(personal posts are #lllostgirlll.txt) Hello! Welcome to my blog! Stella. 26. Autistic.
Hyperfixations:
The Lost Boys (1987), The Last Kingdom, Avatar (the one with the blue people), Turn: Washington’s Spies, Halloween in general, No Country For Old Men, Books, The Chronicles of Narnia, Twilight, The Lord of The Rings (ROP not included), Supernatural, Vikings, Peaky Blinders, Knightfall (the history channel show), Assassin’s Creed, History in general, GOT (mainly A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms).
Favorite Bands/Singers (not in any particular order and always looking for more goth + 80s to listen to):
at the risk of sounding a bit classist the literacy crisis is gonna make me want to kill myself holy shit. i made a comment on a tiktok saying how agamemnon was horrible but incredibly hot in the new odyssey movie and someone was like “but he’s horrible???” girl did u not read my FUCKING comment
Whore!Lyonel Baratheon x Whore!Duncan the tall x Velaryon reader SMUT
Pt II
MASTERLIST - SEND PROMPTS - AO3
Summary; Hurt and betrayed by your duplicitous, cheating husband, you seek out a pleasure house for a revenge fuck; little do you know, you catch the eye and interests of two very skilled men-
Stormhedge x reader - ALSO THEY ARE HUSBANDS IN THIS!
Inspired by this masterful, sensual Lyonel artwork by @josnaket and I must entirely give all my thanks to @adumbgirlinloove for helping plot and fuel the insanity on this one. We just needed the boys to be whores ok? The excellent banners by @pxrce-lain thank you so much.
You stand in the street. And you stare upwards. Neck craning.
The huge house above you heaves with life. From every window. From behind the gaps in every patterned shutter. Slithering out from under every marmalade orange rooftile. The outside brick frontage is cream as churned butter. Clung with thick climbing green vines. Ones that burst with purple flowers that smell of honey.
It’s packed with noise and heat and song that leaks out the seams. In the blue wash of night that takes this reeking city, the windows stand square and proud. Gilded in gold. You can hear laughter, strong plucked strings of seductive music. Other, more deeply vocal noises you don’t need to guess at the nature of.
“Fuck.” You hiss.
Your stomach squirms itself in knots. Like the old ones in sailors rope, that hung off the wharf.
You turn on your heel. You pace another length down the street. Slippers cutting a path in the wet dusty dirt. Your seaweed green skirts trail in it. Blue velvet cloak hem now sodden in muck. The light rippling off it. The jewellery on your wrist, crinkles like shells colliding. Twinkling silver.
You don’t know if you can do this. Once that threshold is crossed. There’s no snatching it back. Literally.
A breeze shudders up like a hot cough from from bay. Tar, salt and wood. Fish skin and old sea-logged rope. It sweeps over you. The real true filth of this city cuts through the street, butting up against the polite boudoir imagery this place sells. The streets you crammed through, smelling like rotten meat, piss, ale, and sun baked dirt. The soiled perfume of normal life.
You turn over your shoulder. Cloak falling in your eye. Hair whipped in a curling strand over your hood. Pearl earring swaying at your neck in a heavy cold drop.
You look at the golden mouth of that doorway. The promised land. It opens to let two drunk men stumble in. From here you can see a flash of red and orange. Silks hanging up. Lewd crimson tapestries lining the halls no doubt. Bodies twisted in the fabric in sexual repose. Platters of rich fruit and deep dark cups of wine to ply the customers with.
Scent sneaks out the arched wooden doorway. You can smell it from here. Luxurious incense. Sensual jasmine and warm cedar. The air trickling with it; it is all spice, sweat and heat. You know there holds naked hot flesh, and pure debauched sin behind that door.
You look down at your hands. Bring them up from under your velvet cloak. They’re shaking. The silver band on your ring finger wobbles. Tears shiver under your eyes. Ones you’ve had to choke back for far too long.
You give yourself a breath. You yank that mocking band of silver off your hand and shove it deep in your cloak pocket. No one need know.
You’re done with being frustrated. And angry. So bitterly angry you could cleave heads off shoulders with one blow. Lash the lands like a furious tempest. You could drown the world with your rage. Like some ancient sea goddess walking out the waves with desolation to hand.
You were through with feeling like a second choice in your own halls. Your halls. Your bed. Your name dragged through the silt to be laughed at. Passed over in favour of younger, perkier girls. All swaying silk dresses, and easy trite smiles.
You were of House Velaryon. Old, rich stock. Fine blue blood in your veins as ancient as foam whipped off the seas. You were a daughter of Driftmark, and its salt-bred tides wrapped your bones.
Your marriage was as cold and loveless as the deep black seabed. It had started off in fondness. You tolerated one another. Bedded when you needed too. Soon, it ran dry. Became about making the motions and nothing else. Worst of all, your womb remained empty. That was when his eye began to wander—
You suffered blow after blow of humiliation. Watching your husband openly flaunt his dalliances. Indiscreet affairs held right under your nose.
Then you’d received word, a mere day ago, a nasty sneer caught out the side of a maids mouth, that one of your husbands mistresses, had fallen with child.
That is what had driven you here. The grain of sand that tipped the scales.
You’d heard tale this pleasure house before you, was the finest there was in all of Westeros. All types of variety, and flesh of every kind on offer.
Your husband had been the one to break your wedding vows.
Now, you intend to finish the job and shatter them to dust.
Scatter the ashes in the wind and laugh as it slips through your fingers like white sand.
You march on up to that door. You take the worn iron handle, and you twist it and push inside. Heat rushes to meet you.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
The walls inside pulse red like spilled blood. Cut veins. Heavy and close. The ceilings shiver with hung silks and bulging arcs of fabric. Iron lanterns frame golden light in squares. Throwing dozy red pools over your skin, when you push your hood back.
Men and women revel around you. Romping. Naked, some dressed, some merely rumpled. Slumped on low plump chaises, bolster cushions stuffed and spilling over the tiled floor. Some are pleasuring their guests. Some are being pleasured right in the open.
Candles are crammed on every surface. Flicking upward light like dragon tongues. The sides of the room is lined to with people, and antiques from far flung corners of the lands. Frescoes of naked men and women frolic in chalky paint across the dim walls. Red grapes and cut pomegranates are piled in bowls like molehills, off a low placed table. Glistening like rubies.
You see men half undressed, aswell as women. Bodies glisten with chains and jewels. Looped down manly naked shoulder blades. Coral red beads or orange silk shawls draped over bared breasts. Laughter and jasmine clots the air, along with music threading its notes from somewhere hidden.
Everywhere you look; the choice is endless. Dark haired man. Petite white haired woman with skin so beautifully dark it drank the light. Tall pale redhead. Paler than moon. Strong tan thighs. Arms bulging with hair and muscle. Curvy hips. You can scarce breathe with the sensuality of it all.
One woman breaks from her silk draped doorway. Cocks a hip. Flaunts herself in your path as easy as a summer breeze.
