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sugardollcurse · 3 months ago

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You already know who it is💥 too nervous to ask off anon but would u feel up to doing an Nsfw alphabet with John or Paul? 🪲🪲

𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒘 𝒂𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒕

꒰ pairings ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ nsfw!! minors dni!, female anatomy

꒰ note ꒱ i rub my hands together.. i'm doing BOTH

꒰ JOHN ꒱

A = Aftercare: what they’re like after sex ⋆ Surprisingly gentle, but only once the sweat’s dried and the flush fades from your skin. What he does is sprawl beside you, shirt half-buttoned, legs still tangled in the sheets, and smoke with one hand while the other traces lazy circles into your thigh. “Still breathin’, are ya?” he’ll say, but that grin’s softer than his tone dares. And if he catches your eyes looking too long, he’ll lean in and press his lips against your temple without a word.

B = Body part: their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s ⋆ His own? His mouth. He knows what it does. On stage, off stage, between your thighs, on your neck... weaponized. He’ll smirk when you flinch at a single word. Yours? Your neck, your thighs, your hands in his hair. But more than anything he’s got a weird obsession with your back when you’re arched... says it’s "fuckin’ art, that."

C = Cum: anything to do with cum, basically

⋆ Messy bastard. Doesn’t care where it goes... on your chest, your ass, your tongue, your belly, all the sheets. Leaves the mess for you both to lie in. He’ll say “don’t waste it” if you gag on it but gives a smug groan if you swallow. Bit lazy with cleanup unless you hand him a tissue, and even then he’s more likely to toss it aside and pull you close.

D = Dirty secret: pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs

⋆ He’s thought about fucking in the studio during a session... faders up, headphones on, pretending to mix while his cock’s buried deep in you under the console. Gets off on the danger of people walking in. Also might’ve come in his trousers once just watching you dance at a club... never told you, but his eyes were glued to your hips the whole night.

E = Experience: how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

⋆ Very experienced. Groupies, flings, some weird shit during Hamburg days when he was off his face. Knows how to get someone off but doesn’t always put in the work unless you’re special... otherwise it’s mostly him chasing his own nut. But when he gives a shit? That tongue gets biblical.

F = Favorite position: this goes without saying

⋆ Lazy as hell... missionary with your legs up so he doesn’t have to move much. But he’s obsessed with doggy too, gets a thrill out of the sound of skin slapping. If you ride him, he’ll moan like a pornstar but still barely move, hands behind his head, just watching like it’s a private film.

G = Goofy: are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

⋆ Only if he’s baked. Then he’ll mutter things like “it’s like docking me submarine innit” while snorting into your tits. Otherwise he’s a bit intense. Serious eyes, soft groans, always biting his lip like he’s thinking too much.

H = Hair: how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

⋆ That mop on his head’s wild and greasy half the time. His bush? Untamed jungle, thick and dark. It’s au naturel, a Beatle’s thicket. Chest hair’s sparse though... It's almost like there's nothing there.

I = Intimacy: how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect

⋆ He can be weirdly tender in the moment. Like a rough boy pretending not to care, but whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers. Not a candlelight and roses guy, but he’ll kiss your eyelids and cup your face while he fucks you slow.

J = Jack off: masturbation headcanon

⋆ Constantly. Like a teen. He’ll sneak one out in the bath or backstage while nobody’s looking. Has wanked over your knickers left in his room. Will absolutely do it in front of you if you ask.

K = Kink: one or more of their kinks

⋆ Powerplay. Spanking, throat-holding, bending you over things... he’s not shy. Also got a voyeuristic streak, wants to see his cum drip out of you. Dirty talk’s a given, especially if you blush when he says “you’re fuckin’ filthy, aren’t you?”

L = Location: favorite places to do the do

⋆ Any hotel room, preferably with mirrors. Dressing rooms, stairwells, backstage... he’s had a shag up against a speaker cab before, still remembers how it made the whole bloody amp vibrate. Wild about sex in taxis, hand under your skirt in the back while he stares down the driver’s eyes in the mirror.

M = Motivation: what turns them on, gets them going

⋆ Your voice, your laugh, your smell when you’ve been dancing... he’ll bury his nose in your hair like a dog. But the clincher? He loves being seduced as much as seducing.

N = No: something they wouldn’t do, turn offs

⋆ He hates being bossed around. If you get too dominant, too clinical, he loses interest. Doesn’t want to be a puppet. Also not into piss or anything he deems “weird for weird’s sake.”

O = Oral: preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

⋆ He’s lazy but not with his tongue. If he’s in the mood, he’ll spend ages eating you out like he’s licking lyrics into your clit, slow and melodic, murmuring “taste like fuckin’ strawberries” while his nose presses against your folds. Prefers receiving but gets off harder making you moan.

P = Pace: are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

⋆ Lazy strokes, deep grinds, until you’re writhing. He’ll start slow, drag it out, make you beg. When he’s close he speeds up. But his default is slow and sinful.

Q = Quickie: their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

⋆ All the time. Especially before shows, backstage, in the loo while the others are knocking on the door. Won’t say no if you’re slick and needy.

R = Risk: are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

⋆ Ballsy bastard. Gets off on the danger. Studio, alley, dressing room with a paper-thin curtain... if it’s risky, he’s hard. Not big on serious BDSM gear though, says it’s “too theatre.”

S = Stamina: how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

⋆ One and done if he’s tired or high, but when he’s sharp? Two, maybe three if you rile him up good. Doesn’t last forever... five, ten minutes tops unless he’s edging himself.

T = Toys: do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

⋆ Not big into them, but if you have them he’ll mess around. Maybe ties your hands with a scarf if he’s feeling poetic.

U = Unfair: how much they like to tease

⋆ Absolute tease when he wants to be. Will finger you under the table and leave you dripping, then light a cig and pretend nothing happened. Whispers filth in your ear and walks away. Will almost let you cum then stop, just to hear you whimper his name.

V = Volume: how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

⋆ Low groans, muttered filth, the occasional breathless “fuckin’ hell” when he’s close. Not a screamer, but when he bites your neck he moans right in your ear, all shaky and deep, and you can feel it in your cunt like bass.

W = Wild card: a random headcanon for the character

⋆ Has a dirty little diary where he writes lyrics that double as sex fantasies. He might read them to you... one had a line like ��her thighs sang hallelujah” and he laughed for like ten minutes.

X = X-ray: let’s see what’s going on under those clothes

⋆ Six, maybe seven inches, thick at the base. Doesn’t look like much soft, but the girth makes you feel it with every slow grind.

Y = Yearning: how high is their sex drive?

⋆ Comes in waves. Sometimes he’s insatiable. Other times he’s aloof. But when the itch hits, he’s crawling into your lap like a starving man.

Z = Zzz: how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

⋆ Out cold. Sometimes he doesn’t even pull out. Just breathes deep against your shoulder, mumbles something dumb like “don’t die, yeah?” and knocks the fuck out.

꒰ PAUL꒱

A = Aftercare: what they’re like after sex ⋆ Oh, he's doting. Immediately rolls over, pulls you in like he’s tucking away treasure. Kisses your temple, strokes your ribs, murmurs “Was that nice, love?” while pressing little pecks to your cheeks, your shoulders, your chest. Insists on wiping you down, tidying up, humming softly like you’re a lullaby he’s still writing. Even offers water.

B = Body part: their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s ⋆ His? His hands. Always moving, always expressive, always knowing where to press, pinch, stroke. He’ll tease you just by resting them on your thighs during dinner. On you? Your hips... he obsesses. Squeezes them when he’s deep inside, guides you with them like you’re an instrument. That and your eyes. Swears he can tell when you're gonna cum just by the way they go glassy.

