in whiskey and smoke, on your skin, the scent of her determined.

you eye her fingers as they turn the page of her notes, and imagine the strength of them pulling you apart, twisting you to her desire.

“i urge you to keep her soul in your prayers, so that she may find her way home to the lord,”

you feel the trickling of heat up your neck, your ears burning, your breath quick and scattered. something sick and swallowing sits in your stomach, you can feel eyes on you, but when you look up past the congregation, you see nothing.

it’s like you’re being smoked out, a sinner in church. you almost fall to your feet as you scramble out into the aisle, chest heaving as you rush out the open door.

you break through the stuck door of your family’s home, arid and heavy. your grip on your mother’s glass cross is titan, as you toss it, watch it shatter across the floorboards.

this was a joke.

the soft, rhythmic flap… flap… flap of Mrs Dixon’s black bone hand fan was the drum procession of which you were to bury your mother.

considering the climbing heat of the day, it was a wonder her bones hadn’t already rotted in the cheapest coffin you could’ve found. the sun high and taunting in the cloudless sky, it burned down on the congregation, the swelling crowd that had come to worship the life of that creature. that tormentor.

the old women of the church, the same who had once chewed their cheeks over the skirt length of your sunday best, who had counselled your mother over her faithless daughter, stood crown among the sea of black, eyeing you, scrutinising you, as they had always done. and like a hare caught in the crosshair of a hunter, you found yourself shrinking, as you once did, when you were fourteen.

you purse your lips, and try to steel your withering facade.

“we gather here today, to put to rest our sister in christ,”

abigail’s voice was commanding, you had to give her props. gentle, but worthy of attention. you can imagine a kind word from her was heavily sought after, amongst the faithful, chasers of praise from the workers of the lord. you watched her, embraced by the back of the daylight, the skin of her neck glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. her breath was heavy but not scattered, the rise and fall of her shoulders, broad, something mesmerising, oddly comforting.

her hands tighten their grip on her sermon. you can spy the cursive writing sifting through the back of the paper, bathed in sunlight. she must feel the bristle of your gaze.

“a pillar of the community, a hero of the faith,”

you studied her, like you would a specimen, cut open and bare. there was something about her, something in her that your mother liked, enjoyed, despite her many ungodly flaws. like the indeterminable, you stood in fascination. what was it? what was it that she had, that you had lacked?

was she merely hiding behind the cross, behind her steadfast dogma? you could have done that. you didn’t, but you could have.

you could have stayed, here. played your part. you could have been that child of the church. you could have done it, had you not chosen your own convictions. would, then, have abigail still appeared, had you stayed and been your mother’s daughter? a perfect echo of everything you weren’t?

was she just a spectre, summoned here to mock you in your failings?

the pit in your stomach is decaying, swallowing you whole. you knew perfectly well that had you stayed, you still wouldn’t have been what your mother wanted. you never were, never could be. you could not have deigned to touch the pedestal that abigail sat on.

a tear stings at the baseline of your eye, a foreign feeling, and you swallow the sharp presence in your throat.

abigail finishes, tucks her sermon away neatly in her pocket. the coffin is slowly lowered into the ground.

you never could’ve done the right thing, had you had the chance to go back and change it all. for your mother saw you, and saw everything she hated. every quality she herself turned away from god.

after all, filth begets filth.

the harsh clicking of the lighter broke a holy, suppressive silence in the halls of the church. you stare up at the great stained glass mural behind the lectern, fractures of colour scattered across the carpet. you pull the cigarette from the purse of your mouth and watch as the smoke swirls up, splits and ebbs into the clean, pure air.

“you can’t smoke in here,”

her voice isn’t harsh, or reprimanding, but rather, lost. quiet, unsure, like a mouse. something cowardly.

you hold the cigarette out to her, not risking to look back and face her. she takes it gingerly, but doesn’t bring it to her lips, doesn’t dare to put it out.

“my mother loved god. more than she loved my dad,” you look over your shoulder to meet her eyes. her brow furrowed, her expression meek.

