Kimi Antonelli In A Nutshell:

Kimi Antonelli in a nutshell:

Ares x Reader (One Shot)

“Oh absolutely fucking not.”

You held your hands up in disgust, backing away from the obviously bewildered beast of a man who stood before you. He looked stunned, as if you were the first woman to say no to him.

“Are you fucking with me?” He demanded, dark brows raised.

You scoffed at him, stunned that he would even ask you such a bold question. “Ares, seriously? You seriously though I’d say yes to that? Did Hermes toss you a few mushrooms again or are you just that fucking stupid?” You searched his face, desperately hoping this was some sick joke and the man you’d managed to somewhat befriend was only trying to crack a dumb joke for the sake of watching you squirm. But the way his mouth twisted downwards confirmed that it was indeed not a joke. Was he actually offended?

“We literally just started getting along!” You shouted, tossing your hands in the air in frustration. You could feel your cheeks beginning to warm. You were angry, somewhat hurt and thoroughly embarrassed. Why did anything with a penis always pull a stunt like this?

“I don’t know why you’re so opposed to something that could literally make every other god wild with envy!” He shot back, large hands curling into fists at his side. You’d bruised his ego, and maybe anyone else would have been terrified if the god of war was standing before them looking less than displeased but you barely batted an eye. You were one of the only ones who didn’t react to his bullshit. The chances of you taking him down were level with his defeating you.

“Wild with envy?” You asked incredulously, sneering at him. “Are you fucked? One, Aphrodite would have my head on a pike!” You held your finger up, moving towards him to point it angrily in his face. “And two, it would be a fucking psychopath.”

Ares’ jaw twitched as he clenched it. He didn’t seem to pleased with the notion that you were insulting the non existent child he’d proposed the two of you create.

“No he wouldn’t,” He shot back indignantly, taking a step towards you. He towered over you, but you only squared your shoulders.

“The god of war? Producing a child that isn’t a raging lunatic?” Your eyebrows shot up. You were mocking him now. “I sincerely doubt that’s even possible. And secondly, why the fuck did you assume it would be a boy?!” You were shouting now, heart beat rising as your anger began to stir. The string of curses that you were about to let loose would have made Dionysus himself blush.

“You’ve got an awful lot of guts to talk to me like this,” Ares growled, moving closer to you. He was less than a foot from you now, and you could hear him grind his teeth as he lowered his face to yours. His eyes were wild with rage, and you watched with amusement as they began to churn. Oh, yes, the god of war had become so angry he was starting to lose control. You could see the chaos beginning to unfurl behind them. Images of people tearing each other apart, wars unfolding, misery and despair taking control. It was enough to drive a man insane.

But you were no man.

“Don’t make an enemy out of me Ares.” Your voice was dangerously low, you could feel the way your own pupils began to darken. “I will hunt you like a wild animal and gut you before the very people that worship you.”

His pupils widened, just slightly, and you could have sworn it was lust that clouded his gaze. You wouldn’t have been surprised. Why wouldn’t a man whom everyone feared not feel attracted to one of the only women who could actually stand a chance against him in the ring? You’d never admit it out loud, but some part of you was attracted to him as well. He was dangerous, he actually stood a chance against your prowess.

“I should cut your head off for the way you speak to me,” He hissed, lips curling back over his incisors. His dark, curly hair was still plastered to his forehead, the sweat still glistening on his skin from your sparring match earlier. You’d come out here to train with him, work on some new war tactics, not argue over theoretical children. Although, his bronzed skin did look good…and the scar that ran from his jaw to his cheekbone looked rather-

“Fuck off.” You couldn’t tell if you were saying it to him, or yourself. You should have seen it coming, and you cursed yourself when you didn’t move quickly enough to block him. It was over in a matter of seconds, but you could only wheeze when Ares suddenly had his chest pressed against your back, your arms twisted painfully behind you. You winced, fighting the urge to groan in pain when he pressed the side of your face further into the dirt. “Bastard.”

“I’d avoid insulting the god of war when you can’t even defend yourself.” You could hear the sick fuck’s twisted grin as he whispered into your ear, noting that his grin became animalistic when you shivered at the sensation of his breath on your skin.

“Eat shit you spoiled rotten brat-“ You managed to choke out, curling your hands into fists. He’d break your arm if you made any sudden movements. Not that it would take long to heal, but breaking bones was never something you actively sought out. It still hurt every time.

“I should rip out your spine and leave you here,” Ares growled into your ear, fingers tightening painfully around your wrist as he pushed your face deeper into the dirt. You were going to cut his head off once you were free. “Let the animals-“

Ares was cut off when you let loose a primal shout, hooking your leg around his and kicking backwards. He rocked forward, nose breaking against the side of your skull. You rolled to the side, forcing your hands out of his grip, shoulder tearing from its socket in the process. You pushed yourself to your feet, chest heaving as you glowered down at the man who still lay a few feet from you. Your arm was hanging limply at your side, and you watched as Ares rocked back onto his haunches, wicked eyes meeting your own as he halfhazardly dragged his hand under his rapidly healing nose. Golden ichor flowed freely from it, coating the lower half of his face.

Ares couldn’t help it anymore. He watched, feeling absolutely fucking feral, as you stared down at him. Your eyes were ablaze with rage, the humanity within them barely a whisper, as you struggled to catch your breath. Your gaze didn’t leave his as you suddenly let loose a roar, reaching over to slam your arm back into its socket. You were fucking stunning, a wild woman who could not be contained. Even Zeus feared you, and it made Ares want you even more. He’d never intended to fall for you, in fact he’d only started speaking to you because he’d felt threatened by your presence and he’d wanted to discover your weaknesses. But when he’d watch you draw your weapon, lips curling into a grin as you tore through whatever stood between you and your goal, he’d damn near dropped to his knees. You were a wild animal, incapable of feeling fear, and he wanted you more than he’d dare admit to anyone, even himself.