C = Cum: anything to do with cum, basically

⋆ Polite even in this. Likes to finish inside. Deep and slow, fingers curled into your thighs. Groans when he spills, then breathes heavy against your neck like he’s trying not to fall apart. Pulls out slow and watches it drip with fascination. Cleans you up with a cloth and a kiss, proud little smirk on his face like he did something holy.

D = Dirty secret: pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs

⋆ He’s got a collection of your panties... says it’s “for inspiration.” Wanks to the idea of being called “sir” while you ride him in just heels. Also had a phase where he’d imagine you bent over his piano mid-song.

E = Experience: how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

⋆ Oh, he’s no choirboy. Been around since the Cavern days, plenty of girls, plenty of groupies, plenty of prostitutes.

F = Favorite position: this goes without saying

⋆ Loves missionary but with your legs pressed up to your chest, so he can get in deep and kiss you while he’s moving. But when he’s needy? Cowgirl. He likes the view!

G = Goofy: are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

⋆ Sometimes he’ll crack a joke mid-thrust just to make you giggle. Or sing a lyric but swap a word with something filthy. “All you need is... cock” gets a groan and a slap. He laughs easy, flirts harder, and if you moan funny he’ll try to mimic it just to see you embarassed.

H = Hair: how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

⋆ Soft chest hair, a little trail down to his cock, well-groomed but not manicured. Pubes are dark, trimmed enough that you know he gives a damn. Smells like soap and sweat and a little hint of something floral, maybe from your shampoo. He likes to smell like you after.

I = Intimacy: how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect

⋆ Bleeds romance. Eye contact like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. Kisses between thrusts, fingers laced, lips brushing your ear while he says things like “you’re everything, y’know?”. He acts like he’s making love every time, even when he’s balls-deep and sweating.

J = Jack off: masturbation headcanon

⋆ Not ashamed. Does it often, does it neat. Handkerchief ready, wrist slicked, brows furrowed. Imagines your voice, your moans, the way you taste. If you catch him? He’ll grin and say “was thinkin’ of you, sweetheart” without blinking.

K = Kink: one or more of their kinks

⋆ Praise kink. Tell him he’s good, tell him he makes you feel amazing, and he’ll fuck you harder. Loves lingerie... especially garters and thigh-highs. A bit of a voyeur too; if you’re touching yourself, he won’t stop you. Just leans back and watches, eyes wide and devout.

L = Location: favorite places to do the do

⋆ Hotel beds are the classic, but he’s filthy in the right mood. Back of the tour bus while the others nap, dark corners of a dressing room, behind the amp stack. Once fingered you under a table during a press interview, eyes innocent while your legs shook.

M = Motivation: what turns them on, gets them going

⋆ You calling him “baby.” You wearing his shirts. You leaning into him during a slow song. Hell, even just the way you sip your drink. He’s easy to rile!

N = No: something they wouldn’t do, turn offs

⋆ Won’t slap you, won’t degrade you, not for real. He likes rough, sure, but not cruel. Gets turned off if the vibe’s too transactional... he needs heat, connection, eye contact.

O = Oral: preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

⋆ Fucking loves it. Spends forever between your legs. Moans into your cunt, grips your thighs, lets his nose press into your clit as he flicks slow and deep. Receiving? He moans and looks at you like a sinner seeing heaven.

P = Pace: are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

⋆ Usually smooth and steady. When he’s wound tight? He pounds. Not brutal, but desperate. Whimpers, groans, hips snapping like he’s chasing something.

Q = Quickie: their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

⋆ Yes please. Steals them in green rooms, bathrooms, anywhere with a lock. Will push you against a wall and fuck you quick, hand over your mouth, lips on your neck. Never rushes foreplay, though! He’ll still kiss you first, always. He thinks quick doesn’t mean cold.

R = Risk: are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

⋆ Down for almost anything once. Curious, experimental, maybe a bit shy about it at first but if you talk him into it? He’s all in. Likes silk ties as restraints. Might even try roleplay if you make the idea. Doesn’t want to hurt you but he’s into the idea of you begging.

S = Stamina: how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

⋆ Goes once, recovers quick. Can go again in ten minutes if you’re into it. Keeps at it until you’re wrecked, even if his cock’s soft. Fingers, tongue, hips, whatever it takes. He wants to leave you shaking. Long sessions with breaks for kisses and tea? Yes.

T = Toys: do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

⋆ Loves when you use them. Not his first choice but open-minded. Might let you tie him up if you do it pretty.

U = Unfair: how much they like to tease

⋆ He’ll tease, but sweetly. Slow fingers, ghost touches, featherlight tongue swipes that make you beg. Whispers “you’re close, yeah?”

V = Volume: how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

⋆ Soft groans, panting, and little whines when he’s getting close. Not loud unless he’s feeling especially lost in it. But if you’re loud? He eats it up.

W = Wild card: a random headcanon for the character

⋆ Has written a whole song just from the sound of you cumming. Didn’t tell you, just dropped it into a setlist one night and winked at you from the stage.

X = X-ray: let’s see what’s going on under those clothes

⋆ Five inches exactly. Pretty, smooth, a slight upward curve, flushed tip, almost too sensitive. Not a monster, but he knows how to use it!

Y = Yearning: how high is their sex drive?

⋆ High drive. Insatiable when he’s in love. Thinks about you bent over every piece of furniture he sees. If he hasn’t had you in a few days? He’s vibrating. “Need you, now, please.”

Z = Zzz: how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

⋆ Stays awake after, kisses your back, murmurs little songs against your spine. Doesn’t sleep until you do. When he finally knocks out, it’s with a sigh and his arm heavy across your waist.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps

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pursuitseternal · 5 months ago

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🌊 “𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓭:” 🌊

Gale (Act 3) x f!Reader | E | 2 K

Summary: The Wavemother’s Robe carries a magic to its creation, one that Gale is most eager to unlock with his beloved, beautiful and resplendent by the sea

CW: Magic smut, beach sex, praise kink, post act 3 romance, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, magic in the “bedroom,” creampie, vaginal sex

Ao3 Link | Baldur’s Gate Masterlist

🎨 by @2leavespothos on BlueSky

“Night is a magical time to swim, my love. Starlit and romantic, and yet the dangers of not being able to see the tides are nothing to shake a stick at,” Gale gives you that smug smirk, even as he pulls you headlong down the docks. Stars glitter, your heartbeat racing at their brightness, the memories of your time spent in the Outer Plane still fresh in your mind from the other night.

But tonight is for mortal pleasures. Very wet ones, you laugh. Over your arm, the Wavemother’s Robe hangs, its barely-there weight only tangible as the scales of the armor seem to hum as you approach the sea.

The winds have been calm, and the sea is quieter than it was earlier today when you had paid your final visit to the Wavemother’s House.

When you got armor, the special prize for aiding those Servants… now it shimmers and seems to glow the closer you get to the secluded beach beside the seaside temple to Umberlee. “Hells, my Wizard. Can’t you just… Misty Step us where you plan to take me?” you huff, his hand pulling you closer to the soft rushing of waves on the shore.

“Now, such a hurried approach leaves much to be desired, my love. It is the ripe anticipation that will yield such delicious fruits…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you tease, reaching to flick your finger into his upper arm even as you giggle. “I love walking with you too, my love,” your voice murmurs, the sudden shift from teasing to sultry makes Gale miss a step down the way to the beach, his precious hands catching him on the rail just in time.

You call his name, your arms reaching to grab his middle, a tangle of limbs precariously close to tumbling down the stairs. But all it does is end with you in his arms, looking up into warm brown eyes and that scruffed, gorgeous face, all of it framed by the stars. “Gale—” you half-giggle, half-purr as he cups your cheek in the cradle of his palm.