“the lord is easy to love,” she steps forward, to stand level with you. her blazer brushes against the bare of your arm, soft cotton. you scoff quietly, mockingly.

“i never felt that.” you take the cigarette back from abigail’s hand in one fowl swoop and take another drag. she says nothing, “god is difficult.”

she looks at you, as if you were a mystery, quizzically, “you take His name in vain so easily.”

you meet her gaze and almost laugh. she’s frowning at you with the face of a child, with the same innocence that’s almost insulting, “yeah, well,” your words fall as you suck in smoke, “Him and i are old friends.”

there’s a sudden, shifting silence between you. the ash of your cigarette falls contrast on the red of the carpet, but you make no move to clean it. you hold your gaze at the cross at the front of the hall, almost daring it to look away first.

“i understand you and your mother had a complicated relationsh-“

“you know nothing about me and my mother,” you say quickly, sharply, negating any comfort. suddenly, you’re pinning abigail under your gaze, and her graciousness falters.

“she told me a great deal of things,” abigial says firmly, almost cementing herself in place against the wind of your unwavering disposition. for the first time, you see in her defiance, a challenge.

you step forward for a moment, unsteady on your tiptoes, and the fine details of abigail's features become briefly clear. the light, sun kissed pink brushed across the high of her cheekbones, the crook in her nose where she undoubtedly broke it once, the gold in the baby hairs that escaped her neat braid to frame her face wildly, contrast to the carefully kept order of her appearance. you had hoped to push her back into uncertainty, back into a quiet disposition, and perhaps you have. you watch her swallow headily. your closeness could melt you if you weren't careful, the heat from her breath swirling against your skin. you want to celebrate the nervousness creeping into her eyes, but instead you just feel... enthralled.

"and what did she tell you about me, hm?" you hold your chin high with a wicked cruelty in your smile, "did she disclose to you my many sins?"

her voice is a quiet choke, as much as she fights to keep it steady. she looks at you, examining you like a human to an animal, "you're troubled, you lack guidance-"

"your guidance? or god's?" your eyes flicker but you couldn't say to where. oppression is a symphony, in the house of the lord, makes the air syrupy, dazed. there's a blur in this moment between you, "is there any difference?"

you can hear her breath catch in her throat, the space between you thick, immobile.

“tell me, am i exactly how my mother described?”

“more than.” she stifles an unearned breath, “you test me.”

you take a final drag of your cigarette, stamping the butt into the carpet. abigail says nothing, does nothing.

“is that what she told you would happen?”

she swallows, her breath shaky.

“you’re tempting me from god,” she sounds unsure of herself, even now. you, despite your air of ego, beg to close the distance.

“is that what this is?” your voice is barely a whisper on her lips, prickling at her skin.

in one fell swoop, she moves on you, wretched and despairing and yearning. her lips run down your neck messily, unsure of herself as she falls.

a jealous mantra, “forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,” as her face drags in the skin between your thighs, peppering fevered kisses with her warm breath up your dress.

you throw your head back in a quiet, celebrated ecstasy, ambrosia humming beneath your skin. you hear her pleas just faintly, “what?”

something simmers in her throat, a frenzy, her hands, so gentle, so firm, unseen from hard labour, drag up the silhouette of your body, bunching the fabric of your clothes up past your hips. laid bare, she means to worship you,

“for my sins, dear god,” she hums, her words a soft hum brushing your clit, your nails clawing wood from the pew,“forgive me,”

all grace forgotten, all discipline jilted, she’s tentative at first, so soft and unsure, her tongue dragging gentle, lazy traces, just to taste you. but you, oh you, weep ichor, something so velveteen and compulsive, something that sits in her throat and leaves her needing. her hands grab at the flesh of your ass, an anchor or a desecration against you as she moves, pinning you in your seat. shaky moans reverberate inside of you as she takes her fill, restless against you, her tongue an abuse that leaves you in threads.

your hands curl into the tight kempt of her hair, shaking her braid loose until it hangs on her shoulders, your nails scratching at her scalp.

