Riftan and Maxi make love. That's it. That's the fic. No build-up, no specific setting, just two horny lovebirds gettin' it on.
Posted on: ff.net and AO3
Words: 882
Rated: Explicit
Enjoy! ❤
~*~*~*~*~
Riftan’s large, callused hands caressed her breasts and stroked her thighs with unbridled tenderness and care. Reeling, Maximilian clung to her husband’s broad shoulders, as he continued to map out her body with his hands, his mouth, his eyes…
“You must lay as still as a corpse.” Her previous maid’s words from her wedding night echoed ironically in Maxi’s memory. How could anyone follow those instructions when someone like Riftan shattered all possibilities of remaining still?
Maxi arched her back, her mouth open with a soundless cry, when Riftan entered her. How many nights had they done this and still it affected her so? How many times had Riftan moaned and growled in her ears? How many shocking, debauched sounds did she make, urging her husband to go deeper, harder, faster, longer until neither of them can take a breath anymore?
Riftan began to move above her, and Maxi gripped his chiseled arms for leverage, gazing up in awe at the handsome man who loved her, wanted her, needed her.
Maximilian, the woman who suffered abuse and cruel taunts all her life, was the undoing of this beautiful man who barked harshly in the day, but touched so gently in the night.
“Maxi…” he groaned reverently, and Maxi closed her eyes and whimpered in response, rendered speechless like every night, but unable to silence her reactions.
Deeper and deeper he drove into her, the hotter and faster her panting arose from her small chest. It seemed miraculous that such a large man could fit inside her, could push her down and make love to her so fiercely, and never once did she feel endangered, nor in pain, nor smothered.
Truthfully, embarrassed though she was to admit it, his lust, his desire matched her own, and she encouraged him in her own wordless way. She clung to his back, raking her nails over his shoulders, sometimes digging them deeper when he would react with a growl of pleasure and pound faster, faster, harder. She wrapped her legs around his waist, using her heels to push against his taut behind, deeper, deeper…
Riftan encouraged her as well, but to speak her mind. He would hold her down and thrust relentlessly, making her breathless as she instinctively held back her cries of ecstasy. He would then slow down, with every inch of motion stimulating her over a tantalizing edge of oblivion. Maxi bit her bottom lip almost to bleeding to hold back her pleasure, but Riftan was determined. He caressed her face and murmured sweet nothings that made her blush in the light of day, but here in the night stoked the fire deep within her, drawing out moans and groans and cries the likes of which she had never imagined emoting before…
Then he nibbled on her earlobe while teasing her with slow thrusts, and Maxi gave a shuddering cry that almost sounded like “Oh gods!” Chuckling, Riftan licked more, nibbled, and suckled all around her ear, neck, and jawline, making his wife squeak and mewl in protest, squirming under his massive weight.
“Say it, Maxi,” he breathed, his teeth holding her earlobe, “say you love this. Don’t hold back, love.” He gave a sharp, hard thrust to emphasize the point, causing his wife to emit a muffled squeal.
Maxi panted heavily, her nails digging so deep into Riftan’s biceps, he knew there would be visible marks in the morning. His wife, shy and meek on the outside, was a regular vixen in bed, even if she didn’t know it, and he counted himself the luckiest married man in the whole kingdom. Riftan smirked and raked his teeth over Maxi’s neck, then kissed his way further down and caught a perky nipple in his mouth.
“R-Riftan!”
There it was. Riftan felt his manhood throb triumphantly deep within his wife’s soft folds, and knew he was close. But he needed to bring Maxi to her knees as well; he desperately wanted her to express how he feels every time they make love…
But it was more than pleasure that drove Maxi to climax.
Her past haunts…. Every cruel statement, every lashing of her father’s cane, the malicious gossip, the judging looks…. All of that disappeared from her mind’s eye when Maxi felt stars erupt within her core, her eyes opened wide, and her mouth crying out her husband’s name, over and over, because Riftan shattered the illusions, Riftan erased her pain, Riftan helped her forget, Riftan, Riftan, Riftan!
A mutual shudder broke over the two lovers as Riftan spilled his seed into Maxi. For a moment, they gripped each other, before Riftan lowered his head on Maxi’s bosom. The world shifted on its axis and Maxi laid underneath her beloved husband, reeling from the depths of their love and passion.