“No more distractions, my love. No more detours. Or else we may miss the window to try out this new Robe for ourselves, hmm?”

Mmmm, you love it when he does this. When the academic tone turns to a low rumble, when the pedantic tone drops to a purr.

“The tides are just right, and there isn’t a fisherman in sight, which makes for perfect conditions for testing out this robe’s abilities, just the two of us…” his voice takes that sweet warm rumble as he continues, “and away from the prying eyes and listening ears of camp.”

His warm hand stays braced at your lower back, sliding down to palm your ass as he leads you to the sheltered beach. He murmurs your name, “Gods, I’ve been thinking about seeing you in this armor all day.” His thick lips twist in that smug smirk as he bites his lip. Looking like he stares at the most beautiful, most desirable sight in all Torril. That’s how he gazes at you now. And everyday. His goddess long forgotten. Now there is only you reflected back in the wet shine of his rich dark eyes.

It steals your breath, and he knows better than to wait on a reply when you’re this swept off your feet.

You manage a strangled, breathy laugh as your feet sink into the recently warm sand, and you pull your shoes off. Sand tickles your toes as each step draws you to the water’s edge. Gale stops in his tracks near a cluster of boulders, setting down the armor. “And now to disrobe before we try this Robe,” he chuckles, starlight catching in his eyes. His magic hands are quick, pulling off his own clothing first to bare that sculpted, tanned chest. Before you even have time to register it, he’s completely naked in the moonlight.

And already hard.

“Hells,” you breathe, watching his hand reach to start lazily stroking himself, your dress already half bunched at your middle as you pause.

“Go on then, don’t stand on ceremony for me,” he croons, chuckling and stroking.

You don’t need anymore encouragement, tugging the fabric off over your head and step out of your panties. Setting it all on that boulder, you take the Robe, its fabric seems to glow not with the starlight, but with the sparkling glitters that come from the waves that lap around your bare ankles.

Gale’s smug smile only deepens, those lines at his eyes and in his forehead creasing distinctly as he draws close to take the armor and open it for you, bunching it at its collar to slide it down your smooth body.

The fabric tingles, rippling on your skin, wriggling with magic as if… it was alive. Its blue scales shimmer, resplendent, you had called them, even as Gale had assured you, your beauty outstripped such a physical object. Even one that is this magical.

His warm body pulls up behind you, cockhead prodding at your ass every now and then as he slinks the armor… if you could call it that… over your head.

“You know, I was reading about this fine Robe today, curiosity piqued when I saw it. I wanted to know its magic and not just how it hypnotizes me with that deep cut of the collar, that high swoop at the tops of your supple thighs…”

You don’t need to turn to know a half-lidded gaze that bores down at you, the rolling depths of his tone enough to make you shiver. His hand slides the fabric down, smoothing the small scalloped plated fabric over your back. Skilled hands linger over your ass, the tips of his fingers sliding to the aforementioned thigh slits as they brush your skin there.

Warm lips caress the soft spans beneath your ear, and then he whispers. “You know how this Robe was made? These are no ordinary links of silver chain, my love. These are the scales of the Wavemother’s most beloved fish. Its death a great tragedy, this Robe birthed from its memory, a relic of the creature’s power and beautiful magic.”

His grip tightens suddenly on your hips, pulling your ass flush to him. You gasp, not wholly recalling his tale as you feel the press of his cock grinding on your ass.

“A creature of unparalleled beauty, the jewel of the sea…” his voice rumbles in your ear, his beard scratching and tickling the sensitive flesh of your neck. “A rare thing of beauty. Like you, my love,” his lips brush your neck, and a wanton moan slips from your mouth.

“Gale,” you breathe, eyes sliding shut to focus on the sensation of his mouth on your skin.

Waves lap higher at your ankles, your feet sinking deliciously slowly into the sand. Your head gets light with his brushing kisses and murmuring voice.

“There is yet a more wonderful secret about this Robe, however,” he’s crooning right against the whorls of your ear, sending shivers like rivulets of ice cold rain down your spine. And you just hum in response. “The moment… this garment… touches the water…”

His words are slow. Measured. And you can tell he’s waiting for something. A magical moment, perfectly timed and concocted for your pleasure.

His style of seduction, you’re coming to know about him.

A single wave kisses the fabric, making it stick to your flesh… a second skin that ripples up your every nerve with a burst of magic so pleasurable, a whimper slides off your tongue. “Hells, what was that?” you sigh, shuddering to feel Gale’s warm body pressing up behind you hard. Insistent. His hand pushing away the back panel of the Robe to bare your skin, the velvet skin of his cock slots perfectly into the groove of your ass.

The water-magic caresses your whole body now. It moves like ripples on the surface, emanating from the points where the scales touch the sea.

“Close your eyes,” comes that rough-whispered command in your ear. It always makes you shiver. Always makes you moan for him. Your body obeys him in a flash, hands pressed to the boulder beside you to brace on something, anything, as he ruts against you in earnest now. “Can you feel it? The magic of the Robe, the way the sea’s power trickles in your nerves now?”

Even with his voice strained, his hips thrusting against your ass, leave it to your beloved Wizard to teach you the magic of this gown. You huff half a laugh that dissolves into another whimper as he pushes your chest to the slippery rock and pries your legs apart.

“Focus on the magic, the way these scales shimmer against your skin, and I’ll,” he chuckles as he presses the blunted head of his cock to your own soaked folds, “focus on making you feel a different sensation, wave after wave of pleasure to drown you in.”

Gale pushes inside you, and just as his cockhead bottoms out inside your cunt, a wave sweeps up to your knees.

Filled to bursting from within, magic tingling over your from without, you constantly clench around him. Cool waters lick higher up to your knees, but the spray of the gentle sea tonight already has the Robe damp over your whole body. Heat coils in your belly, the fabric alive on your skin. A maelstrom of sensations caress you, flowing down your spine, stoppered by the heat of your coupling. But its nothing compared right now to the feeling of him fucking inside you.

Those crashing waves of pressure, that rising tide of bliss he’s conjuring in your belly drowns you entirely. Every thrust drags him over your nerves, a sweet heat to contrast the cool kiss of sea spray.

You voice pants and whines with each thrust. His own groan matches yours as he slides a hand up your thigh. You know he feels it too, the Wavemother’s magic, as his hand slides under the sopping scales to find your clit with expert precision.

“You, my love, my beloved,” he chuffs in your ear, rich praises penetrating deep into your soul, “are resplendent. Ravishing…”

His voice is thick in his throat, husky as it breaks in time with every slap of his hips against your ass.

“…prepossessing…”

You feel your walls flutter as he pushes against you harder, the Robe now soaked and quivering with its own magical life over your whole body, save where Gale pounds into you. Erratic and hard, he chases his release as you can feel your own orgasm gathering, a tempest in your belly and cunt.

He groans in your ear, tongue pilfering the depths of his vocabulary to praise you. The bigger the words, the tighter his balls were, readying to spill into you…

“Gale… I…” you heave, rocking back against his thrusts to take them deep into you, the waves of your pleasure, the waves of the sea, both swell as one crest of salt water lifts to crash on the rock, spraying you in water.

The Robe undulates, its magic bathing your body as every scale comes to life, the tremors of pleasure racing through you. You scream for him, your peak sweeping you away, arousal gushing down your damp legs, walls clenching to match his sloppy, wet-slapping thrusts.

Your name on his lips, and you can feel the burst of heat, cum coating your insides, as he spurts with long, relieved groans. Yet another wet thing to run between your legs, but this, this was your favorite.