“fuck, abby,” it falls from your lips before you catch it, not that you have the right to care anymore. “right there, right -god- right there.”

abby, never before knowing this need, is ravenous, a temptation lost in your touch as she consumes you, greedily, a sharpness, a predatory unfamiliarity that is so unlike her.

“god, oh god,” her lips drag sloppily up your body, smearing your own cotton slick against your stomach, your dress, a patterned trail to your lips, warmth resting in the friction between your bones. you taste yourself on her, but you smell her on you, pine and cheap cologne and sweat.

“tell me to stop,” she chokes in a moment when she leaves your lips. she’s almost dragged back to you, a magnet to metal. “please, tell me,”

her hand is crawling down your body, down to rest between your legs. her fingers dance, hesitant, just brushing your clit. it stings, and your seethe melts into moans, “i don’t-i don’t want you to. don’t.”

“fuck,”

her fingers stretch you so uncertainly, so kind, content to just knowing the feeling of you. the push back you give her as your back arches, your breathing shivers.

control. something so rarely desired by her, something you won’t give her. but for a moment, as she starts to find your heartbeat’s rhythm, her fingers pulling and pushing like the weight of the tide against you, she feels that rush. that supremacy she so desperately searched for. it only eggs her on for more of a taste.

her speed picks up, her forearm so lazily draped across the plain of your stomach, she looks up at you. pinned in your seat by her weight, your hair wild, your face contorted. a flush falls over your body, heat dripping down the dip of your chest as she pulls whine after whine from the swell of your lips. her.

“pastor abigail?”

prudence.

if pitchforks and torches were still in style, you’re sure an angry mob would’ve chased you, high on your heels, out of town. instead, you settle for a mournful, cowardly escape.

you slam the trunk shut, the sharp sound sending cacophonies of disruption through the magnolias. echoes of blue jays take flight across the muddled grey of the sky. the humidity is sticking to your skin, a sleekness that feels like an insult to the fragility of the moment.

abigail’s truck rattles down the distant drive, the silence of her despondence drowning as she screeches to a halt beside you. she stumbles out in a stupour, aberrant with an emotion difficult to recognise.

“you’ve led me to the slaughter,” her face is red, the heat clinging to her hairline, her chest heaving. christ, the redeemer, is slung around her neck, lopsided, “I will live forsaken from god.”

the taste of sulphur sits on your tongue, like a burnt match rotting in your throat. you look at her, and she looks at you, her pupils blown with pleading, like a child who has just become conscious of death.

what have you done to her? brought her down to you? pulled her down from the pyre, stripped of her defences;

has that made you happy? have you finally settled inside yourself, with this victory? looking up at her, seeing a pleading servant of the creature that turned you away, are you happy in her defeat?

you purse your lips, an ill attempt at forgiveness, at apology. moving past her, you feel her hesitance, her corroding need to reach out to you, like wading in waist high water.

in the car, your fingers wrap around the steering wheel, a vice grip. the last tether to this plane of existence, this piece of yourself.

“take it from me,” your voice is a soft croak, unsure of itself. you look up from the driver’s seat, and see her. is her own god forgotten in her eyes? you swallow,

“your guilt won’t purify you.”

─ psssst, hey! you made it this far! great! just wanted to let you know i've opened up a kofi to help support time for my writing. if you like my work and want to show your support, even just 1 buck would go a long way for me right now.

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou x reader #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x afab!reader #abby anderson

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teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps · 1 year

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lovifie · 4 months

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Her Royal Highness Pt. 1

Masterlist

The palace gardens.

Thousands of flowers, trees and weeds grow all together. Every one of them, their own use and their own mission.

Growing delicious fruit, being used in medicinal infusions… decorating the burning chapel of the late Queen.

The hundreds of chrysanthemums that decorated her coffin is a sight you would never forget. On any regular funeral, the flowers would have been white. But not on your mum's, everyone from the kingdom who arrived to give their respect to the deceased royal brought flowers. Every flower of different colours, making it look like a rainbow, making it look like a painting.

A gruesome painting.

But now, as the autumn winds circle your body in the garden; you look around for the chrysanthemums. As in trying to go back to that day, take another look at her face, and try to memorise her better.