She’s barefoot. Ankles ringed in gold bangles. Her hair raven black, down to her waist. Eyes were so green it was striking. She’s naked with a mulberry brocade robe lapping open at her sides. Her nipples flash in the light. Perked and pierced with gold.
She sizes you up with a flick of her lashes. Goblet in one hand. Tilting her head cool and easy. Taking the measure of your noble posture and regal clothes.
“May I help you, precious?” She purrs. Accent landing somewhere between Tyrosh and Myr.
You look at her. Wet your lips. She looks like a rippling pantheress made flesh. It made you seize up.
“I’m looking for- someone.”
“We have many someone’s here.” She tells you plain. Eyes narrowing to see if you were worthy of her time.
“I need uh… A man.”
She smiles down at you. Eyes dipping low. Trying to make you out under all that swathing velvet. Pretty. Veiled. Posture stiff. Noble blood.
“Any particular sort?”
She sweeps her arm across the room. “We have big, slim, short, tall. Well-hung. Average. Pretty men. Handsome men. I have some who want bruises and punishment. And some who’ll beg and whine for your cunt and your pleasure. Name your price and your type. Precious.”
You reach in your cloak. Withdraw a sizeable pouch. The stags within clink. Her grin glistens with red wine and hunger.
“No expense spared.” You state. Hopeful.
She looks voracious.
“Hmm for that? You get my top boys. I have someone very good. A little older. But very wild. Dark haired devil. He’s one of my best. Will tongue fuck you to tears, and pound you like a bull til dawn.”
“I just want someone…” the words turn to sand in your tongue. You swallow and it clicks down your throat.
“I want kind. Someone soft. Who’ll treat me gently. Not see me as something to use up, and discard.”
Saying it hurt more than you thought. Tears threaten your eyes again.
Her grin curls on one side. “I understand. Precious. Do you care about his… size?” She arched a brow.
You shrug modestly. Clinging your hands together. “I suppose not.”
She chuckles. It’s warm as drizzled honey.
“Come. I have just the man for you.”
The room she leads you too is empty. But the evidence of whose been before you makes you sweat under your dress. Rumpled bed. Perfume in the air like a living ghost.
“Wait here. Precious. My man will be with you shortly. I’m sure you’ll enjoy him.” She closes the door with her laugh sliding in the gap. Your coin in her hand.
You stand at the threshold. Moving in slow like you’d be told off for lingering.
This room was bigger that that red den downstairs. The walls no less oppressive. Slaked in russets and oranges. A palatial bed takes up the centre of the room. Purple sheer curtains hide the rumpled, crushed blankets. Copper silk bolsters and blue linens. Feather mattress no doubt.
Wine and more fresh fruit lay to one side. A carafe of red. A golden platter of honey drenched, sticky figs lay in a circle. The house pulses sound around you. Moans of all kinds bat at the doors. The creak of a bed repeatedly hitting a wall.
You spy the window. Covered with a misty blue curtain and a patterned wood shutter. Pinpricks of light burst across the cloth like freckles. You draw it aside. Feel the cool night air sighing in, brushing along your skin like a lover-
“My lady.” Comes a honeyed dulcet from behind you. Accent soft at the edges like it’s been sanded round.
You spin. Caught. A gasp leaving your lips. And when you see the man filling the doorway; your mouth stays hung open like a sea cave.
He wasn’t just man. He was entirely too much, man.
He was four heads taller than you at the least. Wide shoulders like a sturdy Ox. all muscle and rippling with power. But softened in places. A giving pouch of a stomach. Healthy cover of large pecs. Thighs that look as solid as ancient tree trunks in the godswood.
He’s wearing a navy robe. Thin gauze. His pale skin shimmers under the chiffon cloth. He’s recently bathed. Oil seeps a rich, thick scent off him. Verdant vertiver and cedar.
His body was like carved marble, but his face is where you get stuck.
He even looks kind.
Eyes blue as the narrow sea from your bedroom window. A noble jaw. Fine blade of a nose. Hair worn long to his shoulders. Copper-blond in the dim light. A smile that was rugged and warm, white teeth imperfect and a little crooked. But it added to his rough hewn charm.
His smile quirks at the corner with catching you off-guard. “Apologies. Didn’t want to startle you.”
You fidget with your hands. “Forgive me. I’m not usually one for being skittish, but I’m not used to-“
You turn to the room. Making a broad gesture to that truly, huge slab of a bed. Incense trails a sickly smoky path up into the corner of the ceiling. Candle flames snap on every surface. Moans skate across the walls from other rooms. Some high and violent shouts. Others more grunting and low.
You suddenly note how many large mirrors frame the walls. Inbetween the blue tapestries of writhing bodies and naked figures. It makes those rope knots in your stomach tug again. This entire place is made to sell and shout about sex. In a way you’ve been taught was not proper.
He smiles. A breathy laugh. He finishes your words for you.
“But you don’t frequent whore houses very often. That’s alright.” He soothes.
Coming in properly. Gently shutting the door behind him. Blocking out everything else. Tapering your time and attention down to him.
“I may be big, but I promise you I’m not a brute. Why don’t we have some wine. My lady- if you’d like.” He urges. Gentle as if he was calming a wild, thrashing horse.
“Very much. Yes. Please.” You swallow. Noticing your dry mouth and throat.
You flicker a weak smile his way. Wanting to curse yourself for how foolish you’re appearing.
You watch him move to the side. The low table where the fruit is. A wall of his fragrance smacks you as he moves past. Woodsy and fresh green. Like new sapling oak trees.
He pours you both a cup of wine. The goblets cold to the touch. Carved of intricate metal. A soft silence descends as you both sip. Flood sweet, heady red on your tongues.
He seats himself on the bed. You remain stood. He casually lets his eyes find you. Still garbed up like you were expecting to catch a chill.
“It’s warm in here. You can loosen your cloak if you like. No rush though if you’re not ready. Take all the time with me you need.”
“Don’t imagine your mistress would be too pleased with me taking up your whole night.”
You deprecate yourself. Looking to the expensive rugs on the floor cause you can’t believe how soft his eyes are.
“You paid good coin for me. I’ll not see you dissatisfied. She wouldn’t care for that either. Our reputations here make her a rich, powerful woman. That relys on keeping our clients happy and safe. Unless they pay to feel otherwise.”
You look over at him. He’s so sincere. Blue eyes blazing at you.
You were rather warm. You’re sure for a trade that required naked skin, the rooms had to be kept a decent temperature.
You slip your fingers for the pearl clasp of your cloak. Let it fall from your shoulders. Shimmering velvet. Like waves falling down your body.
His eyes take you in. Slowly. Without making you feel less. Or dissected.
He sees more of the shape of your delightful figure under the plain cascade of silk. The bell sleeves were long and framed your slender arms and hands. It hugged your waist and flared at your hips.
The neckline just kissed your shoulders. The way mist draped the sea on cold mornings. There’s no overdone embroidery. No fripperies or fuss. Just silver at your wrists, throat, and fingers. A lariat necklace wedged with sapphires draped down your throat. Curls of patterns that seem like shells on the metal. More pearls clasped around the design. Draping off your small hands too.