Mouth hanging slack, you hear your wanton cries bouncing strangely off the water. “Gale… hells how did you… know this Robe would feel so…”

Out of breath, drowned in pleasure, he huffs a laugh. “If you say magical, I will call you… pulchritudinous which we have discussed as too gregarious a word for your beauty for when I’m balls deep inside you. Just to freshen your memory.” His teases tickle the back of your neck, his hips punctuating the final observation with a hard, deep thrust inside your clenched, overstimulated walls.

Pouting, you turn your head slightly with puckered lips he wastes no time in tasting on his skilled tongue. “So, you like the fruits of my research, do you, my love?”

His hand sweeps up to caress your neck, warm fingers dancing over your sweat-damp, sea-sprayed skin. And you sigh, managing a nod, still savoring the little after-waves of bliss, the Wavemother’s blessing stealing your air with its resplendency indeed.

For @redisbetterr 🌹

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chocolate-h · 16 days ago

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،،̲ Healer.

status: on going (1/3).

ship: mizu x f!reader.

trope: strangers to “friends” to lovers.

contains: y/n usage. he/him pronouns for mizu (for now). mizu’s pov. mystical!creature!reader x samurai!mizu. canon universe. mention of injures! angst.

summary: mizu had another one of her ugly days— covered in bruises, she heads by the docks to find “someone” that’s been showing up for awhile now: a sort of angel resembling girl, who, for some reason, shows up during the darkest night of the month to see her.

wc: 2,5k.

reminders: english isn’t my first language!

𝓗 : discovering blue eye samurai was definitely one of the good surprises of this 2025 for me. gosh, i love this show so much and i cannot wait for season 2 to drop next year. hope you’ll like this, it’s kind of a test since i’ve never really wrote supernatural stuff— but i lowkey really like how this first chapter turned out.

“Agh—”

The young boy, who of a boy had nothing, trudged his way toward the nearest maple tree that inhabited the small wood of the small village he was child of.

A cursed child, doomed since birth, haunted by each soul who caught glimpse of his irises. Which leaded to mocks and beatings.

Hate was never left unspoken or undone.

Like that night, and many before it.

His aching body finds rest at the roots of a tree, purplish bruises spread on his legs, arms, back. In his head, he counts.

1, 2, 3.

An inhale. Then again.

1, 2, 3.

An exhale. Then the cycle restarts.

Mizu convinced himself that counting helped with the pain, finding in it a sort of comforting ritual he would pursue like a prayer. Each time the same, repeating the gesture 10 times. 5 inhales and 5 exhales.

Then, after that, the boy would get up. He checked right and left, then back and forth, tiptoeing his way to the docks with all senses on alert.

His heart was calm. Moonless nights had a certain quietness, they daunted people, locking them within their homes after the sun set. Lack of light was meant to scare humans off.

Not him though. It gave Mizu an odd sense of ease, allowing him to make a sound, or even two– something he dared not to, usually, when walking, breathing, being, on the day light.

Another proof, for his altered mind, that he was no human.

Although it wasn’t just the absence of moonlight and familiar faces that had him feeling almost well.

A presence. With human guise, limbs, face and voice even, same as his and whichever person’s… However no human was able of what the creature was capable of.

He knew behind the façade of what could be disguised as a person was more than Kohama, Japan, and Earth itself, could comprehend.

He saw it with his own eyes.

As soon as he steps bare toes into the freezing November sea, he hears it. The voice he heard many times before.

“Skins can own many colors,” coming from afar into the water, approaching his frame with a cool breeze. “But purple isn’t one of them.”

His favorite part about it all, your arrival.

Mizu closes his eyes, letting the breeze run through his black hair, caressing his face, the only loving touch he ever felt. It felt like a reward, gifted to him for unknown reasons.

“What happened?” the voice was now near, feet ahead of him, eyeing with displeased curiosity the battered skin of the child.

When he lifted his eyelids, he saw it.

Before him was a long, white, dress, iridescent at its ends. Big E/C eyes staring back at his with compassion in them and strings of H/C hair framing her cheeks.

He didn’t respond. Never did, trying instead to grasp every inch of the appearance of who he grew to believe was an angel. His Healer.

Because that’s what you did. On moonless nights, you met the boy by the docks and cured his wounds, lulling his thoughts to slumber.

Why, he had no clue.

You first appeared when his head had just been shaved and gender masked. You kissed his hand and spoke kind words.

That’s all he remembers of your first encounter.

All he remembers after that, is seeking your presence each night, eventually figuring you’d make your visit once every 4 weeks, in the same spot. Right after the last night of waning crescent.

That’s how it all began. He kept count of the days, weeks, on the ground in proximity of a big rock hidden far away from people’s indiscreet gazes, growing eager as time neared.

You never revealed your nature, your name. What you did, was allow him to see you.

Creatures like you shouldn’t do what you chose to do. You were going against any rules and laws of your world, picking a human to interact with.

Too bad you never cared what you must and mustn’t do.

Freedom tasted best when risky.

Indeed, you proceeded.

Your translucent palms travel on the bruises, one by one, erasing them entirely, as if they were never there, your touch as morbid as silk.

“What are you?” Mizu’s question leaves his lips as a whisper, awe coloring his voice.

A question for another day. Another life, perhaps.

Your index fingertip stops at the center of his forehead.

“Goodnight.” kindly, you whisper, sending the boy unconscious under your touch.

He woke up the next day, well-covered within a blanket in his “home”s — Four wooden walls with no furniture, of modest dimensions — floor, with a sense of tranquility he rarely ever owned, the sound of your voice echoing in the corners of his mind.

Wondering if it all happened or was figment of his own imagination.

،،̲ Time skip.

The mission had started long ago, leaving the old swordmaker and Kohama far behind his hat and round glasses. A couple fingers cut and some stolen information, his webbed steps cross the snowy paths across Japan’s rigid towns, seeking names and locations.

The young boy is not so young anymore, not so weak and soft as many might dare to judge. He even gained an “apprentice”, heaven’s sake. However, as many things changed and shifted to adapt his growth, one didn’t.

The Healer. A decade had passed but the ritual between the two hadn’t ceased.

Mizu went by the docks, or any water place, and called for you— sometimes he needn’t to, you’d appear unsolicited, others he’d simply close his eyes and wait after saying the name out loud.

And each time, you appeared. Like the time before, and the one before that.

After all those years, he became confident you were the only certainty he had in life. His only source of comfort, guiding his way through riddles for his mind to resolve, giving him lessons when unreason and hot temperament blinded the truth.

Wise, although being his own same age. The fact that you, once a child like him, had grew to be an apparent adult, like him again, deepened the sense of intimacy he grew for you.

A mirror. Picturing what he most yearned for, sometimes a friend. Others a mother. Others more, a teacher.

The swordfather was, indeed, a father. But you were no man.

Which made it so easier for him to trust you.

During all those years, your interactions became longer and warmer. As time passed, his shyness faded away, leaving space for curiosity to voice his thoughts. You never giving him answers didn’t stop him from continuing to try, though.

He even started joking around.

That night he followed the river’s sound for hours, hoping it wouldn’t be too late when he’d find it.

“Ah, thank God.” A sigh of relief drops his shoulders, immediately relaxing his body as he notices your familiar figure bent down, running your fingers into the river’s water.

Finally. Found you.

“What?” without looking at him, you smile.

“Nothing.” he says, clearing his throat. He took off his bottom clothes, bare feet and calves immerged into water as he sat at the edge of the river.

“There aren’t any wounds for me to cure tonight as well.”

“No.” Mizu looked down. “Disappointed?” a sarcastic question.

The river was big, endless it seemed as Mizu looked right and left, realizing no ends were visible. And you looked different.