But it's not her face the one you see, but of a man you have never seen before.

High in the tower, looking down on you through the window of your father's office. Blue eyes lock with yours, and a kind smile appears through his beard.

At that moment, Alissa, one of the maids, calls for you.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in the Sun Room.”

The Sun Room, the stance where you would spend all those sleepless nights looking into the telescope. Visiting all those faraway galaxies, until the sun would come up.

Now, it has been provisioned with a table and chairs, and it was your father's favourite spot to have breakfast.

So you didn't think anything else of the request, making your way up to the Sun Room. Blue eyes already forgotten until you enter the run, and meet them again. But he was not alone.

Five men were seated around the table, only one of them you know.

Right in front of you was your father, smiling at you while pointing to sit on the chair opposite to his.

On his right, was sitting the man you saw on the window. Around the same age as your father, with blue eyes, a beard and a smoking pipe on his lips.

Sitting on the left of your father, was a man wearing a hood and a veil-like fabric covering the lower half of his face leaving only his eyes exposed. You thought he was looking at you for a second, but when you tried to meet his gaze you realised he was looking at the man sitting next to the first mysterious man.

You follow his gaze, meeting bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile looking at you. A bit of stubble surrounded his mouth, only interrupted by the small scar on his chin.

The last man on the table caught your eyes as he left the cup he was just using on the table. Tan skin, brown eyes and just as kind smile as everyone else on the table met your eyes.

Everyone on the table except for your father quickly got on their feet as you entered the room, bowing to you as a sign of respect.

You bowed back, almost on autopilot after so many years of training.

The brown-eyed man quickly makes his way towards you and moves your chair back to make it easier for you to sit, and once you do he pushes you closer to the table.

“Thank you…” You say, a bit surprised by the action and follow him with your eyes until you look back at your father. “Morning, Father.”

“Morning, angel. Let me introduce you to King John Price, he has come all the way from his kingdom with his son and his two best knights just to meet you.” He says pointing to the older man on his right.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess.” The sudden deep voice from the foreign king quickly gains your attention as you smile at him courteously.

“The pleasure is mine, your Royal Highness.” You answer by bowing with your head and picking up the cup of tea on your right. “May I ask the reason for such an odyssey?”

“Well, my son here, Prince Simon is still unmarried and as my only heir, I would like to meet my grandchild before my passing to die in peace. So when the news that the young princess was of age to marry, it sounded like the perfect opportunity. And now, having met you, I can rest assured that my grandchildren will be handsome.” The king jokes laughing softly but gets interrupted by the choking sounds that erupted from you.

What news of you being of age? Marriage? Grandchildren? As you try to get back to breathing you cover your mouth with the napkin and try to figure out what is happening. But it is not hard to figure it out, your father is using you as spare change to keep the kingdom safe. A marriage between kingdoms means a bigger territory, a bigger army, and a bigger treasure to live in peace.

It quickly downsides to you how little your opinions matter to the kingdom affairs, it doesn't matter whether you want to get married or not, whether you like the prince, your soon-to-be husband, or not, any of that matter, because you are just like a horse being sold to a bigger farm.

Even though you can barely remember your mother's face, you can almost hear her screams of rage inside your head, the impotence flowing through your veins. She would have fought your father on this, completely against this interchange. Giving away her only daughter to the first man who knocks on the door, completely unaware of his real intentions.

But your mother is dead, your father is getting old, and you are just a princess sitting between two royal knights of a foreign kingdom.

So you do what you must, you stop coughing, get your breath back, stand up apologising for the rumble and excuse yourself by letting everyone know that there is a task that cannot wait to be done that you forgot to do this morning.

You make your way out before any men in the room can say anything and walk to your room as fast as you can, hating more than ever living in such a big palace.

Once inside and with the door locked, you fall to your knees letting the tears flow. You should be ashamed really, of getting knocked out this easily after your first royal mission.

But you can't help it, the fight that ignited inside your soul. You knew this would happen, ever since you were born your duty has always been to be married to some foreign prince, the easier way to make allies. But your poor romantic heart, which would keep you awake at night, dreaming of how a kind prince would appear to court you, how you would fall in love with each other, finally marrying and living happily ever after.