She gently pressed a shy kiss to the top of his head. A rumbling chuckle bubbled forth Riftan’s mouth as he looked up and kissed his wife on the lips, smothering her squeak of surprise.
“My dear,” he murmured, caressing her long, red hair, bringing a handful of tresses to kiss, “cry out my name more often in bed, and I swear I will shatter into a million pieces by your touch.”
Maxi blushed hotly, but managed to reply: “O-only if you shatter me, first.”
What's this? Another StarlingChild InuKag WIP???? What a shock XD Enjoy this little snippet, loosely inspired by a certain interaction in the 1981 film "Raiders of the Lost Ark." ❤
~~~~
...... Most of her clean up work on the floor was done, except of course the last table. She wiped it down, the stench of alcohol burning her nostrils, and turned up the chairs, when the door swung open behind her and then—-
“Hey, Kagome.”
That voice. It couldn’t be. Kagome jerked her head up and stared at the shadow that loomed on the wall in front of her. It was a man, with a fedora and unmistakable dog-shaped ears….
She dropped the tray and spun around. There he was. In the flesh. Looking not a day older than she last saw him. Silver hair, long and tied back, careworn red leather jacket, pants, and boots, the telltale lion’s whip on one hip and pistol on the other. His face had the shadow of not shaving in several days, his eyes as golden and mesmerizing as ever. His wretchedly adorable ears….
Kagome sighed. She wiped her hands on her apron, before placing them on her hips. “Inuyasha Jones. I somehow always knew you’d come back through my door.”
He smirked sheepishly, then cut to the chase. “I need to speak to your grandfather about one of the pieces he collected—”
BAM! Kagome’s fist made hard contact against Inuyasha’s jaw, knocking the wind out of him. Breathing hard, she leaned up to get in his face and gritted out through her teeth, “I learned to hate you over the past ten years.” Chest heaving, she turned heel, snatched up her tray, and marched over to the bar.
Inuyasha rubbed his jaw slowly, looking stunned but not wholly surprised. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I was a child! I was in love! It was wrong and you know it!” Kagome couldn’t stop the break in her voice, hating herself almost as much as she hated him. And oh, how she hated him! Every inch of his stupidly handsome body, from ears to boots. Fifteen year-old-year Kagome Ravenwood fell hard and fast for the roughish adventurer. Twenty-five-year-old Kagome was revolted to find the same emotions bubbling up, only this time tainted with years of heartbreak and resentment.
For his part, Inuyasha did look remorseful. His eyes softened to resemble a sad puppy-dog, and the worst part was that Kagome knew it was not manipulative. He literally couldn’t help it, being half dog-demon. Still, that didn’t stop her deadly glare nor the anger that had been building up for so long. Fuming, she turned her back on him and began vigorously scrubbing at the dishes haphazardly.
“I understand you’re angry, Kagome,” Inuyasha’s voice called over the noise of water splashing and dishes clinking, “but there’s more important things at hand. Where’s your grandfather? I have to see him about the Shikon Jewel.”
Posted on: ff.net and AO3
Words: 977
Rated: G, possible T
Genre: Hurt/Comfort & Character Study
Enjoy! ❤
~~~
Caroline Ingalls could sense the wanderlust in her husband’s soul since they were still in their courting days. Even though he never even hinted at leaving the Big Woods the first several years of their marriage, Caroline waited, knowing that eventually, Charles would feel the itch under his toes.
First, came the long, arduous journey to the Kansas Territory, and building a little house on the wide, open prairie. The Big Woods might have been isolated from civilization, but only by a few miles and dense trees. The Kansas prairie was an ocean, vast and uncharted, with the nearest town of Independence over forty miles away. Caroline, a town girl at heart, swallowed her fear, her loneliness, her desperate desire to socialize with anyone other than her husband, three small girls, and the strange but kindly Mr. Edwards, and smiled and continued living out her husband’s dream.
Charles adored the great outdoors. If Charles had not been born a man, God would have given him wings and he’d fly north to south every seasonal turn. Caroline knew this, and loved him for it. Exhausted of moving and building, often frightened, yes, but she trusted her husband’s capabilities and judgment.
But then the government intervened and they had to move on. Unlike leaving the Big Woods, this move filled Charles’ heart with discontent. He had loved the open prairie, with its eternal rolling plains and wide, wide spaces with no people around. But being told to move, rather than follow his only wanderlust heart, had set a disquiet in his soul. Caroline knew this, and her heart ached for him, even if a selfish part of her heart rejoiced at the idea of seeing people and houses and towns again.