There was something sparkling within your eyes.

“Not at all.” your smile held tight on your lips, so much it made the boy curious– or annoyed. You couldn’t tell.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. Contrary to you, his face looked anything but amused.

At his serious tone, you straighten your position back up. “You.” unwavering, you blurt. “You came here running. Why?”

You could see it in his slim face. His red cheeks and chest still rising and falling swiftly, recovering from his run.

Slowly, his stiffen up body looses up completely. He could do that around you.

“It was late. I just didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t come, that’s all.” his feet moved into the water, the coldness of it bringing comfort to his sore calves. Quietly, he takes off his hat and glasses, sitting them beside him.

“I see.” you fix your gaze on the glasses, not because they’re interesting, rather because you suddenly felt a wave of excitement pounding your heart… Giving you a funny face.

You weren’t supposed to feel that way. Such phrase shouldn’t have that effect on you, you knew better. However it wasn’t the first time you weren’t supposed to be feeling a certain way. Or doing a certain thing.

All your life you’ve been doing stuff you weren’t supposed to do.

“Can I ask you something?” Mizu’s question leaves his lips with hesitation. Neither he does look at you. When you nod, hinting him to proceed, the boy squeezes his eyes mildly as if regretting his words.

“I know you don’t want me to ask about yourself,” defensively, Mizu finds the courage to look back at your standing frame. “And please, don’t go as I dare,” his face a beg. “But, please, just give me a name.”

He swallows. “I-I don’t care if it’s fake. Yeah, give me a fake name if you can’t reveal your real one. Just please.”

It’s been so much time. There were so many whats, whys and hows lingering in his mind since he met you. He told you about his mission, his deepest desires for revenge and the little stuff he knew about his past– carefully avoiding his sex topic.

There was one thing he omitted, though. One he couldn’t talk to you about.

There wasn’t just one mission he desired to accomplish, but two.

Aside from his vengeance, Mizu had given himself the quest to figure out the biggest mystery of his life– none other than his Healer.

Finding out more about you bits by bits, If it would’ve taken his whole life, he didn’t mind.

He just had to try.

For years he deprived himself of any source of happiness or selfish gratifications, fully dedicating his time and focus on his trainings and mastering of the smith’s work. Getting distracted was his biggest fear, finding someone to love and growing attached to was severely out of discussion.

But you. Oh, you.

He just couldn’t resist. Didn’t matter you occupied good part of his daily thinking, not for anything he could’ve renounce you. It was mightier than him.

You make the mistake of returning his stare, finding yourself drowning into his icy blue irises.

No. You can’t, you really can’t.

Your breathing becomes unsteady. You attempt to shake reason back into you, to no avail.

“I… Can’t.” you take a step back, hoping to not hear more. Another please and you might just ruin yourself over.

“No!” as you turn around, Mizu jumps on his feet. “Don’t go!”

And when you feel his warm fingers wrap around your wrist, you freeze completely. Immediately, he withdraws his hand as if he’s just burnt.

It's the first time he’s ever touched you. It’s always you who did.

A breathless “Sorry.” and a couple steps back make you go blank.

“Y/N.”

The wise Healer preaches lots of things; calculation and caution being two of them. Impatience is an invisible enemy, she never once spent good words for it. If only she was as good as taking her own advices as she was to deliver them.

Being skilled with words and displaying a calm front helped many believe she was what she spoken to be. Only her was aware of how abyssal the difference between what she presented herself to be and who she actually was, was.

Everything she critiqued, she owned. Impulsiveness being a perfect example.

His eyes open wide. “W-what?”

“My name is Y/N.”

The presence, creature and all other terms Mizu has ever used to refer to you fall that instant.

It feels so right… So you. That name, that’s who you actually were.

He takes a moment to calm his beating heart down, without being able to get rid of the sheepishness that had colored his pale visage peach. A smile splits his face, so unfiltered and genuine it makes your legs weak.

“I,” he laughs. “I’m Mizu.”

Regret makes its way within your core, dread for the consequences of your unthoughtful action starting to shake your hands.

“Mizu.” you mumble the name to yourself, gaining a shy nod from him. So that’s the name. Sweet.

Like the boy didn’t know his Healer’s name, likewise the Healer didn’t know his human’s. That’s how it was supposed to be.

Didn’t matter the already incoherent perpetuated deed of stepping into foreign world’s realm to seek a human, which was forbidden enough that having someone figure out would’ve meant God knows what… You now took it to another level.

He senses your discomfort. Your face didn’t leave much space for interpretations of your thoughts, to be honest.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

His tone attempts to reassure you. “I could’ve said so much already, don’t you think?”

Naïve, fool human. It wasn’t your kind the one to fear.

“I have to go now. The sun is rising.” this time you don’t allow him to rebut. Your body vanishes into the water, leaving him alone and awake behind you.

The samurai’s heart ached, it always did when you’d leave like that. Watching the spot where you were standing just a second ago, he lets out a resigned exhale.

But as he sits down again, about to drown in worry and sadness for your parting, a rustling sound wakes Mizu on alert.

Whipping his head toward the direction of a bush at his right, he finds Ringo peeking at him.

Fear overtakes his preoccupation. How long as he been there? The boy questions himself, struggling to hold a pokerface.

“I can see you, you know?” Mizu’s annoyed tone preeceds a sigh.

“Oh.” Ringo, his�� earned, apprentice, clumsily comes out of his hideout. “Sorry, Master.”

“It’s fine.” he murmurs, lowering his gaze to his hands resting atop his lap. When he puts his glasses and hat on, Ringo speaks again.

“It’s almost daylight and you haven’t gotten any sleep.”

“I’ll sleep tonight.” The samurai wore heavy bags under his eyes, a frown on his brows. He didn’t care. He only cared about what just happened with you, and him not making comments reassured him he hadn’t seen anything.

Ringo starts following his Master, walking behind him lumbering.

“Master... Who were you talking to?”

Shit.

Mizu stops abruptly. The apprentice isn’t given time to realize that he’s being held the shining sword’s blade just an inch from his round nose.

“I’ll say this one last time.” gritting his teeth, the samurai eyes Ringo askance. “Leave. It’s either you leave or you don’t ask me a single question about what you just saw ever again.”

“Got it?” the tip of the blade brushes the boy’s skin, insistent.

A wordless nod and his scared face convince the samurai to place back his weapon into the belt of his pants.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

The last sentence spoken by the samurai, signing the start of the rough journey that awaited the two.

NEXT CHAPTER (not available yet)

BES NAVIGATION.⠀ ⠀⠀BES PROMPTS LIST.⠀ ⠀⠀MASTERLIST.

©𝓗 2025 | do not repost, plagiarize, feed to AI any of my works.

#cts dividers: saradika graphics #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu bes #bes mizu #mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu x fem!reader #mizu x y/n #𝓗 ’s bes.#𝓗 ’s bes ffs.#𝓗 ’s bes ffs – healer.

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galaxiasgreen · 8 months ago

Text

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.7k words]

He pulls you so close there's a mere thread of air between the tips of your noses. You look up and see a man lost in the midst of his demons, drowning under a pain so core-deep there's no hope of excavation – and in the reflection of those coffee eyes, you see yourself, the angel, the life ring, the last hope that keeps him tethered to the world. "No." The word punctuates with unyielding command. "No. I would never, ever let them hurt you. I swear it to god." "I don't care about God," you whisper. "Swear it to me."

The truth comes out as you sew Sebastian's wounds.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, coarse language, blood/ injury, surgical stitching, explicit smut MDNI (dirty talk, table sex, porn with feelings, semi-public sex, very slight breeding kink).

5. living and surviving

Sebastian comes to when you hold smelling salts under his nose.