Those dreams get shattered in such a brutal way, leaving you no time to try and conceal your feelings. So you indulge in those feelings, suddenly taking notice of how little freedom you have left, you decide to not conceal your feelings. So you move onto your bed, and you cry. You cry until you no longer feel your mother's rage inside your heart.

—————————————————————

The knock on your door wakes you up, not having noticed falling asleep. You make your way and unlock the door coming face to face with Alissa, who looks at you with a worried look.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in his dormitory. You should come quickly.” She says as she starts to walk looking back to make sure you are following her.

“Did something happen? Why the hurry, Allisa?” You ask trying to get next to her and when she doesn't answer you grab her arm making her turn to you. “Allisa, what's wrong?”

“It's better for you to see yourself, Princess” Allisa says grabbing your hand back and walking with you to your father's room door.

She opens the door and looks at you waiting for you to enter but without moving herself. She avoids your gaze almost as if she feels guilty about having you in the situation.

Both the curiosity and anxiety of the moment make you enter the room without another thought.

The smell of chrysanthemums invades your nostrils, but there aren't any flowers in the room. But the sight brings you back to that grotesque painting of your mother's funeral.

Your father lays on his bed, breathing with difficulty and his eyes closed. He looks weak, a sight you thought was impossible now was right in front of you.

You run to your father's bed, kneeling at his side and grab his hand with your shaking fingers.

“Father? Please talk to me, what has happened to you?” You ask with your vision getting blurry with tears.

“Oh, my sweet bird.” Your father says opening his eyes and smiling weakly at you. “Why do you sound so worried? Don't you ever worry about me, it's my duty to worry about you. Something I ate must me fighting back, but it is nothing I can’t beat.” He caresses your cheek, feeling the cold of his fingers making a tear fall on top of his hand. “How are you feeling? You looked upset before when you left, do you not like the Prince?”

Like the Prince? The Prince you didn't hear say a word? The Prince you didn't even see his whole face? The Prince that didn't even look at you? That Prince? Did you even have a say in whether you like him or not?

“I was just… surprised.” You lie.

“They are nice people. They have a big kingdom, bigger than ours. They will take good care of you, birdie.” Your father says and you see him begin to close his eyes. “I'm gonna try to sleep again, alright? I'm sure I will wake up feeling better. You should try as well, it's been a strange day, hasn't it?”

You smile at him as you see him close his eyes but you don't move. You stay put while holding his hand, and only look up when you hear the door open.

The King Price enters accompanied by the brown-eyed knight, who is grabbing a tea set on a tray.

“Leave it on the nightstand, Kyle.” Says the king without noticing you are inside and when he finally does notice his expression changes. The more crude and stone-like expression he was using, changes into the kind one you saw before. “Oh, greetings, Princess. Your father requested some tea to ease his sleeping.”

Kyle, the knight, puts the tray on the nightstand and gives you a smile when you look at him. Feeling your throat dry after crying the whole day, you stretch your arm to grab the teacup but before you can do it, the knight grabs your hand.

“Apologies, Princess. But it is for your father.” He says while looking at you with a smile but without letting go of your hand.

“I'm sure my father wouldn't mind sharing a cup. I only want a sip.” I say trying again to grab it but meeting the same luck again. The knight moves his hand to grab my hand more softly instead of my wrist and moves it up to his lips leaving a kiss on my knuckles.

“Your Royal Highness, with all due respect… I wouldn't recommend drinking the tea.” A shiver runs down your spine and you feel the king put a hand on your shoulder making you look up at him.

“Princess, why don't you go back to your room? We will take care of your father, don't worry.” King Price says and you feel like screaming, shouting, hitting, biting, fighting them until they leave the palace and never come back. But you don't, you stay looking at them like a dumb child.

You look back at your father. His skin looks almost grey, a pained expression on his face and cold hands meeting yours. Just this morning, he was fine. Having breakfast with everyone, joking, talking about marriage with the other king. And now, this.