Plum Creek and Walnut Grove had their own share of problems. From locusts to unexpected blizzards, Caroline prayed daily to the Almighty for courage and patience like she never had before. Her two older girls, Mary and Laura, were becoming more and more independent every day, and Caroline’s heart was heavy with worries of their future. Meanwhile, she watched her husband warily, sensing the growing discontent and itching wanderlust in his eyes…
Years passed. Caroline almost believed that Charles had settled into Walnut Grove once and for all, especially after the scarlet fever nearly took their lives, and Mary’s sight. But onward they went, and it quickly became the worst of their pioneering of all. The homesteads took far too long to settle, and Caroline was forced into the role of boarding house hostess, with two teenage girls who attracted too many unsavory eyes. (She thanked the Lord above that nothing terrible came from it, but she’d rather deal with locusts and prairie fires than be the only thing protecting her girls from these wolves in men’s skin.)
Caroline gritted her teeth, smiled pleasantly, and cooked for these strange men, and waited for her husband to finally sort out the settlement.
The growing town of De Smet was where the Ingalls family finally put down their roots (literally, for Charles planted a tree as a gift to his wife). But then, the Long Winter came and they sheltered in town, half-starved and half-frozen. The Winter made people dream of better things, of the West and California gold, and of adventures further down the tracks….
Charles, hands too shaky from the cold to play his beloved fiddle, had a small glint in his eye, an impossible dream of traveling on to find someplace better for his family…
And for the first time in her marriage, Caroline refused to indulge in her husband’s itching feet.
“No! You will NOT go down the train tracks! You will NOT risk your life, leaving your daughters here without a father!” Caroline took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She rarely lets her emotions fly off the handle, especially in front of her daughters (who were all now staring at her, terrified, at their Ma’s wrath).
Caroline opened her eyes and stared directly into her husband’s. She could see it again: that restless soul, eyes that would happily gaze upon every inch of the world, there and back again, over and over, until his bones were creaky and his feet too careworn to move another step. In another world, another life, Charles Ingalls would be an explorer, climbing every mountain and following every path he knew or didn’t. He would learn everything a man could possibly learn, he would study under heathens and scholars and kings, he would be a sailor and conquer the seven seas.
Caroline knew this. And grieved for him. But she had a duty to fulfill, as did he, and he needed to remember.
And bless him, despite his wanderlust, despite their pioneering, Charles did understand. A zephyr within his soul calmed the disquiet and steadied his heart once more.
“Forgive me, Caroline. I forget myself when the call of adventure comes along and tickles my toes.” His blue eyes twinkled, and Caroline’s heart melted. He turned towards their daughters. “Your Ma is right. It would be foolhardy of me to go exploring in this weather, let alone without my best girls.” He winked at Caroline and Laura.
“No more pioneering. We make De Smet our home, or we bust!” Charles gave a loud “hurrah!” echoed by Laura, Carrie, and a confused but pleased Grace. Mary remained silent, but Caroline saw the palpable relief on her face, a sentiment that she shared.
Later, when the girls had gone to bed, and everyone was snuggled in their freezing beds as another storm raged outside, Caroline wrapped her arm about her husband’s waist. “I’m sorry, Charles,” she whispered, “for losing my temper.”
Charles chuckled and squeezed her shoulders. “Caroline, if I wanted a quiet little thing who never brought me to my senses, I wouldn’t have even courted you.”
In which I made this way hornier than I originally intended lmao
Posted on: ff.net and AO3
Words: 493
Rated: T. Not smutty, but things definitely steam up
Enjoy! ❤
~~~
“What was that thing you did in the cave? The lip thingy?”
Zak looked up with a start, still wringing out his shirt over the pond. Crysta fluttered above him, gazing expectedly for an answer. Oh geez. He had suspected that Crysta was inexperienced with kissing, judging by her expression after the moment had passed, but to be asked outright…
He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his still wet hair, thinking over what to say, before settling on the truth. “It’s called a kiss. It’s when two people who, you know, like each other, touch lips. To show they like each other.”