Aphrodite was beautiful, a beauty nothing could compare to, but you were different. You could stop an immortal being in it’s tracks with your gaze. Mortals barely even spoke your name for fear of crossing you and bringing your rage upon them.

And Ares wanted you more than anything. God, the idea of fucking you had been living in his mind for so fucking long, he’d barely been able to focus on anything else. And whether you wanted to admit it or not, the two of you could create a child no one on Olympus had ever dreamed of.

“If you ever fucking try to cross me again,” Ares was barely processing your words as you spoke, instead noting how his blood had stained your hair, “I’ll rip your head off and eat it.”

Ares licked his lips, eyes glued to your ass as you stalked away from him. “Same time tomorrow?” He called after you, smiling like a madman when you turned to scowl at him over your shoulder. He knew you wanted him too.

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kse22chili

11 months ago

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe.

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps.

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is.

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss.

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual.

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath.

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat.

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing.

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs.

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.”

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed.

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust.

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow.

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week.

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side.

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile.

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you.

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass.

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water.

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off.

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time.

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well.

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you.

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house.

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change.

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face.

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full.

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob.

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb.

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?”

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop.

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek.

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew.

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress.

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances.

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house.

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in.

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them.

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered.

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear.

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek.

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart.

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep.

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more.

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck.

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed.

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine.

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time.

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth.

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado.

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress.

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue.

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire.

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh.

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit.

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over.

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed.

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you.

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock.

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his.

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.”

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust.

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat.

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine.

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words.

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours.

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in.

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you.

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire.

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead.

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs.

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go.

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes.

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please.

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud.

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means.

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn.

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind.

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day.

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head.

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back.

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

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kse22chili

11 months ago

Ellen Bass, "The Thing Is"

13K notes View Post

kse22chili

11 months ago

one month post retirement and simon riley had his missus knocked up….. belly round and full with his babe, tits plump and leaking.

you were a sight for sore eyes, one that had simon’s libido reaching even greater heights, ones that he’d been sure he’d already exhausted. yet here he was dick hard and balls full each time he saw you.

he went crazy over the way your swole tits bounced as you rode him, the way your breasts seemed to be spilling at the seems of all your tops, the way your nipples were erect almost all the time and the way you were now hornier than ever.

he’d caught you hiding under the sheets rubbing your needy clit and knuckles deep in your own drooling cunt , his name on your tongue, many a times.

in return a sulking simon pestered you about not letting him help, but you’d just been too worried you’d milked him dry with the sheer amount of sex you’d been having. but boy oh boy were you wrong.

simon had the stamina and load to pipe you for days on end. and that’s exactly what he did for the few weeks ahead, he wanted to imprint his cock in you before sex started to get all too too much for his pregnant wifey.

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kse22chili

10 months ago

I’m your rose.

It hurts me to admit that I miss you. I miss your hands resting on my hips and you looking down at me. I want to touch you, your broad shoulders and your big arms. I love you towering over me and staring at me as if I am a deer caught in the forest and you are the big bulky bear hunting down his prey.

I hate to start a letter this desperate for you. But you HAVE to know that I miss you Ares. You are my salvation.

I know that I am weak, physically. So I need my protector. I need you. You can’t let go of this responsibility, it’s what you signed up for willingly. And now? I oblige you to kneel down and love me like a famished wolf. The wolf that finally found his lovely sheep. The sweetest and prettiest woman on Earth.

I need you to love me, to show it to me. Caress my skin and kiss my freckles all over my body, count them if you dare. I want you to prey for the sun you’ve surrendered to, that is my body and my soul. You know that I was going to be the end of your world. And you crave me more than before.

Now come to me, settle your way to my heart. Come back to me and cherish the magnificent aura that we create once we’re back together.

My love please give me your love and everything. I need you. Now.

Detective Loki series

Find all my Loki series fics here!

The Implicit Demand for Proof -You are a forensic psychologist for the FBI and you get called in to assist on a high priority child abduction case in Conyers, PA. What happens when you catch feelings for the mysterious detective Loki?

Choking on Circumstances- Loki and reader deal with the aftermath of the Dover-Birch case all while navigating their blossoming relationship

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kse22chili

10 months ago

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kse22chili

1 year ago

He loves it when you sit on his back when he's doing pushups.

This almost never happens but when it does, he loves how it makes him feel like he's the strongest man for you. You're sitting on his back looking all cute and pretty counting his reps for him and although his diligence to going all the way down and pushing himself back up is causing him sweat he can't help but smile when he hears you giggling up there.

When he's done he'd give you a gentle kiss, "Thank you baby." and will probably want to keep you around to show off his muscles and strength some more. "Wanna help me with the rest of my workouts?" he asks smirking.

"Yes" you respond with a cute smile.

He picks you up and sits you on a counter nearby. He gives you another gentle kiss "Just keep being my cute cheerleader." he orders with a smirk.

Bakugou Katsuki, Shinsou Hitoshi, Kunigami Rensuke, Reo Mikage, Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou, Gojo Saturou, Fushiguro Toji, Eren Yeager, Kyo Sohma, Ryo Kurokiba, Draken

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