You look like some soft, sacred thing, dredged with care out of the sea. Wrapped in clinging weeds and sand. Like a salt crusted pearl. A goddess reborn. A precious treasure tucked inside a shell. Something special.
You retake your goblet. Another inch bared. Slow progress.
“I’m not here to shame you into doing something if you’re scared. If you’ve changed your mind, you’ll have your coin back. Every one. And I’ll walk you to the door myself. My lady. No harm in it.”
You open your mouth. But no sound comes out.
An honest whore who won’t take your coin regardless- how refreshing.
The oddest feeling squirms within you. Unsettled and sharp. Something your tide-worthy bones can’t meld well with. Defeat.
You answer him in kind. You stand your wine down. Wet your dry lips. You cross to stand before him. Hands fussing with your pearl rings. “Can I be honest?”
“I encourage it. Yes.” He nods. Sweet as sugar, and so calming.
“It’s a betrayal that has led me to your door tonight. A humiliating hurt so deep I scarce know what to do with it. Still don’t. But all I know is, I am so sick and tired of being frustrated, and alone and feeling second choice. I wanted someone to look at me. And see someone worth looking at. Not to be glanced over.”
The words sting as they leave your tongue. Your courage torn to strips. It hits deep in your chest like an arrowhead. The truth. You are of no consequence. You are unloved.
You don’t want to be alone. Not again. Not tonight.
A sombre expression takes his face as he sips the wine.
“Your husband?” He checks when he lowers his cup. Voice dipping into a darker tone.
Your heart knocks into your ribs. “How did you-“
“Sweet thing. I’ve been in this business a long time. I know a lot more than you’d think. You’d be shocked how many wives we get come in here.”
“Don’t know whether to find that reassuring or awful.” You concede.
“I understand your reticence. You never thought you’d find yourself seeking a whore for the night.”
“I’m coming to learn that life deals us all sorts of unpleasant hands at times. I’m trying to make peace with that.” You tell him. “It’s not going very well.” You jape. Voice watery.
“Gods. Listen to me-“ you curse yourself. Hand pressing to your brow. “I pay for your services, and end up boring you to tears.”
Is it any wonder you’re alone. You soft, sea foam fool.
“I’m not bored.” He assures. Eyes melting into yours.
“Then that either makes you the kindest soul alive. Or an incredibly good liar.”
“I don’t lie.” He tilts his head at you. “Lying is a filthy sin.”
You smile. Urge yourself to walk over. Linger closer to him.
“Devout are you?” You check. Arms crossed over your belly.
“I think you’ll find lots of cries for gods to be found within these walls.” He flirts.
You start to smile. “I imagine so. The size of you…”
You let your eyes fall for the first time at his lap. Piles of fabric bunched there. Wrinkled blue gauzy cloth that did nothing to hide the sheer weight of the cock that rests against his thigh. He’s big everywhere.
“Don’t have to be shy. My lady. I can disrobe for you. All you need do is say the word.”
That snaps something in you. Breaks the brittle fraying rope of your patience. You lean over and cup one side of that handsome, strong face.
Then you sway down and slant your lips over his.
The kiss is hurried. Pushed on him. Yet he melts to it. Smile tracing yours.
When you pull away, startled by your own brazenness. Breathing against his lips. Dry and hot. He tastes like deep red wine. “Forgive me- I didn’t ask if you were allowed to uh, kiss.”
He smiles. Huge hand cupping your face. Strokes your hair out the way of your cheek. “You’re allowed to do whatever you like with me-“
“That’s dangerous.” You smile gently. He feel like hes won something seeing that.
“Yes it is.” He smiles back like sin. “May I touch you properly? Let me taste those pretty lips again.”
You’re dumbstruck. You nod.
His hand lands soft on your waist. Respectfully. Covers the whole dip of it. Feeling along the fine silk of your dress. The flare of hip. The skimming arch of a rib.
He rises slowly from the bed. Stands his wine down. Your hands splay to his chest. Gauzy chiffon and heat of him blossoming under your touch. Gold gems inlaid with blue. Glittering and laying over the hollow at the base of his throat. Chains so fine and dainty it looked like liquid gold poured over his pale skin.
One hand stays to your waist. The other dances soft patterns on the nape of your neck. Your curling hair cupped to his palm. He has to bend down to kiss you- but he finds the reward to be well worth the sacrifice in height.
“I never asked your name.” You whisper before his kiss landed. Mortified that the lightning strike of lust in seeing him has stripped you of all your good courtesy and sense.
“It’s Duncan. Sweetness.” He offers. Thumb swiping over the back of your neck.
“Duncan.” You whisper. Treating his name like prayer. Maybe he’ll make a devout of you too.
His mouth softly finds yours again. Puts his lips on yours so gently, it makes you sigh. He wraps you up in his big arms. Makes you see stars. Your tongue feels drunk and clumsy, falling against his.
Your heart sighs against your ribs. This is what being held and cherished truly felt like. To be wrapped in the arms of a lover, who treated you like a man who’d seen shore after years at sea. Someone who saw you. And didn’t dare look away-
The kiss turns intense. Teeth and passion. You let yourself arch to his arms. They band around you. You’ve never felt safer.
He held you the way the tide did when you swam in High Tide’s beaches as a child. Suspended and utterly caught. Nothing had ever held you as sweetly as this.
His arm is around your back. A solid band of muscle. You feel the heat of him even though your simple silk.
“Would you undo my laces.” You ask against his spit wet mouth. Hot warm lips searching for you when you pull back.
“Turn around.” He answers. Softer than sand.
You spin to him. You trust him. His hands graze your hips. Seeking upwards. Finding the small laces that ran down your neck. He deftly weaves them free. Gets you down to your stays and shift. The laces on your whalebone stays he also undoes. At your bidding.
His hands pause on the straps of your shift clasped off your shoulders when you’re down to that final layer. Breath coming fanned hot over your ear. “May I, my lady?”
“Yes.” You breathe. It hitched when you feel the linen open, falling down to your hips. He pushes it free. Big hot hands falling gently on your waist when he was done.
You moan when you feel his lips descend for your shoulder. Eyes closing and mouth open like you’re praying when he kisses the slender crook from neck to shoulder bone.
“I wish to look at you. Sweetness. Turn for me.”
You work up the bravery to spin back and stand before him. In naught but your skin and your jewels. The pearls and gems rest at your sternum. Hanging between your breasts.
Your hair he takes the careful time to shift and arrange off your shoulders, spilling it down your back. Looking at your eyes rather than your pebbled nipples, or what lay between your legs.
“You’re beautiful.” He hushes. Softly the words bloom between you. You could curl sated around those words forever from his gentle mouth.
You can’t recall the last time someone called you that.
You tuck your fingers at his chest. Just under the neckline of his own gown. He’s gazing at you with such heat in those eyes now you know what blue flame feels like. It’s jarring.