Crysta ran her finger over her bottom lip, and Zak wished it didn’t look as sexy as she was making it, but dammit, he was already in too deep. Her eyebrows furrowed as she mulled over his words. “I like everyone in FernGully,” she finally said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think I’ve ever kissed anyone. Not like that.” She alighted on the branch next to him, sitting down cross-legged. “I think I’ve only pressed my lips on animals’ heads, but never on their mouths.”
“Well…” Zak cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s usually a different kind of ‘like.’ More, er, romantic leaning.”
Crysta’s eyes widened comprehensively. “Ohhhh, sorta like when animals mate!”
Zak coughed loudly, his face burning up as he averted his eyes from her wide, curious blues. “Uh, no! I mean, yes, sorta? Maybe? But not really…. It’s more like… the first step before, uh, mating.”
Crysta hummed curiously and scooted closer to an increasingly embarrassed Zak. “Soooo,” she said slowly, biting her lower lip, “does that mean we’re courting?”
“C-courting? Oh, yeah, I forgot that’s the old-school term for dating, but yeah!” Zak nodded enthusiastically, before backtracking. “I– I mean, only if you want to, of course, you absolutely don’t have to just because we kissed, if you want to make it a one-time thing, that’s totally chill, I guess–”
Crysta cut off Zak’s rambling with a kiss. It was clumsier than the first since she was the one initiating, but it did the trick. Zak quickly deepened their kiss, moving their lips together as he circled a hand to the back of her head, Crysta mirroring his movements.
“This is, ah, different than before,” Crysta whispered between kisses, as Zak ran his lips down her neck.
“It’s called ‘making-out.’ It’s like kissing 2.0. Next level. You know, that kind of thing,” Zak murmured, biting on Crysta’s pointed ear.
“I-I don’t think I understand fully,” Crysta gasped, arching her back, her wings fluttering excitedly while still remaining firmly in Zak’s arms, “but I think - ah! - I think I like it.”
“Oh God, Crysta, so do I. So do I.”
Crysta shivered appreciatively at Zak’s slight growl when their lips met again. “Show me all the levels of kissing, okay?” she whispered.
“That’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”
Flying proved more difficult than anticipated. Thumbelina, blowing her bangs off her forehead in frustration, shook off the pollen that clung to her dress.
“Right! Right! I am the Fairy Princess now. I’m not going to let a little thing like this branch” – she glared up at the tree towering over her – “be out of reach. Cornelius can fly through worse winds than this little breeze. Surely I can do the same!”
Hiking up her skirt, Thumbelina marched back over to the large root that she had been practicing for takeoff. For such a small thing like her, the root had a perfect ledge to run up and jump off. Her jitterbug friends continued encouraging her on the side, though each time she had landed in a heap after barely lifting off an inch or two.
(“Do you think she’ll make it this time?” one of them whispered nervously.
“I sure hope so. Those ‘landings’ must be making her black and blue.” The others nodded empathically.)
“Okay! Here I go!” Thumbelina ran over the root’s ledge, her wings fluttering behind her. And this time, a wind seemed to catch under her, because suddenly she was airborne!
Her friends’ cheers soon turned to cries of alarm as it became clear that poor Thumbelina was not in control of her current position. The wind tossed her about, finally plopping her on the very branch she had been trying to fly to on her own.
“Gee, thanks,” she groaned, clutching to the branch. Painstakingly, she rolled over and leaned against the tree trunk, wondering if she’ll ever get this flying business right.
Then, she heard her husband’s voice calling out. Waving her arm, she called back, and soon Prince Cornelius had alighted on her branch.
“Well, I guess you did make it, somehow?” he said sheepishly. His tone was clear that he knew it was not on her own merits, even if he didn’t blame her.
Thumbelina sighed. “I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, Cornelius!”
The fairy prince cocked his head to the side, and he looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. He ran a hand over his messy hair, a habit that Thumbelina still found quite attractive, her heart thumping a little faster as she eagerly waited for her husband to speak.
“You know, Thumbelina,” he said slowly, “you’ve only had wings for a short time, while most fairies have had them since they were born.” Cornelius sat down next to her, dangling his legs over the edge. “But baby fairies don’t fly right away. I remember my early days of flying. Mother nearly had a heart attack every time I crash-landed!”
“So I’m on level with a baby,” Thumbelina grumbled, burrowing her face in her knees.
“No! Well, yes, kinda, but not in a bad way! I just mean that you’re only just starting out, so of course it isn’t perfect. You know, I actually met Buzzbee because Father was sick and tired of Mother fussing about my well-being.”