Between last breath and now, you were a mile out in the centre of town, a minute's walk from the pub, maybe more, depending on how far astray you were led by Harlow's men. You have no idea how you ended up in some cramped one-bed flat overlooking a dim, dingy street near the docks – and until you noticed the empty bottles strewn on a damp, sticky floor and smelt a musk of sweat and leather infused with the bedsheets, you didn't know where you were either. The garret converted from a servant's quarters feels like its own world, not quite tangled with reality.

But Sebastian's bloodied body is no dream. Everything that's happened – waking up in the middle of the night, Harlow attacking, Sebastian interfering, then transporting to his lodging in the blink of an eye... you can barely process it.

His eyes flutter open at the smell, and you place the salts aside to wipe the sweat from his brow. Now is not the time to panic; Sebastian needs you. You can't let it get to you while he's on the brink of seeing his parents again.

"Easy. You blacked out."

"Fuck." He winces. "I..."

He tries to reach for his pocket – you stop him. "I told you to take it easy."

"Need... drink..."

"No you don't. I got some bandage from your bathroom and cleaned and wrapped the wounds, but the one on your chest is too deep. It needs sewing. Have you got a needle?"

His gaze drifts to the empty whisky bottle on his bedside drawer.

"Don't tell me you used the good stuff?"

"You won't get to appreciate the good stuff if you die." You sink down onto the chair, staring at the dried blood on your hands. "My parents, Sebastian. What if Harlow—"

"He won't," he says gently, making you look at him. "He'll want to go lick his wounds and whinge about losing to a child." Fresh blood blooms into the bandage when he sits up. "There's an emergency kit in my bathroom, under the sink. Can you grab it?"

The kit turns out to be a canvas basket of unmarked phials of an oozing grass-green liquid.

"What the hell is this?" you ask, when you hand one to him.

Instead of applying it to cloth, like you expect, he places the phial to his lips. Half of it bobs down his throat before you slap it away, smashing it against the wall.

"What the—!"

"For God's sake, are you insane? Taking some potion like that? No herbal nonsense is going to clear a wound. That's not a natural colour!"

His head cocks, like he's thinking of some joke.

"Potion, you say?"

"It's not funny." You snatch an old shirt and press it to the wound – he lets out a yelp. "I told you, it needs sewing. You must have a needle somewhere."

"I don't." Already he sounds better, and colour returns to his cheeks. "You've got one at the pub?"

"Obviously."

"Then we'll go back."

"You're in no state—"

"We can check on your parents."

The retort vanishes. Realistically you can't say no. You had every intention of making sure he was okay before going yourself, but Sebastian's method of transport, whatever that entails, is a lot faster. You take his outstretched hand and shut your eyes, and as quick as it takes to adjust to the pleasant fizzing his grip brings do you return to the pub's main hall like you never left.

Sebastian barely teeters. For someone badly injured not ten minutes ago, his recovery is remarkable, and he prowls along the surroundings with molten grace. Every shadow seems sentient and beastly, every corner a secret, and when the darkness is both the cloak and the dagger, turning from friend to foe at whatever whim it designs, the potential for danger flares panic in your belly. You were a fool to follow the noises. A fool to fall for the trap. Harlow plucked you up like you were nothing. If not for Sebastian, you'd be dead. Or wishing you were.

Sebastian's presence is the only thing keeping those thoughts at bay, and when you check your parents upstairs – fast asleep and undisturbed – relief douses some of those flames.

After a cursory perimeter patrol, Sebastian lumbers back into the hall and sits on the edge of a table. You fetch an emergency kit from under the bar and light a candle, exposing how much worse the wound has become. Some sort of gungy discharge weeps through the bandage, a worrying shade of yellow.

"I can clean the infection." You scooch closer, ignoring the way the smell of his sweat makes your mouth dry. "It— it should be okay."

"Hope so. Can't imagine dying in your pub would be convenient."

"Don't you realise that could have happened?" you snap, letting out the tiniest vent of emotion. "Fuck, you got off light, Sebastian! You could've been left with a hundred stab wounds or beaten so hard you were unrecognisable or killed in a bloody alleyway—"

He intertwines his fingers with yours suddenly, curbing the tremors.

"I'm all right, bar girl. I will live."

It's an invitation of calm in calamity. He's okay. He'll live. You repeat it over and over again, trying to absorb the words and focus on his grip. It anchors you, devours you, makes your heart soar into the vast endlessness of the night sky. Is it the anxiety of Harlow's attack that makes your knees weak, or is it him, an embodiment of light on the wings of darkness?

You pull away, flustered. For fuck's sake. He's covered in blood, bruises, sweat and dried alcohol. He's confusing and contradictory and crass. He's an illusion of perfection, an enigma no close to being solved. He should not be an option – ever. But your body tingles with desire as you singe a needle beneath the kettle's boil.

What would it be like to taste him? What would it be like for him to taste me?

"You know," he says, "I could've just drank the potion and saved you the hassle."

You sit opposite him to thread it, aware of his penetrating gaze. "Yeah, and then I'd be reviving your arse from bloody cardiac arrest."

"Might be worth it for a kiss."

You look up at him, stunned.

"The kiss of life, bar girl." That insufferable smirk. "Keep up."

You finally stick the thread through the eye, and when he removes the bandage, sodden with blood, you get a proper look at the damage. It's a clean slice down his chest, not long but deep. Strangely, it seems smaller than it was before.

"Shirt off, I need full access to sew it shut."

His mouth crooks upwards – handsome and charming and utterly vexing.

"First a kiss, now my shirt? There are easier ways to get me in bed, bar girl."

But he obeys, peeling off the soiled linen.

And by God do you stare.

It's hard not to. Sebastian Sallow is built like fucking Adonis. Chiselled, hard abs, perfectly moulded shoulders, tufts of hair that run a course down his chest, hinting at the V-shape below the trouser line, and freckles – so many freckles it could fill a night sky.

And tattoos.

There's more than the runes and the 706 – his body is a monument to ink. Black and gold snakes coil around his arms. Lilies bloom across the waist. There are bones, cracked and whole, compasses that point north, faux claw marks and barren oaks struck by lightning. When you inspect his back, the eyes of a white fox peer at you, the pillar of a dark building bisects crashing waves, a strange clock chimes with six differently-sized faces and a silver globe glows, suspended in air and intricately filigreed. Other symbols decorate him too, most you don't recognise, and there are dates on his wrist, XXVIII-III-MCMI, and another, III-II-MCMI.

He is terrifying – and beautiful. He's not the canvas, but the piece in itself, an accumulated expression of ideas, love, joy, sorrow and pain, engraved on his surface like the epitaph on a tomb.

ᚺᚲ706

"This one," you mumble, reaching out, hesitating before your fingers graze the fine bristles of hair. "The runes, and the number 706... what does it mean?"

"This," he says, "is my identification number."

"For what?"

"Sew me up and I'll tell you."

Maybe you won't need to. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why someone might be branded this way.

After a brief swish of acid-dipped cloth, the needle goes through his skin. His jaw sets and he lets out a low rumble of a groan, a noise that sets your blood pumping. You close the suture as fast as you can, hoping not to extend the moment of pain, but it seems to go on forever, his ember gaze burning firelight into your soul.

"I went to prison," he says quietly, when you're almost done. "Ten years."

You go rigid. "For?"

Petty theft, fraud, anything but the worst ones.

But he looks away.

"Murder."

Fuck. It hits you like a punch – his hands around some faceless victim's neck, or a knife in hand, glistening red. He ended another life. The air parches, hot and heady.

"I swear I would never do anything to hurt you," he says, reading your horror. "I didn't—" His face contorts, like he knows better than to finish that sentence. "I learnt my lesson."