He smiles like he’s been waiting for you to ask this of him. Those big fingers undo the flimsy tie slung low about his waist. He shrugs the material off and down his shoulders. Drops it to the floor at his heels. The sheer enormity of those shoulders and that chest comes free.
He must have oiled from a bath. Because the sheer amount of heat and perfume rising from his skin makes you near dizzy.
You look at his muscular chest. Wide as a wall. Packed with muscle and a healthy layer of weight. Your fingertips cross down over his pectoral to his nipple. The wide flat disc a pale pink in the light. Freckles and dusky copper hair catches the light in a fine dusting. He sighs with delight at your hands on him.
“You are beautiful too. Not worth the insulting title of a whore. Duncan.” You tell him.
When your eyes sink to his ribs. His belly. And then below, your mouth really does drop. Something that could shame a horse hangs between his legs. A thick column of a cock. Ruddy and flushed. Resting against huge thighs.
No doubt about it. He was much larger than your husband. In a way that made your throat dry and your cunt clench.
“Flattery gets you all sorts of places with me.” He grins. Unashamed. Yet the slightest tinge of a blush takes his cheeks.
How sweet that is, a man who sins and fucks for a living. And he preens and blushes at your kind words. Capturing you in his hold. Palms skimming down your back. Over your hips to grab your ass.
“Come to the bed.” He poses it as a question. Not a certainty. “If you’re ready-“
You take the hand he offers. He walks you to it. Let’s you place yourself down on the covers. Where you sit, blooms up the scent of cotton. Warmed by sun and kissed with the oaky scent of his skin and sweat.
“It’s been some time. I-“ You do try and get the words out but they lodge in your neck like pebbles. “We haven’t. I haven’t been bedded, in some, many, months.”
He crouches before you. Brushes his fingers to your jaw. Tilts it up to make you look at him. Fingers mapping your skin like he was touching something sacred in a Sept.
He looked almost pained for you. Brows dipping in the middle in a frown. “None of that. I’m not taking you yet. We’ve got other things to do first.”
Your face is a pretty, confused picture. Your hand comes to circle at his huge, thick wrist. Eyes gleaming in the candle light like coins.
“First off. You’re going to cum on my tongue. Sweetness.” He promises like it’s nothing. “Because I never take a woman until I’ve made her cum at least once. That is my only rule.”
It tips your stomach upside down and inside out to hear the words spoken so plainly. “Oh.”
“Only if it pleases. My lady.” He soothes. Happily. “Lay on your back for me.”
You kiss him again. Hands digging fingers in his neck. Lips joined again. He tips you back. Hand spread huge on your ribs. Your spine meets the soft cottons and silks rumpled below you. All you can focus on is the blissful, warm tenderness of his mouth.
Your arms come up to cross at his neck. Resting at his shoulders. His body is as massive and as heavy as he appears. But he’s keeping his weight off you. Kissing your lips numb with delicate skill. Tongue tangled with your own.
His hand moves - slow as honey. Melts across your stomach. Down your navel. Taking great care to pet through the thatch of curls at your cunt.
You breathe shakily into his lips when his fingertips drape a little lower. Catching the wetness of your pussy.
“Can you spread your thighs- I’ll need the room.” He urges.
You do as he says. Watching as he lowers his mouth to your neck again. To suck wet spots under your ear that turn into wet shapes. He trails his nose over your skin.
“You smell divine.” He mumbles. “Heavenly. Like the sea has worked its way into your skin.”
It made him think of a windswept shore. Dune grass ruffled in the breeze. Air alive with the scent of salt, and a mineral rich ocean, abutted with rugged cliffs.
You close your eyes and let yourself fully get lost in the sensation of his mouth closing over your nipple. The warm strike of his tongue that makes your hips twitch and your body arch to him.
He lavishes attention on your breasts. Until they feel aching. Tumbling into his mouth and every suck undoes more of your reticence. By the time he makes it to your belly. Nose grazing your stomach. Your fingers are twisted deep in that copper hair.
Your legs lay wide and open for him. His hands frame your thighs. Nipples aching and wet exposed to the smoky jasmine air.
“Anyone ever eaten your cunt before, sweetness?” He seeks.
You hold his gaze. “No.” You feel shame wash your cheeks and chest.
“Then I’m glad to be your first. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve the honour of such a perfect cunt as this.” He tilts his head looking down as two fingertips push through the wetness that seeps from you.
His fingers circle your clit. A little swirl that pressed back into your body. It made you groan. Sudden and sharp- eyes threatening to roll back.
“You’ve touched yourself I take it?”
“Sometimes.” You tell.
Because you had. On nights when your cold empty bed mocked you. When that ache cradled between your hip bones started to drive you mad. When you needed something stronger than wine to take the edge off. Then. You did sink your fingers between your legs and try to place yourself elsewhere.
Pain was more your lot than pleasure. When you had to hear the offending grunts and wet slaps of your husband roughly using one of the maids, out in the shadowed alcoves when he thought you were long abed. Her squawks twinned with his hog-like sounds. Then his footsteps when he walks right past your door groaning in satisfaction. Belt buckle jangling.
The silence afterwards made a fool of you. The slam of his bedchamber door. You fell asleep tear stained and empty more often than you ever did wet and truly sated.
“Let me get rid of those pesky fears. Sweetness. I can’t wait to bury my tongue in you any longer.”
He lays his mouth to your cunt. Broad, long strokes with the flat of his tongue to spread you open. Delves his tongue right inside you as you cry above him.
He doesn’t hesitate. He gets his face right into your pussy. Everything gets involved. Chin. Lips. Cheeks. No place untouched.
You can’t help it. You arch. You whine his name so loud you’re sure it makes it though the walls. Sweat builds on your brow and at the dip of your lower back. All you can feel is his wet mouth as he slurps. You near nothing but the laps and sucks as he makes vivid, fierce love to your cunt with his tongue.
You rut your hips. Unintentionally sliding yourself across his lips. He lets you. He knows you need to find your rhythm. Smiles when he sees how you’re throwing your head back. Hand a vice in his long soft hair already. Strands viced like copper wheat in your fingers.
“Oh, Duncan-“ You sigh. When his lips close in a suck over your clit, you lose your mind. Eyes flick back in your skull. Body limp. He directs your hips with his hands. Takes them both and smears his mouth to you again and again. Groaning in satisfaction.
He lashes his tongue. He swirls. He suckles and licks. A heady pulse begins to push up in your lower stomach. Bliss unfurls through you in incredible waves. Each one batters through and leaves you stunned. One hand slides up your body and tests with holding one of your breasts as he feasts down below. You whimper with the sensation. He catches your nipple with clever swipe of his thumb.
He presses one thigh to the bed. Baring you open wider as the pleasure reaches such an intense peak you hardly know what to do. You want to shuffle away because it’s too much. The threatening edge of it is so great. You feel it will swallow you whole - just like he is.
The pleasure crests and breaks. You cum with his tongue struck deep in you, his nose pressing your clit. Watching up your body as you writhed. Slick with sweat. Your release throbbing, fluttering around the push of his tongue as you descend from the high of your orgasm.