“Really?” Thumbelina adored the friendly bumblebee, but never really thought about why the Prince of Fairies needed a friend to fly with.
“Yeah, when I was six, I knew how to fly, but I was still bad at landings. Buzzbee would fly alongside me, then have me hang onto his antennae when it was time for me to come down. Before long, his guidance helped me find my feet, and my wings, and now I fly with him for fun.” Cornelius cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking… Would you like to fly with Buzzbee? He’s an excellent guide and will make sure you never fall.”
Thumbelina beamed. “Oh! I would love that! But darling,” she added slyly, “I thought you said that you would never let me fall?”
Cornelius’s face flushed scarlet. “W-well, of course, I can join you, i-if you want. Because though I trust Buzzbee with my life, you are my wife, and it is my job to protect you.” He averted his eyes, ruffling his hair in his nervousness.
Thumbelina giggled, and leaned over, planting on a kiss on her husband’s cheek. “I know. I must admit, I am getting sick and tired of landing on pollen and grass. I practically ruined the dress the jitterbugs made me!”
“Don’t worry,” Cornelius laughed, taking hold of her hand, and fluttering them back down to the forest floor. “No matter how dirty you are, you still radiate beauty, my Princess.”
Posted on: ff.net and AO3
Word Count: 2,031
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton)
Pairing: Alice x Hatter
Enjoy! ❤
~~~
Ever since her father died, Alice made it a personal habit to think up Six Impossible Things before breakfast. The Impossible Things varied from obvious facts to bizarre imaginings. She wrote them down in her diary, hundreds of them, the more nonsensical the better.
Sometimes her Impossible Things were only Impossible by the standards of her society. Things she found to be utter nonsense that were “Impossible.”
“I will have a seat in Parliament.”
“I will get a job that isn’t a secretary, teacher, nanny, or heiress.”
“I don’t have to get married and won’t be judged for it.”
But mostly, her Impossible Things were of the Absurd kind. The Otherworldly, Against All the Laws of the Natural World.
“I can bounce fifty feet in the air and become airborne for miles.”
“I can eat a cake and shrink down to the size of a thimble.”
“I can talk to flowers and caterpillars and rabbits wearing waistcoats.”
Alice’s Impossible Things often coincided with her childish nightmares. She wrote them down at first under her father’s gentle behest, but then it became her routine. Her Six Impossible Things were abnormal to the world and wonderfully wholly “normal” to her. It was the “real” world that was strange. Not her. Nor her Impossible Things.
The first day she went without writing down her Six Impossible Things was the day she went to Hamish’s Garden Party with her mother.
The day she returned, unwittingly, to Underland.
Before she killed the Jabberwocky, she spoke aloud her Impossible Things for the first time because the world she was in was finally Impossible. Instead of confining them to the page, to her mind, to keep her safe from the strange, normal real world, she spoke the words into existence.
And then, the Jabberwocky’s head rolled onto the giant chess board from her hand and sword.
She, Alice Kingsleigh, did Six Impossible Things in Underland because in Underland, Impossible Things happened every day.
And returning to the “real” world to sort things out would be brief. Just enough time to tie up some loose threads, say her goodbyes (her mother and sister never knew where she’d be going, only that it was “very far” and “impossible to reach by boat or train.”) Her resolve was firm and though they protested and begged her to stay, she disappeared in the morning.
The only thing she brought with her was her diary of Impossible Things.
Over the years since her father’s death, Alice allowed herself to repeat Impossible Things if her mind was feeling clouded or if she needed silent encouragement from her father’s spirit. But they always had to be Impossible.
Just like her Impossible Thing she wrote in her new diary after living one year in Underland:
“I will kiss the Mad Hatter.”
She stopped writing, the color-changing ink dripping onto the page, a red as blood splat next to her blue words.
None of her Impossible Things had ever, well, startled her before.
Never frightened her.
They emboldened her. They defined her. They were the reason she had killed the Jabberwocky and ended the Red Queen’s tyranny. They were the reason why she had been able to turn down Hamish’s proposal and set boundaries against her family and society and return to the only world that accepted her and her Impossible Things.
So, why, then?
Why did she think of that Impossible Thing?