"What, that killing is bad?" You give him a sad smile. "I learnt that when I was five."

He lets out a derisive snort. "I was... a difficult child." For the first time ever, Sebastian seems sheepish, bashful. "Our parents died when I was young and the only relative who could take us in was our uncle. He didn't give a shit about us. Anne was dying and he hated that I was trying to help her, and I... I just snapped.

"Kath was there. It's why she resents me. We were close, me and her, but then she was implicated – and she never forgave the choice I made."

The last thread knots evenly. You cut it clean. With one final wipe of carbolic acid, all that's left is a long, wicked seam, slashing diagonally through his final tattoo, a skull.

Some wounds, it seems, can never be mended.

"Your sister... she had cancer?" you ask hoarsely.

Sebastian inhales deeply. "Something like that."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Fuck." He laughs and rakes a hand through his hair – the movement tugs you along like a helpless skein of thread. "She didn't die from it. She lived with it. Then everything happened with my uncle and every day in that shithole prison I thought of her and hoped she was all right. She forgave me, you know, for it all. Took her eight years, but she did. Finally wrote me a letter on our birthday. I was so happy I'd get to see her again. But prison – the prison I went to... it changes you, makes you lash out and do things to protect yourself. I made enemies there."

"Like Harlow," you whisper.

"During school he made Kath's life hell, so in prison I made hell for him. He took that personally. When I got out, I finally reunited with Anne... and when he got out, he thought he'd get me back after all those years."

It hits you again, a soundless but fatal strike. What he means, what he's suggesting, is so awful it leaves you breathless.

"Sebastian, you... you can't let him get away with it."

"What else can I do? Anne is dead. She was the light of my life and he just winked her out like she was nothing."

The almighty fist, and the weak little grape.

"If you do nothing," you say firmly, "he wins."

"He's already won. He took my twin sister."

"And who's to say he won't take a shot at Ominis? Or Garreth? Or... or me? He already has and I was a fool to fall for it—"

"No." The word punctuates with unyielding command. "No. I would never, ever let them hurt you. I swear it to god."

"I don't care about God," you whisper. "Swear it to me."

These coffee eyes grind you up and spit you out anew. His lids lower, his attentions wandering down your face, down the slope of your nose to the peak of your lips. They fixate there, lit with a whetted appetite.

"I swear it to you," he breathes.

Your gaze goes to his lips too, and his tongue moistens the curve.

"Prove it."

Sebastian hesitates.

It's the last time he does.

His thumb finds the column of your throat and wanders upwards until the pad grazes your lips, starving for a morsel of a taste. His mouth parts again, and you breath his air, every atom like divine nectar. You would beg for a taste. Sensing the hunger, his lips tug into an insufferable, delicious, affectionate smirk, and his other hand brings your chin closer to finally seal the gap.

Sebastian kisses like you're the last breath he'll take before falling to the ocean deep, never again to resurface. It isn't tender but consuming, taking, greedy. He wants. For the longest time he forgot what that meant to a body broken by grief and seduced by dependency. Now he takes it back. This is the rawest form of seizing control.

You dig your nails into his scalp, and his curls coil around your fingers like snakes on a vine. You want too. To give, to take, to stake your claim in a way no one else can. Sebastian is spontaneity and release and desire and imperfection. The storm and the eye, at once unpredictable and comforting. Your days are mapped, aligned and ordered for years to come, as a corpse that breathes and moves and survives, but he guides you to that last missing piece – the spirit of the human soul.

He grips your hips, swapping you around so you're pressed to the table, and kisses again fiercely, taking ownership of your mouth like no one has before. Pressed down, your back hits the table in an arc, and Sebastian sucks on your lips greedily, he the alcoholic, you his last pint of beer.

"I want you," he breathes into your ear. "Fuck, I've wanted you for so long."

You gasp when his teeth bite down on your throat, marking you for himself. The pain is welcome and ingratiating and your sex throbs, begging for attention. His hands greedily unbutton the top of your ruined nightdress, yanking the panels apart to give him access to your breasts.

"Sebastian," you cry, as his tongue licks the sore spot on your neck, and his hand finds the nipple, erect and waiting. He thumbs it in taunting swirls. "W-We can't."

"Why not?"

"My pub... people use these tables..."

He winks. "'Bout time we broke it in, don't you think?"

Somehow it heightens every sensation. The hardness of the table, the wrongness of the act. Tomorrow people will drink and dine here and you do not care. Sebastian knows it. He grasps your face, slipping his hot tongue into your mouth and claiming it for his own, and you whimper, drawn so entirely into him that all you can think, taste, feel, is him.

Your lips smack when he breaks off. His hands run through your hair until the strands spill over the edge, and his lips find other pursuits – your jaw, your throat, the other side of your neck.

"I'm not a good person," he whispers as his hands rip the top of the dress clean off, exposing your breasts again. "I've lied, I've hurt, I've killed.... and I've paid the price. I gave up pretending to be someone I'm not. But you make me want to try."

His tongue slithers over the arc of your breast.

"You are good, Sebastian," you stammer out. "You are—"

His teeth clamp on the nipple – pleasure bursts up your chest. He sucks, pulling upwards as he does, and your sex pulses so badly you close your legs and hope the friction will suffice.

"Sebastian— fuck—"

He lets go, panting, kissing the sore nipple before moving onto the other, and you cry out again. Bite, suck, pull. The cycle tortures you. When he bastes the nipple with his tongue, a soothing gesture, you try to catch your breath before his kisses trail to the junction below your navel.

"You make me want to fight. You make me want to be better. You make me want to start again. Before you I was surviving... you've taught me how to live."

You're delirious with emotions, pleasure yes, but joy too, threatening to make you burst. How can he say that when he's the one giving you this celestial high? Sebastian litters kisses all over your skin, some gentle, some with teeth, uncaring of how ungroomed you deem yourself when he parts your legs. The first stroke on your clit is fire, his fingers a firmness in the wet slickness of your folds.

"Sebastian—"

"I make you this solemn vow." He probes more firmly over the nub, sending wave after wave of pleasure. "I would hunt everyone down if it meant I could keep you safe."

He rubs until you're swollen and desperate and rabid for more than his touch. You want him inside you. Now. Yet some part of you not mad with pleasure manages to raise your head to look him in the eye.

"You... you'd create hell for me?"

Those coffee eyes flicker to meet yours – and they glimmer in a kaleidoscope of lust.

"I wouldn't create hell for you, bar girl." He grins. "I'd raze it."

The finger slips in so easily, like you were made to fit him. Your head hits the table and a cry rips almost involuntarily from your throat. Sebastian gives you little time to adjust before he pulls out and thrusts back in, the intrusion a mercy of pleasure. You clench around him, desperate to be stretched more.

"How badly do you want this?" he finally asks, bringing attention to the dirtiness of his act. "You feel like you like it."

You bite your lip as he rolls in and out. "God..."

"Do you like it?" he demands. "Say it for me."

"Yes," you say – whine. "Yes, I like it."

"You like what?"

"W-When you fuck me with your fingers."

He scoffs, propelling so fast you feel pleasure quickly coalescing. "So impatient, love. I'm only using one."

Love. The term of endearment sends a shudder up your spine. A second finger slides into your warmth, turning that shudder into a quiver, and a third turns it into a quake. Then he curls upwards, searching for that sweet spot that makes your vision dizzy. It doesn't take him long to find it, when your breath catches and your eyes shut, and he thrusts in and out with breathless pace, determined to undo you. You give in to the pressure like ice to fire. You're so close. Fuck, it's frustrating and powerful and pure ecstasy. You rock your hips in time to him, chasing your orgasm.