You pant hard to catch your breath. Tits swelling and falling on your heaving chest. Eyes glazed. Mouth loose and open. His name dried on your tongue in bliss.
He licks his lips. Takes his face out from your pussy. Soothingly drags a thumb over one hipbone. “You looked like you needed that.” He decided cleverly.
You can scarce unstick your tongue from your mouth to answer. “I- gods.”
“Don’t be sinning on me now.” He teases. Pressing an indulgent kiss to your stomach. Hovering over you still.
You look up. Taking in his state. He looks composed and sweetly serene. Even with your wetness shining well over his mouth and cheeks. When you drop your eyes, you see the huge state of him. Leaking and hard. Flushed bright red at the head. Clear fluid sliding down in trails to his heavy sac.
You swallow. “Will you- fuck me?”
“I’ve an idea.” He insists.
He climbs back and sits up on the edge of bed. Encourages you to climb in his lap. His cock looks insultingly big thrusted up straight and true from his groin.
He takes your hand and moves you to be closer. Gets your waist ringed in his big hands. Settles you over him. You whine when his cock brushes your pussy. You answer with a needy clench. Knowing exactly where you next need him.
He cups under your jaw. Thumb along your jawline. Sweat wicking along his skin and yours. Melting together. Your breasts pushed to his chest.
“Will you have me like this? Some prefer to be on their hands and knees. Safer not to look. Easier to take when you can’t fret over how big I am.”
“Like this. Please-“ your hands are on his cheeks. In his hair.
You can’t bear to have him anywhere but right here with you. The closeness enough to intoxicate. His scent. His sweat. The sear of his hot skin. Your arms wind around his neck. Thighs spread wide enough to hurt, over his.
“We go at this slowly.” He tells. “I don’t want to hurt you. You keep eyes on me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Grabbing his heavy cock at the base. He gets you placed over it. Up on your knees. Stabbing kneecaps into the soft sheets.
“There you go, sweetness.” He breathes. Watching your mouth drop open.
He breaches you slowly as promised. Your cunt splitting over the thick girth. He lowers you gently. Hands vicing your. Elbows braced on his sweaty shoulders. His hands all over you.
He breathes, open mouthed at the feel of your clamping down on him. Made his eyes flutter. Taking in the pretty sight of you in his lap, pussy dripping like heaven down his cock. Ass meeting the muscled columns of his thighs. He feels how tensed you are.
“Easy.” He slides his mouth to yours. Takes your mind completely with a kiss that stuns. Sinks you lower and lower down on him.
You cry out when you finally settle fully onto him. Cunt pulsing so tight it makes him choke. Gods, you were tight. Warm and grabbing him tight like wet silk. He knows it can be a lot after a while without this kind of penetration.
You push your forehead to his. Moaning into his lips when his cockhead curves a spot inside that made you come alive. More alive than you had been in months. You buck in his hold. He’s there to keep you steady.
“There it is. My sweet. That’s the spot I’m going to fuck. It’s gonna make you cry out for me. Again and again.” He promises.
“So good. Fuck. So much-“ you mumble. Panting. Love drunk against his lips. Your hips ache from the strain already. But you’d sooner die than pull off him.
He scoops his fingers under your ass. Grabs you and guides the pace. Drops and lifts you off his cock in a pattern that gets you gasping. Clit grinding on the downstroke against the wiry bush of curls at the base of him. He likes how he can feel you pulse over him.
You raise up a little on your knees. Desperate to keep the pace he’s set. Breasts starting to bounce. Hands digging for his shoulders. Nails punched with his sweat.
The jewels at his throat shimmer and wink at you. He lowers loses his mouth in your bouncing tits. Licks the sweat and salt of the sea off you. You whine. Pitchy and high.
Face screwed up in sheer pleasure. Mouth dropped wide. He takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. Suck at your own tongue and swallow a moan. Eat it off you.
You hum his name. Desperately cupping his face. Right there in the moment with him. Pleasure biting at your heels. Chasing and rocking the same obliterating goal. Your teeth meet messily in the fierce kiss.
His hips starts to push to yours. Riding together.
“Cum for me sweetness. Let go. Take what he never gives you. Take every bit and know you deserve it. Gorgeous girl.” He soothes.
Kissing his way to your ear. Chin lost in your neck. Hand up your back as you wrap yourselves in the other like a warm cloak.
Your eyes tremble with tears. “Duncan.” The sheer weight of the admission sinking into your skin. You tremble in his hold like a leaf.
“I’m right here.” He whispers. Lips searching for yours. Big hand cupping the back of your neck. Hair sticking to his sweaty palm. “Focus on me. Let it all melt away.” He urges.
He takes the lead to get you there. Drills his hips up into you with savage rhythm to punch his cock to you again and again. A bruising pace. Yet, it’s exactly what you need. What you’ve needed for months. He fucks the moans right out your mouth and into his.
Your whines climb higher and higher. Voice raw and hoarse. His name entwined with the gods. Nails in his scalp. Head tipped back to the heavens.
He fucks you hard and fast enough to summon a shout from your mouth. The enormity of the feelings moving through you is terrifying. It starts in your lower back. Sweeps for your calves. Up your thighs. Bursts open in your stomach and takes the rest of you sweeping with it. You shake. You cry. You can’t believe how right it feels.
You sag to his body. Let him use you however he needs. Clutching on the for the ride as the shocks and crests bleed into perfect bliss. Shattering on the rocks like a wave. Dispersing to the sea again when it’s done.
Your hand sinks to the damp hair at the back of his neck. Fingers clutching. He spills to you. Deep and hard with his hips jerking and twitching to your own.
You feel wickedly delighted by feeling the hot, steady splash of him inside you. It feels good. Like you’ve rectified a wrong gone long unpunished. The realisation of it makes a fierce thrum of passion plough through your chest.
He pants and cradles you to his lap. Fingers dimpling into your ass. Sweat beading his brow as you writhe and feed each other the high with the last little shocks of climax. Rutting and rubbing hot, fevered skin.
You delight in seeing a blush climbing its way uo his neck and chest. Settling at the base of that gold necklace of his. Your release slicks you together where your joined. You drip even more now.
You sigh for him. High and airy. Happy.
“You are divine.” You rasp. You feel like you near bit your tongue in half when you came.
He breathes a satisfied smile. Cheeks red hot. Contrasting to his gold red hair. “As are you.”
He traps you into a lippy, slow kiss. Tasting of the musk of you, wine and sweat. “That husband of yours is a fucking fool. Sweetness.”
You don’t know what to say to that. You agree entirely. Instead, drag your fingers down the thatch of slight hair at his chest. Golden fuzz in the light. His sweat sinks into your fingertips.
The haze slips away. Like a sea breeze twisting through your fingers. You have to let it pass- clammy coolness takes your skin. Now you must redress, and leave his embrace.
He makes a face as you pull back from his chest. Take your hands off him. Shift in his lap. Softening cock feeling big inside you still.