Alice was very fond of Hatter. She understood his moods and haunts better than anyone, despite not knowing him for as long as Chessur or Mally had. And ... she couldn’t deny that she felt things that she never felt before when spending time with him. Sometimes, mid-conversation, his eyes would gaze at her with such a burning intensity it made her legs turn to jelly. Usually, the spell would be broken by him suddenly getting distracted by one of his hat projects or the prospect of teatime.
Of all the things Alice Kingsleigh imagined, falling in love never crossed her mind as an Impossible Thing.
Which was very curious, when she considered it now. After all, Alice never swooned over boys or the possibility of courtship and marriage the way other ladies did. She never even found the “handsomest” of men particularly pleasing to the eye. She often found their clothes to be more interesting than their faces, or rather, their hats. Men’s clothes were as boring as women’s clothes were bothersome, but at least she could imagine whatever Impossible Things they could be wearing instead. Like a smiling cat perched on their top hats.
Hatter was not “handsome.” If Alice even knew what that meant. He certainly would not fit what her society would consider “handsome.” Perhaps that was why she found him to be the only interesting man she had ever known.
She remembered, with an unpleasant shudder, Stayne, the exiled Knave of Hearts. He was, she supposed, “handsome,” in a rugged sort of way, but not at all pleasing to Alice’s eye. His gaze had also been intense, but so unlike Hatter’s. Stayne’s one good eye was leering, frightening, hungry, and foul. Alice thought she would vanish under his stare and become a shell of herself. Their encounter had been short, but it still haunted Alice’s mind whenever she was left alone with her thoughts.
Whereas Hatter’s eyes filled her with warmth and curiosity. They were the eyes of zeal and joy, unrestrained emotion that would most definitely not have been allowed in a man’s eyes in Victorian England.
Alice raised her writing hand and wrote six words to complete her Six Impossible Things for the day:
“I am in love with Hatter.”
Yes. Yes, that must be it. Only.... it didn’t quite match what she always thought love was supposed to be.
Margaret once tried to explain to Alice what “love” felt like.
“Goodness, Alice, you’re sixteen years old already and never even felt a hint of girlhood love?! Well, dear me, how do I explain it.... It feels... like a fire in the hearth. Warm, enveloping, swells and burns if it’s fed, but flickers and dies if left alone.”
Alice always found it curious to compare an emotion like love to an element that hurts when touched. Fire was useful, in a pragmatic sense: it cooked food, it kept homes warm, it ran machines, and cast light unto the darkness of night. But it also was easy to lose control. It harmed and even killed, sometimes. It was frightening, the idea of burning up with Love.
Alice thought about Hatter. He was mad, absolutely around the bend, bonkers. He firmly believed that Time stopped at teatime. He often babbled nonsensical words that even made Thackery’s eyes twitch in confusion. But he was also surprisingly grounded. His artistry as a hatter was unmatched, the way he could churn out hundreds of beautifully decorated hats in what felt like mere seconds. His gentleness towards his friends was on par with his ferocity towards his enemies.
Perhaps.... love could also be of the earth.
Steady, quiet, slow, constant. So subtle you don’t even register it’s there until you scoop up a handful and feel the soil between your---
“Is everything alright, Alice?”
Alice shrieked uncharacteristically, jumping and upsetting her ink bottle. The feather pen she had been mindlessly caressing fell onto the floor and crunched under her heel. Cursing quietly, she snatched a nearby tea towel and mopped up the mess on her desk, determinedly casting her eyes down and firmly away from the man who was standing inside her living room.
“Hatter! You—you gave me such a fright! Please, do knock next time you pay me a visit! My heart won’t stop pounding!” Drat! Why did she have to add that sentence? Alice winced at herself, gripping the ink-soaked tea towel in her fist onto her chair’s back. It was the only thing keeping her upright at this point.
“Oh, my stars, my Alice, don’t tell me you hurt yourself?” Hatter’s voice was nervous and fluttering, resembling a butterfly’s wings the way it always did when he was flustered. Alice heard his footsteps cross the room as he closed the distance between them, making her heart thunder in her ears. She stared stubbornly at the carpet, but soon Hatter’s boots came into view. Oh no. He was wearing the forest green pair that he always wore with his purple and orange coattail and trousers and polka-dot tie. It was an incredibly garish outfit, one that would receive nonstop mockery in her world.
And Alice absolutely adored it.
He, of course, was oblivious to her turmoil.