“This is your making, right? You have poisoned my father. You are trying to murder my father’’ You say with a shaking voice looking between them and you hear the king sigh.

‘‘Princess, you are far too young to understand. Your father's kingdom has way too much potential for it to go to waste under such a careless king. He is already too old, and he was never that bright to begin with. When your mother was alive this was a great kingdom, but it has only been getting worse. Is the best for everyone, once you and my son get married, you won't have to worry about anything anymore. You are clever like your mother, aren't you? So prove it, leave your father to rest and let me make everything easier for you.’’

You feel your head throb, so much information all at once. The shameless way he just admitted to the murder of your father, how he let you know that this has been his plan for years even knowing your late mother, the way he expects you to just accept this reality.

You know you need to fight, but you know you would never be able to fight them alone. You think about different things would be if you had any siblings, maybe an older brother that didn't need to get married in order to reign. How things would be different if you were not the next in line… and then you remember. Your uncle. Your mother's brother is the next in line to your throne after you.

But only if anything happened to you…

What's more important? The kingdom? Or yourself?

The blade on Kyle's waist suddenly seems too close to ignore. And you don't fully register what you are doing until you see the fear in the knight's eyes.

The blade feels heavy on your hands when you raise it above your head, and Kyle jumps in front of the king to protect him of your attack.

But you are not aiming at the king, you are aiming at yourself. And before they can prevent it, the blade is already through your torso.

‘‘If there is no marriage, the kingdom is for my uncle not for you.’’ You say barely above a whisper, feeling cold. A wide contrast with the warm blood covering your hands.

Your ears feel stuffed and it is more and more difficult to stay kneeled without falling. You hear the King curse and order the knight to go for the sages.

You feel the cold floor against your temple, not having noticed being lying on your side. You never thought about dying in a battle, or poison, or murdered. You always thought that's how powerful people die, and unimportant princesses like you would most likely die of old age somewhere alone.

But dying in order to save the kingdom seems noble enough.

In your last moments, you think about your father. Lying on his bed behind you, still breathing but already being given up on by everyone. Even his only daughter.

What would he think if he got better? If he woke up right now? And saw his child, lying on a pool of her blood inserted on the visiting knight’s blade by herself.

Useless.

You were supposed to help the kingdom and didn't even try to fight. Gave up before the fight started.

Coward.

Leaving the job for your poor uncle, as if he was not already busy enough.

Selfish.

Dying.

Alone.

—————————————————————

Since I uploaded the little something I did yesterday I couldn't stop thinking about it.

hehe

I hoped that you liked the first chapter <3

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 month

Text

I Think They Like You

Summary: The rest of the camp have had enough of you and Astarion dancing around each other, never daring to confess so they decide to give the both of you a little nudge in their own ways.

Astarion watches from his corner by the campfire as you go around to each member of the group, handing them a gift with your signature bright smile. He scowls when Karlach heartily laughs at something you said, slapping your shoulder a little harder than intended which causes you to stumble forward, unprepared for the barbarian’s strength. He scowls even harder when Wyll’s hand lingers on yours a little too long for his liking and Halsin touches the small of your back, thanking you for your thoughtful gift.

“If you scowl any harder those lines will be permanently etched into your face,” Shadowheart appears next to him.

“Thankfully I am a vampire spawn who will remain forever young,” Astarion rolls his eyes in response, folding his arms across his chest. He doesn’t miss the flower in Shadowheart’s hand and a tinge of jealousy blooms in his chest. You’ve given a gift to everyone but him, and teasing words to try and worm an answer as to why lie on the tip of his tongue. Deep down, he wonders if you’ve purposely not given him a gift. Maybe you don’t deem him as worthy of one, he can think of plenty of reasons why you’d deem him as such, but a small piece of him clings tightly to the hope that you’re just waiting for the right time to give him his gift. After all, like what you told him once, ‘save the best for last’ right?

He continues to observe you as you unload a pack full of magical gear for Gale, going through each item with him. Shadowheart snorts when she notices how hard Astarion is gripping his own arms, excusing herself with a ‘just talk to them already’ and heads to her tent.