“You probably have a whole queue of other clients to see. I should go-“ you decide softly.
“You don’t get to leave that easy. Stay a minute. Come back to yourself. Have some more wine and then find your clothes. Besides. I have some tea for you to take. To ensure no, accidents occur.” He strokes his thumb across your chin.
His huge paw of a hand comes up to stroke the back of your sweat-licked hair. He leans to presses a warm kiss to your brow. Gently helps you manoeuvre off him, on legs that shake and knock like a newborn fawn.
He sets you back on the covers. Twists to find his robe. Ties it loosely around his body again. But it honestly, it is no good. Now you know how delicious that body is, your eyes roam every inch as he crosses to the far side.
Past the huge copper bathing tub that could seat five. You think you can guess as to why. He could comfortably host an orgy in these rooms. The bed could sleep ten if needed. You watch his wide back, he pours something into a wooden cup. It steams and swirls.
You’re clutching the bedsheets to your cooling skin when he comes back. Raking your fingers through all the knots in your wild hair.
He passes you the cup. “Drink all of it. And another pouch for you to take home, to have tomorrow. Just to be sure.” He winks at you.
You sip the tea. It’s almost minty and sharply herbal. Not unpleasant. But you’d rather have more wine. He knows. Smiles as he passes you your cup of wine to wash it down with when you’re done. A better taste left on your tongue.
He cleans you when you rise from the bed. On one knee with a warm wet cloth that smelt like roses. Taking the salty leak of his spend from between your legs. Naughtily sinks his face in and kisses your curly mound when he’s done. Looking up at you with a wide smile when you gasp.
He rises to full height. Helps you pull on your clothes with plenty of kisses dropped on your naked skin. Some to make you squirm. Others make you moan. All of his attentiveness makes you smile.
Moneys worth and then some. He was worth his weight in gold.
You find a purpling bruise on the crook of his neck. Vicious purple. Marked with the edging of teeth. “I apologise.” You frown as you find it. “I didn’t realise I’d been so rough with you.”
It makes him smirk. “No. No. Sweetness. That wasn’t you. Don’t worry. That was-
He’s just helping loop your dress up over your hips, when the door swings open with a heady whine. It makes you jump. Shying away. The illusion of the peaceful utopia you’d built together, exposed.
It makes Duncan frown. Draws you into his arms. Keeps you out of sight of the door. With the shield of his own body. His jaw grits. He’s ready to snap in anger at whoever it was. “Close the door won’t you. For fucks sake-“
You brave a glimpse over your shoulder. Spy the man whose filling the doorway like he could woo the wooden frame it’s in.
From the looks of him; you believe every inch of that.
“Apologies lover. Figured you’d be finished by now. Heard you had a sweet morsel in here.” Comes the low drawl of a voice, that only knows how to seduce.
Deep and playful. The way a panthers tail curls when it walks. Easy seductive grace. That’s what this dark man made you think of;
He’s shorter than Duncan - but that’s not a surprise. There’s not many men that could match his height. But he’s tall and still broad enough to swoon at.
His skin is gloriously tanned. Hair a dark cloud of raven-silver on his head. You would say halo, but the devilish nature of his smile entirely belied any saintly imagery.
There are big orange gems laid in gold, circling over his neck. And naked chest. Pearls too. Draped across his shoulders like he’s bathed in the stars. He’s covered in jewels and gold, that click and rock when he moves. Gold thick cuffs on his wrists. Bangles. Earrings dangle to his shoulders. One a fat purple gem shaped like a teardrop. The other is a pearl the size of an olive.
Hoops punched through the tops of his ears. More cuffed around his bulging upper arms. His fingers drip in rings too. Every thick one adorned. Gems and jewels thrown across every inch of his skin, like he’s a treasure in his own right.
Your mouth dried out when you see he also has gold rings forming little circles at his nipples. A chain webs across and over his shoulders joining them together. It jangles when he moved.
He’s holding a wine glass down by his thigh. Near empty. His chest hair is matted and grazed with sweat. Scratches are raked over his shoulders. Punctured in his sides. He looks like he’s been thoroughly, viciously mauled, and laughed right through every second.
A golden cloth, like the heart of the sun, similar in thin nature to dunks gown, is tied around his hipbones. Dipping scandalously low. A pelt of dark hair carpets his chest. Bolted with silver and ink. That same colouring leads in a happy trail down his belly below where the fabric ends.
He has red scratches scored on his chest. Neck covered in mouth shaped bruises like red and black love hearts on his skin.
His eyes are dark, glittering. Black as beetles wings. And they settle on the sight of you circled in Duncan’s arms, with predatory intensity. His grin slopes wider across those kiss-bruised lips.
“My, my. Aren’t you a delectable one.” He leers.
Smoothly invites himself in and prowls to where you’re stood. Smoothing your dress over your shoulders again. Even clothed, his grin makes you feel utterly naked.
You come to realise, this man is all mouth. He runs loudly. As loudly as the rest of him, which is screaming with the weight of shiny jewels and gold.
“Usually I don’t much care who takes up their time with my husband. But I’m sorry to have missed you...”
That word catches you upside the head like an arrow. Husband.
“Husband?” You twist in Duncan’s arms. Peering up at him. Eyes wide.
Duncan nods. Smiling down at you. “You didn’t give me that bruise. Sweetness. That was this one-“ he jerks his head to the other man.
“As you can see, he’s got quite a mouth on him.”
He eyes over at the other man with daggers. “Do you have to be so coarse? Lyonel? Some days I swear. You behave like the arse end of a mule.”
The man blows Duncan a kiss. Leans up and seals the deal. Pecks a lippy kiss on the side of his face. Enough to make him wash pink with a blush.
“Your mule. Lover. But hung like a fucking stallion might I add.” He sticks his tongue though his teeth and grins. Catches your eye. Sneaks his hand down to pinch at Dunk’s ass.
Duncan’s huge hands slip your cloak back up your shoulders. Fastens the pearl clasp together. He brushed a hand lovingly over the back of your hair.
“See you to the door, sweetness?” Duncan asks.
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be fine.” You insist.
Lyonel scans you from head to toe. Oh yes. Your cheeks blazing with the glimmer of sweat. Glistening with joy, like a woman whose been properly, thoroughly, pounded. By the monster cock he knows is hanging between his husbands legs.
Lyonel catches your hand before you can slink away. Reels you in with it. Folds your cloak out his path. Leans down and kisses your knuckles. Looks deep into your eyes after with a spine-melting grin.
“Look at you. Gods. You’re fucking delectable. Ask for me next time. Won’t you?” He buoys his brows at you.
You don’t know how to look away. He’s hypnotising.
You swallow. Nervous. Withering under his intense gaze. “What makes you think I’m coming back?” You fluster.
He chuckles. Grin a bright flash. It’s the most dark and delicious sound you’ve ever heard.
“Trust me. Not many like my Duncan. Pet. You’ll be back.” He winks.