“By the White Queen’s glove, you look as red as that nasty Red Queen! Come, a spot of tea will do you wonders! I have just the thing: a rose white tea with a hint of wishful thinking. It soothes the burning red and leaves you at peace with nothing but lovely tea and wishful thinkings in your cranium. It’s precisely the sort of tea that our dearly departed Bluddy Behg Hid should have kept in her atrocious castle. I never did like staying there, you know. So much red and not near enough blues and greens and saffron. I like red well enough on its own, but too much of it is like too much upelkuchen. Eventually you outgrow liking it.”
Despite herself, Alice couldn’t help but smile slightly. Hatter kept fluttering about as he spoke, straightening up things that didn’t need to be straightened and “crookening” things that were upright.
Alice raised her head and looked straight at the man who captured her heart. His hair was orange, like Hamish, only wilder and far more interesting in its brightness and electric-like state. His clothes were absurd and hideous and beautiful and outlandish and nonsensically colorful. His hat was faded with Time (and was a surprisingly comfortable ride, Alice recalled, during the time she was extremely small), and looked to not quite fit his head, or rather to not tame his brushful of hair.
He wore paint on his face that resembled the clowns in a circus Alice visited once as a child. Only he did not perpetrate a fake smile, but rather extenuated his features for all his emotions. It just so happened that Hatter exuded delight and zeal in nearly all his movements and words. He was so different from the quiet, reserved, strange Alice Kingsleigh.
And she loved him for it.
But Alice wasn’t wholly quiet and reserved, was she? Any more than Hatter was solely happy and carefree. Alice had something deeper inside, something that she had almost lost living in repressive England before Hatter confronted her with a sentence that resonated in her soul.
“You’ve lost your Muchness.”
“Lost my Muchness, have I?” Alice murmured now, just as she had before she crossed the moat of severed heads. Steeling herself, Alice crossed the room to Hatter, who was completely lost in a new tangent on the importance of separating ravens from writing desks as he dusted a bookshelf with a dead bouquet of flowers that Alice forgot to toss out.
“Hatter.”
“..... on contrariwise, as the Twins would say, it is most certainly not a good idea to write on a raven’s back for they have no room to put down your tea cup! And that is most inconvenient---”
“Hatter!”
Alice seized the opportunity faster than she could think. When Hatter turned around, she grabbed his cheeks with both hands and tilted his head down till they locked eyes. He blinked and gazed down at Alice expectantly. He was neither annoyed nor shocked at her sudden actions. He simply waited. Alice took a deep breath.
“You know I always think of Six Impossible Things before breakfast?”
“Aye, that you do, lass.” Hatter’s thick Scottish accent took over. It only appeared when he was deeply serious.
Alice licked her lips nervously. “And that in Underland, Six Impossible Things are nearly always Possible, correct?”
“By the grace of our good White Queen and Oraculum, yes, that be the case, my Alice.”
“Well, then...” Alice stood on tiptoe, her nose touching Hatter’s. “Today, I will kiss the Mad Hatter.”
beloved, you are mine (at last) - a Red River fanfic
@lord-rika, @hazukininja for your immense patience and for being the only two people I know of online who ADORES this manga, I hope this brings Kail/Yuri justice ❤
Posted: ff.net and AO3
Words: 1,085
Rated: M or E
Genre: Romance
Setting: Chapter 38 of the manga, in which Kail and Yuri lock themselves up and fuck endlessly for four days lmao (I'm not even joking, that's literally canon)
~~~
The hours blurred. Nothing existed outside of the four walls of their bed chamber. Day and night were one, just as they, rolling their hips together, joined and rejoined again and again…
Yuri always knew Kail was insatiable. The man could never keep his hands to himself, but the days spent in their bed after consummating their love (or was it weeks? Mere hours? Yuri couldn’t tell anymore), Yuri learned something entirely new.
She, too, was ravenous for this beautiful man and the things he did to her body.
“Oh gods,” she gasped, clutching the sheets in tight fists as Kail mounted her from behind.
(Was there really a time that she disliked the idea of this position? Impossible to believe, now.)
When Kail took her this way, he went in deeper, touched places she didn’t think was possible, and oh, the stimulation! Her body trembled no matter how many hours they went at it, only Kail’s strong hands holding her hips in place.