Once you’re done presenting your gift to Lae’zel, you glance around the camp, looking for the silver haired vampire whom you had yet to give a gift to and find him slouching against a tree, hiding away from the others. His ruby red gaze pierces through you as you make your way over, excited.

“Astarion!” You hop over, plopping down next to him.

“About time, darling. I was wondering when you’d finally give the best gift to your best party member,” his signature smirk plays across his face with confidence but his eyes say otherwise.

“Saving the best for last. Besides, I figured that you’d like to receive your gift once the others have settled down enough to not bother you about it,” you smile at him.

“Best for last huh,” he murmurs, a small genuine smile on his face. “Of course mine is the best gift,” he says with far more confidence.

“The best gift for the best companion,” you grin, turning around to reach into the pack and pull out a dagger, holding it out to him.

“I noticed that you lost one of your daggers in our previous fight, so since I was the one who started the fight I felt responsible for it and decided to get you a new dagger!” Your eyes shine. “Since we needed supplies, I went to the market, happened upon a blacksmith, saw this dagger and…uh…thought it looked beautiful. So I bought it,” you smile sheepishly. He looks over the dagger, noting how it was a far better dagger than his previous one and wonders how much you had to fork out to purchase it. A quick glance already told him it wasn’t a cheap purchase in the slightest, and the rubies inlaid in its hilt only skyrocketed the potential price of the dagger.

“I…”

He looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Yes dear?”

“The dagger reminded me of you,” you mumble, feeling the heat spread from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

“Oh? How so, dearest?” He purrs. “Am I as beautiful as the dagger? As dangerous as it?”

“Its silver hilt reminded me of your hair and the rubies reminded me of your eyes,” you scratch the back of your neck, looking at the ground in embarrassment. “That’s it, really.”

Astarion blinks. The dagger had caught your eye because its colour combination reminded you of his hair and eyes? He leans in closer to you, wondering what you saw when you looked at him. Did you only keep him around for his good looks? You hadn’t bedded him yet, maybe this was his chance to prove his usefulness in that regard.

“Then I suppose I am as beautiful as this dagger,” a coy smile plays on his lips. “That is quite the compliment, dear.”

You laugh, “beautiful and deadly. I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I do, darling. Now then, to repay you for your…gift –”

“Ah, sorry! I just remembered I have to help Gale prepare tonight’s dinner, see you later!” You quickly jump to your feet and scurry off, trying to hide your embarrassment. His lips had been so close to yours, ruby red eyes staring intensely into your soul and you feel your cheeks grow warm at the thought of it. Had he wanted to kiss you? You’ve never really thought about romance so this territory was extremely unfamiliar to you. Shaking your head, you throw yourself into dinner preparations, trying to rid yourself of these thoughts and miss the way Astarion’s face falls at the sight of you running away.

“Astarion,” Halsin greets him from behind.

“What are you doing here, druid?” He scowls, tucking the dagger away safely.

“I simply came to check up on a friend,” the druid replies calmly.

“Friend.” Astarion snorts. “We’re not friends, we’re simply travelling companions.”

“So you keep telling yourself. I have noticed that you’ve started to grow closer to everyone as of late, especially Y/N.” The druid sits himself where you had been sitting not too long ago.

“And how does that concern you?” Astarion spits back.

“Do you, perhaps, have feelings for them?”

“Of course not!” Astarion snaps a little too quickly.

Halsin simply smiles in return, “I think they like you. Talk to them about it, I imagine they will be just as surprised as you are to find out that you return their feelings.”

“Clearly they have good taste,” Astarion rolls his eyes, “falling for the most handsome person in camp.”

“I mean it, Astarion. Tell them how you feel, I believe new and wondrous experiences await the both of you,” Halsin places a hand on the vampire’s back and gently pushes him towards you. Astarion turns around, baring his fangs at the unfazed druid but walks over to you anyways, thoughts swirling in his mind.