LYONELS PART IS NEXT—
Forgive the random tags but I’m Tagging some phenomenal akotsk babes whose fics gave me life. Let me know if you want on/off the list. I’m new to AKOTSK so forgive my presumptions @jintaka-hane @mynameistocool @lovebugism @maekarsmistress @pearlessance @noxiiousstrawberriies @ingystark @oakleafing @marsrambles @just-some-random-blogger @vhagars-dementia @escapic-mezzanine @tearsweetenedtea @nerdyinfluencertastemaker @adumbgirlinloove @moonlitmaester @silens-oro @feral4youu @whatislovevavy @happinessisaloadedgun @faelinda @crayonbug @celestrys @sallymaywritings @captainfern @theprophaecy @multyfangirl @angstybadger @asterionex @liliac-dreamer @goregal22-blog @stainlesssteelbedframe @ghostlybfgf @fayefayefay @cats-n-batss @silkaurum @mags-writes @targlocket @ghostlybfgf @sintaera @qardasngan
i got a used hobbit unexpected journey visual companion novel from a library and its a bit beat up but someone had dog eared the fili kili introduction pages HARD iktr
Imagine the long car rides with Optimus, sitting in the driver seat, hands off the wheel and singing whatever song you requested the auto-bot to play through the radio- Giggling as you ‘pretend’ to drive whenever a cop is in the next lane. Just days long car rides… stopping wherever you want to for the night. Stargazing in the middle of the desert, dozing off and him pulling off the road, tires digging into the dirt as he does so.
The lights slowly turning off one by one, but he leaves the engine on- just until he’s assured that you are deep in sleep, letting it be a white-noise for you.
Kissing the dashboard!!! He can’t go into his bipedal form when there are strangers around, so it’s the closest you can get.
Him revving the engine when you kiss the plastic out of the blue, the rumble shaking the cab of the truck.
You’ve never been this sick before. You’ve had tonsillitis as a kid, typical flus and colds, a memorable bout or three with bronchitis and, of fucking course, came down with covid a couple times. None of those illnesses were like this. Something has gotten inside your head.
You make a quiet noise of complaint as what feels like cold metal surrounds you, painful against your hot skin, even through the blanket wrapped around you. You feel so cold, but you’re sweaty and dizzy. The world isn’t right. Everything’s too big and bright and moving wrong. Your head’s stuffed full of cotton and you’re not thinking right. And there’s a voice you don’t know, rich and deep, with a strange modulation to it you can’t place.
Sorry, little one, but your internal temperature is creeping past the danger zone for your species with no signs of stopping. Much higher and you’re risking processor damage. Don’t be afraid, we’re going to help you.
A machine sort of noise and rush of air, with a very quiet addition you don’t quite catch. I hope.
You are too sick to do much of anything except feel horribly confused, weak, and cold. You flinch away from the light, its brightness like ice picks into your head. There’s another voice snapping something about photosensitivity, dim the slagging lights. The brightness fades, but even in the dim twilight you don’t really want to open your eyes. Everything hurts. You just want to go home.
There’s a hushed argument, and then something very large moves over you. In your delirium it registers as if you’re swimming deep underwater, and a pod of whales has come to say hello.
‘S illegal. Getting me in trouble…caught. You’re mumbling to the whales. You’re not ever supposed to approach wildlife. Even if you always dreamed of meeting them.
That rumbling voice sounds so tired, so sad, that you feel bad for it.
Are they conscious? Are they trying to communicate with us?
A pause. The other voice speaks. There’s a sense of something big hovering directly over you. You can feel it somehow, even with your eyes closed, like feeling a current in the ocean.
No, I don’t think so. Their brain activity is alarming compared to baseline. But who in the Pit knows? Organic processors are a mess to begin with, let alone one infected with something this species has never encountered before.
A big blue whale-song, mournful. We never should have come here. What have we done, Ratchet?
The other, more gruff voice. Also sounding tired. We couldn’t have known that the debris brought a contagion planetside until it happened. Don’t panic just yet, Prime. So far, they’re the only one directly exposed. We got them in quarantine as soon as Nurse Darby realized something was wrong beyond the usual illnesses. It was just bad luck they happened to come across the contamination before we could clean it all up. There’s no reason to believe it can jump from human to human yet.
There’s a pause, and the first voice is even quieter.
Will they live?
There’s more motion. Beeping noises. You must be in a hospital. Yes, you remember that much. Going into the ER late one night after the Tylenol wouldn’t touch your fever, which had come on suddenly.
I can’t make promises, you know that. I don’t know much about this contagion. I didn’t even know it could behave this way in organics when it’s harmless to us.
He sounds frustrated.
But I was fine, the groggy thought drifts up from the depths of your mind. Everything is slow and dark and cold, a thousand fathoms deep.
I was fine, I went out doing my volunteer work. And then I got sick.
You don’t remember meeting your doctors. There might have been an ambulance…you think? Flashing lights, sirens. A woman’s worried voice, low, as she adjusted the IV in your arm. It’s what is making you feel so cold, you decide, and with all your frail strength begin trying to grab and wrench it out.
An immediate shuffle around you, and the grumpy whale reaches out and stops you. You push weakly at its rubbery flipper. It’s a whale, a humpback whale you think. You have about as much chance of moving it as you do lifting an ambulance.
Eh-eh-eh! None of that, now. You pull that out and neither of us will enjoy me trying to put it back in. Optimus, hand me the - yes, thank you.
You whimper softly and cry out as you find you can’t move. There’s things touching you - seaweed, wires, tangling you. Everything’s cold.
There. Sorry, human, but we can’t have you hurting yourself. …why am I even talking to them, they’re not going to remember any of this.
You huff and decide very hard to remember this just because you were told you wouldn’t. You forget a minute later what it was you were trying to remember, and start thrashing around against the seaweed. The beeping gets louder, more painful.
Can’t ever make anything easy, can you?
What are you doing?
I’m going to use the medication June left to sedate them.
But didn’t she say that could -
Yes, but - well, look at them!
Look at who? You wonder, as you fight off the tangling seaweed. You should find the surface. You need to breathe. You’re starting to feel scared. You can’t breathe.
The humpback whale is distressed. Somehow you can feel it, you know it. If they were a mech I could put them in stasis, keep them from suffering like this. This is cruel, Optimus. I - I don’t know.
He sounds defeated, angry. So tired. You reach out past the seaweed to try and pet him, because if the whales are going to insist on hanging out, you might as well earn that huge fine for touching the wildlife. Your sensitive palm makes contact with cold, hard skin, almost like it’s absorbed all the ice in the ocean. There’s a feeling of surprise, and silence, and then something crashes like a wave in the distance. There are big booming sounds. Those waves slamming into rocky, echoing caverns.
Watch them a moment. I’m going to consult with June. Do not let them tear that IV out. Comm me if their breathing gets worse.
The big blue whale is back, filling in the absence of the humpback. It catches your hand in its massive flipper, then brushes your wet hair out of your face. You had always heard whales were impossibly gentle despite their enormous size. You hadn’t quite imagined they could be this dexterous, though.