More than just towering over her, a strong, tall leader, born a king, Kail was also quite well-endowed, enough to frighten her at first, but Kail was a master at preparing her body to be ready.
Incredibly, despite desperately needing her, he dedicated several minutes with his head between her legs, until she was a quaking, sobbing boneless pool of ecstasy. His tongue and fingers played her like a conductor with his orchestra; Yuri never knew she was capable of making such noises before!
At first, she was almost tempted to ask him to stay down there, but then he pushed inside her at last and all protests died on her lips.
Yuri used to daydream about her first time, of course, but the fantasies were always soft, tender, chaste.
Kail made love to her like a man dying of thirst taking his first drink from a well.
With a fury, a hunger that could not be satisfied.
When he had taken her virginity, she felt no pain, much to her own shock (she supposed all of the times they had nearly made love before, plus her many hours horseback riding during the battle campaign, had prepared her body in more ways than one).
But whatever pain that was lacking in becoming Kail’s true concubine was quite made up for during the rest of their coupling.
The faster Kail had pounded into her, the more savage his desire, and soon Yuri was mirroring his actions.
Together, they clawed up each other’s backs, pulled each other’s hair, overwhelmed in their passion, all of it blurred into one deliciously pleasurable experience, incomparable…
And before she knew it, they were doing nothing else but sleeping and making love.
The hours rolled by and Yuri was swept away by Kail’s adoration, lost in her own love for her beloved king, the waves of pleasure mounting until she would scream and Kail would kiss her so hard, she thought he would devour her right then and there.
She forgot all embarrassment, all etiquette, all protests. She made sure Kail knew how much she longed for more, more, more!
She needed him to know, without a single iota of a doubt, that the choice she made to stay in his world, to be making love to him now and countless times thereafter, was one she would not regret until her dying day….
.
.
.
“Yuri…” Kail moaned now, digging his nails into Yuri’s ass cheeks, causing her to mewl and writhe under him. He watched her ass bounce against himself, mesmerized that such a petite body could be so utterly erotic in this position.
“K-Kail, do that – ah! – that thing– with my h-hair…” Yuri cried out, her back arching back in gesture. “P-please…. AHHHH!”
Her voice rose into a pitch only rarely achieved, a sound that Kail could listen to for hours on end. He tightened his grip on her short locks, securing her neck safely as he pulled her back until he could lean over and kiss her upside down. His thrusts slowed down with the effort, but the deep, slow strokes combined with the strenuous position was one of Yuri’s favorites and he could deny her nothing.
But it was still a risky maneuver held for too long, and he quickly let go, watching her collapse, gasping for breath. She was soaked through, and her gasps were slowly growing into moans of absolute pleasure. Kail knew what to do next: he reached down and pressed her face sideways into the bed and flattened himself on top of her, thrusting faster and harder…
For what seemed like the umpteenth time (and yet, also not nearly enough!), he spilled his seed into his beloved, kissing her shoulder blades as she rode out her pleasure at the sensation of his completion.
“My beloved, you are mine…” Kail murmured into Yuri’s ebony hair, listening to her moans of rapture slowly fade into exhausted panting.
But he had waited too long. Too many times they were interrupted, and now Yuri’s world was gone from her grasp forever.
Her sacrifice would not be in vain, Kail vowed as he allowed himself to doze off on Yuri’s back, caressing her soft skin.
He would make love to her until long after she turned old and gray.
He would worship her body like the goddess that she was, an inspiration and beloved to his people already, a leader in her own right.
Gone was the naive child he had protected long ago by pretending to be her lover.
Yuri, his goddess, his future queen, his one and true concubine, was embedded in his very soul.
“Mmm, Kail…?” she stirred under him.
The king lifted himself slightly to ease the weight, kissing the top of her head.
“At last,” he whispered, turning Yuri sideways so he could gently, ever so gently, enter her once more.
Yuri whimpered at his entrance, still sensitive from their last session, but he was not wholly hard yet. He was only within her shallowly, clinging to her on the side and running kisses down her neck and back.
“You keep saying ‘at last,’ but I think we’re losing count of how many times it’s been,” Yuri moaned back, giggling slightly.
Kail could feel himself harden more within her (and she could too, judging by her sudden jolt and tremulous cry). He cupped her chin and kissed her deeply, starting to thrust again in earnest.
“Beloved, you will never stop hearing me say those words, for you are now mine. At last.”