Was Halsin right about you? He didn’t want to look like a fool should he confess. He liked the relationship the two of you currently had, with the stolen glances, the soft smiles, the gentle touches. He genuinely enjoyed all the times you would sneak into his tent for some peace and quiet, picking a book from his stash and reading by his side until your eyes could barely remain open. Then you’d excuse yourself, stumbling out of his tent whilst yawning all the way and he’d quickly leap to his feet to guide you to your tent before you could face plant into the dirt. He didn’t want to lose all of this, ever .

“Hey, Astarion.” Your shy smile washes some of his concerns away. You put down the knife and turn to face him, gaze searching curiously. “What can I do for you?”

Of course that was your first question. You were always far too helpful for his liking, always far too eager to come to the aid of others, even if it meant delaying your main mission of removing the tadpole. He hated how you always threw yourself with reckless abandon into danger to save others, resulting in him needing to do extra work just to ensure you came away from the fight alive. For some reason, it always fell to him to extract you from that fight you couldn’t win, it was always his feet that led him to you, always his daggers that embedded themselves into the gullet of your enemies, always his bloodstained hand that stretched out to you, pulling you to your feet. Always that giddy feeling from the smile you gave him and only him whenever your hand lingered on his .

“Hello, darling. I was wondering…if we could talk. In private,” he swallows, fingers playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Oh, of course!” You turn to Gale, completely missing the knowing look in said wizard’s eyes. “Gale, can you –”

“I can finish the preparations by myself, don’t you worry. Go ahead,” he waves the two of you off far too quickly for Astarion’s liking.

“Thanks Gale!” You chirp and let Astarion take the lead, looping your arms through his.

He brings you to the outskirts of the camp where the trees block out potential eavesdroppers and shelter the both of you from any noses sticking into the business he had with you. For once, Astarion has no idea how to begin, nor any inkling of what to say. He has never prepared a script for this kind of situation before, and silently curses Halsin for doing this to him.

“If it’s something you’re not comfortable saying, you don’t have to force yourself to do it,” you break the silence, but make no inclination to move. Instead, your eyes are focused on him, watching him, checking up on him.

“I…” Astarion can’t believe himself. For the first time ever, he’s lost for words. His signature silver tongue, silenced by…you of all people.

“I have…” He tries again, to no avail.

“Ilikeyou.” The words rush out and immediately Astarion regrets it. Everything in his body screams at him to run, to leave this place far far behind, to banish all memories of you from his mind but he remains rooted to the spot, his undead heart thundering in his chest.

You stare at him, and he shifts from one leg to another, gaze fixed on the ground. Then you realise you’ve been staring at him for way too long and quickly clear your throat, causing his head to snap back up.

“I…” You feel your cheeks flame up again, but if Astarion has already laid it all bare, it’s only fair you do the same too. So you take a deep breath to steady yourself, look him in the eye and say the words.

“I like you too.”

His eyes widen and then he smiles, genuine happiness clear on his face. A wave of relief crashes into him and he takes a step forward, taking your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m glad you return these feelings of mine, darling. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if you had rejected me, not that the thought ever crossed my mind.” He cups your cheek with his cold hand, his long slender thumb brushes over your warm skin.

“I’m glad you return my feelings too,” you whisper breathlessly, placing a hand over his. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he leans in close, lips mere inches away from yours. He looks to you for permission and you close the distance despite the uncertainty filling your chest, lips touching. He kisses you with practised ease while you fumble and he pulls away, amusement colouring his face.

It’s a good look on him , you think to yourself. You ought to create more opportunities for it in the future.

“Your first time kissing someone, love?” He chuckles.

“Well…what do you think?” You shoot back.

“It’s not bad, but you have a lot to learn if you ever want to be as good as me,” he smirks. “Don’t you worry darling, we will have a lot of chances to work on your kissing.”

With that he closes the gap once more, hungrily kissing you deeper. A new kind of warmth blooms from his chest, enveloping his cold body and spreads to his fingertips. He likes this feeling, Astarion decides. He likes feeling you in his embrace, he likes holding you like you’re the last thing in this world. He likes the feeling of your love for him washing over him.

He likes – no – loves you.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #tav #tav bg3 #tav x astarion #durgestarion

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