I’m sorry this happened to you. You did nothing wrong. You and so many other innocents, harmed because of us.
You squeeze his flipper, you think, but things are getting very hazy.
Please live. There is so much more to the universe that you deserve to get to see. I don’t know if you can hear me, but don’t give up.
His voice, even full of pain deep as the bottom of the sea, is comforting. You don’t want him to be so sad. But that’s what whalesong always is, isn’t it?
The humpback comes back. He’s doing something with the IV. You had no idea whales knew how to do that. You didn’t know they could be white and red, either. Don’t tell Ahab.
June says to increase the dosage and keep giving fluids. The tests she’s running show this formulation should drive out the infection, but…
But?
…but not without…impacts.
What kind of impacts? …Ratchet?
We can’t be sure. This is all highly experimental, Prime, we’re working off of practically nothing. June thinks it’s doing something to their central nervous system. We don’t know what, yet. It’s going to be a race to see what gives in first: the infection, or their vital systems.
A rumble, contemplative. At least they seem to have calmed. Their heart rate is down to almost normal.
For now. A pause. If they recover, we can’t keep this one. Fowler can find somewhere to stash them, I’m sure.
Silence.
Oh, for - Optimus! We’re not running a xeno-zoo!
Let us wait and see if that is even a conversation we will need to have, old friend.
Disgruntled feelings like poprocks in your mind.
…fine. Oh.
Oh?
Their fever has come down two-tenths of a point. That’s a start in the right direction. Let’s get that oxygen mask on and see if it helps. Of all the gasses to breathe, they had to pick one of the most flammable. Who even designed this fragging species? I want a word with them.
The whales are singing, and you decide it’s not so scary down here, after all. It reminds you of that song. You wheeze out a few words.
Beyond th’ sea, somewhere…waiting…
Hush. Rest, now. Big blue, biggest animal ever on earth. And for some reason, it cares about you.
You fall asleep under a blanket of seaweed, and eventually the ocean doesn’t feel so cold. You’re part of a pod, swimming slowly compared to them, but swimming all the same. And at least you’re not alone down in the dark. Maybe when you wake, you’ll get to see them breach the surface, leaping into the warmth of the sun. Maybe you’ll get to leap with them.
day 1 of my period. cramps are bad. the book i ordered in the mail isnt here and it won’t be delivered today bc of the fourth of july. i live in redneck larper central so you know they’ve got the loudest fireworks for tonight. i’m in hell
what do you think abt frankie with an avoidant reader? like she’s stubborn and is all “no frank, m’fine” and hates opening up or especially crying in front of him. she would love to be held by him but doesn’t like for it to be with her all vulnerable
I actually love this dynamic because Frank is so well built for it. Frank has the keenest sense for how long you need to indulge a feeling for ... and when he needs to coax the rest out fo you.
Listen, Frank is a guy who murders when he's mad lmao. He's a big believer in getting the feelings OUT. So he's not gonna let some bad feelings fester in you for too long. Sure you can pout a bit, you can isolate, you can go silent a bit buuuuuut that's got an expiration date on it. Feelings are coming OUT. And then he's giving you Feelings Aftercare lmao.
So if you've been giving him half a day of avoidance-- not really leaning into his touch, insisting nothing was wrong, saying you don't wanna talk about it -- AT FIRST he's giving you space. "Ain't feelin' it right now huh doll? I understand that." However, there's a teensy bit of authority snuck in there too. Like, "Listen, you ain't gotta tell me right now but you can't skip breakfast too sweetheart. That one's non-negotiable." But as the hours tick by and you're no closer to processing or getting over the issue, he forces your hand a bit.
"I'm still not really ready to talk Frank," you say in a clipped tone.
"Try again sweetheart," he replies, the first time all day he hasn't indulged you.
"Excuse me?" you ask, sort of stunned.
"You heard me. Try that again doll," he replies, his tone calm, his eyes flicking up to you from his task of sorting through the cuttlery drawer before flicking back down.
You scoff, saying "No, I don't think I will."
"You will," he says, tossing a knife into it's slot and closing the drawer to face you dead-on. He senses you're a flight risk so he walks over to the doorway and leans against the frame, arms crossing over his chest.
Your eyes flick to where he stands and your heart beats a little faster. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to," you retort indignantly. You stand up and walk toward him, your nose upturned but refusing to make eye contact with him. "Let me pass Frank."
"That ain't happen' just yet sweetheart," he says, his tone still calm but firm.
"Frank I mean it" you say, your tone more insistent.
"Or what princess? You gonna use the silent treatment to get through? Is that how you solve your problems?" he taunts you just a bit but there's no escalation in his tone.
Meanwhile, your tone pitches up, color rising in your cheeks. "Oh that's real mature Frank," you reply.
"Oh we're talkin' 'bout bein' mature now huh? That's curious sweetheart," he says, another jab at how you've been acting all day.
You scoff at him again, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" you reply, feeling that tightness in your chest-- the one that threatens to pool tears in your eyes. It's what Frank wants -- for you to finally release a damn emotion besides anger.
"I'd tell ya but I think I'd rather keep it bottled up for half a damn day instead," Frank replies sarcastically, his head lowering a hair so he can look you in the eye more directly, arms still crossed across his chest.
You sputter out a series of sounds, but no thoughts seem sufficient enough to defend your behavior. "Whatever, just move Frank."
Frank remains, still as an oak.
"Frank you're pissing me off," you add. You're standing inches from him now, as if waiting for him to slide out of the way.
Frank only gives a small shake to his head.
"Frank I'm fucking serious," you say, the heat in your cheeks spreading to your ears. Your chin quivering. It's panic. Not because you're trapped-- not in the traditional sense. Frank would never hurt you and there's a back door mere steps away. But you feel it-- Frank's insistence. Frank's demand for your participation. Frank's refusal to indulge the maladaptive strategies that "worked" for years before him.
"Frank PLEASE," you say-- a plea now.
"Ain't gotta fight me on this baby," he murmurs, his tone low and warm as he watches you but still doesn't touch you. He's waiting for an invitation to be let in.
"Fuck you Frank," you spit out while you give a shove to Frank's chest, a final attempt at stopping the damn of tears from breaking.
He barely sways, saying quietly and without patronization, "It's ok sweetheart," his head still bowed and locked on your eyes. And that's what did you in. His softness in the face of your ferocity. His unrelenting commitment to your goodness.
You burst into tears, your hands going up to your face to cover it while you sob. All the bravado drops from your shoulders and it's like you shrink six inches. And with that, Frank finally opens himself, his arms unfurling and pulling you, pressing your front to his chest, peppering your head with kisses. You runs huge circles on your back, murmuring, "I'm sorry I had to do that sweetheart. Hate makin' you upset."
He holds you like that until your sobs subside and you mumble through whatever you were holding back all day. When you pull away from him, your eyes are red and puffy and you're hiccupy and your stomach growls and you look like you could sleep for a whole day.