"Not yet."

"W-What?"

He slows suddenly, maddeningly, and then slips out, leaving you cold and empty. "Not yet."

"Sebastian," you bark, "you better finish me off or I swear—"

His low chuckle cuts you off. He goes back to gently thumbing the pearl, ebbing your pleasure back to an insufferable ache. You hiss when he stands upright – his own pleasure evident by the bulge in his breeches.

"You're going to cum," he murmurs, "when I let you."

His hand comes away, and you let out a needy, pathetic wail that ignites the fervour in his eyes. He stares at you unflinching as he discards his bottom half and allows full view of his cock. It's big, far bigger than any you've ever taken before, proudly erect and forked with a prominent vein. The tip is already beading, and he gives it a few pumps with the hand wet with your juices before running his fingers up and down your thighs.

"You gave me a head start," you say, ravenous to try him.

"Oh, don't worry about that, bar girl," he says, leaning closer, grazing the tip against you. His face betrays a flicker of pleasure. "I'll make sure we're even."

Sliding along your entrance makes a sinfully loud, wet schlick, but he rubs at a leisurely pace, building you back up again until you're clawing the table's edge.

"If you keep doing that—"

But he continues to grind himself lazily through the slick folds, getting slicker by the moment. You open and close in time with each thrust, stimulating yourself, hips rocking, rhythm quickening until you're on the verge of letting go again.

He grips your hips with one hand, and the other finds your clit – the perfect time. "Cum for me, love."

It's too much. The orgasm implodes – the pleasure pulses through every fibre of your body as you dig your nails into the table's edge so hard you graze the polish. That dam of frustration crumbles to relief, to reaching the second celestial high of the night. Sebastian rides along with the aftershocks, each thrust slow but demanding, coating the base of his cock with the sticky release until his skin shines with it.

"Not bad," he murmurs, as he runs his tongue over his thumb, eyes glimmering with satisfaction. "But I think we can do better, bar girl. How badly do you want me inside you?"

You pant, barely conscious. "Sebastian—"

"Say it," he trills. "Or..." He pulls back, leaving you cold and aching for his touch.

You grunt loudly. "Just fuck me already!"

With that shit-eating grin you adore, he takes his cock and lines it up. The tip kisses your entrance; you can feel him, hot and sticky and wide, encouraging you to open for him, each sensation honed tenfold with anticipation. The push inwards stretches you gaping, and you widen yourself as far as you'll go to pull him inside, accommodating each inch until his hip is flush with your thighs. God, it feels amazing. He was always meant to fit, always meant to fill you completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you are tight."

You clench down, and his eyes flicker to yours, wild with lust.

"Minx."

He lets out a strained breath, that smirk finally giving way to a pleasure that knits his brow together. He's so warm, and... safe. As he repositions, curling his arms around your legs, you suddenly, dizzily, experience a completely new sensation – you want to take all of him, to let him use you for his own pleasure. To be pumped full of his seed, every drop until it fills the cracks and drips down your thighs, and even more after that. You want him to claim you, to fuck you so hard the rest of the shitty day fades into oblivion. Nothing else matters, only him and this perfect moment.

Being with him is truly freeing. It is truly living.

He flicks curls out of his eyes. "I have no intention of going slow."

You match his smirk.

"Good."

He withdraws – then slams back inside. The friction makes you cry out. Sweat beads his brow, but he does it again, and again, not once taking his eyes off you, coffee as dark and deeply seducing as hell itself. He keeps your thighs in a vice grip as he thrusts into you with a ruthless pace. His, the motions say. You are his. His rhythm starts to speed up, his balls slap noisily against your arse.

"You have— no idea— how long I've wanted this," he growls, each thrust punctuating his words. "No idea— how much— I've wanted to fuck you."

He releases your legs and braces his hands at your sides, finding a new angle to pound.

"You're taking me so well," he groans. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you."

"Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours." It comes out ragged and emotional.

His pace quickens. You drink in the scent of his sweat, his love-making. Fire gathers in your core. It's painful to hold it off until he's closer. It kills.

His breath shudders.

"I'm yours too."

It's too much. Tipped over the edge, the second orgasm sends pulses a pleasure so cosmic you black out for a moment. Each thrust is a mark of possession – your possession. He belongs to me. Only me. You clench around him as he plunges frantically into you in the chase for his own pleasure. With one final groan, he pulls out, thrusting madly into his hand until he doubles over, bleating a beautiful sound, brows knitted together and head craned as the thick ribbons of cum spill over your belly. His mark, left on you. I belong to him. Only him. He pumps until he's spent, leaving the residue hanging off his fingers like spun sugar.

"Sebastian..." you mumble.

He finds his way to your lips in a daze. This kiss is tender, full of love and appreciation, wanting, but in the small ways, too. Too exhausted to return the affections for long, you part from him and marvel at the way he smiles – like a sunrise on the highest mountain peak, so hopeful and full of life.

"I could get used to that," he pants out, tracing the cum on your stomach. "Vigorous shagging."

"Jesus Christ." He laughs and you eye his wound; red and sore but miraculously intact, despite his best efforts. "You shouldn't have exerted yourself so much."

"Oh, you care now that you've used me?" he teases, sitting you up to place kisses on your bare shoulder. "I never thought you'd look twice at me, you know."

It's an endearingly sad thought. Your head lolls to allow him better access. "Definitely not when you first walked in here."

"That Sebastian couldn't get his dick up."

"That Sebastian couldn't get himself up."

A finger sweeps across your forehead, tucking back a stray hair – the tenderness makes your bones melt. "You didn't have to help me, but I'm glad you did. I'm glad you're in my life. It's better with you in it."

"I wouldn't be here if you weren't a good person at heart, Sebastian Sallow."

A bashful sweep of crimson makes every freckle glow. His eyes lower to half-lids.

"I know addiction is a curse," he whispers, "but if there's one thing I'm willing to crave, it's the way your smile takes my breath away."

You seize him for another kiss, this time with all the fumbling, giggling and yearning of a first. His broad hands, branched with a river network of veins, cups the back of your neck as he kisses with as much ferocity as he does tenderness. He wants, you want. Separate you survive, but together, with your bodies intertwined and your souls connected, you live.

In a perfect world, this is all there is. You, your life and the man who loves you. But though you wish you could snuggle closer and shut your eyes to what lays beyond the walls, the high must wane eventually. It's a satisfying, but unnerving feeling to have when you pull away.

"What do we do now?"

"Already keen, bar girl?" Sebastian smirks, thumbing your waist. "Didn't think you had anything left."

"I meant," you say gently, "about Harlow."

"Please can we not talk about him when my cock's poking your thigh?" At your deadpan stare, he scrubs a hand down his face. "Look, I don't know right now, but I'll think of something." He draws you close, kisses your forehead. "That's a promise. Don't worry."

"You know I'll worry anyway." You go to stand. "Now I need to clean up. You've made a terrible mess."

But Sebastian scoops you into his arms, and in the darkness, his grin is sinful and wicked.

"Your mistake, bar girl," he growls, heading towards the stairs, "was thinking we were done."

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[Gorgeous art by FlamboyantJelly] [Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #thwc #the bar girl #my writing #my stuff #not a huge smut writer so if you like this let me know and i might write more spicy stuff :)

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vodika-vibes · 3 months ago

Note

I've got something for Mermay if you don't mind! :> sooo Mer!Fixer got pissed off bcs you threw trash in the ocean and he's scary when he's angry so you promised not to do it again... Then you notice he's kinda lonely so you come to this spot at the beach to be in his company. Fluffy romantic if you don't mind! Thanks 💓

Accidental Boyfriend Acquisition

Summary: You’ve always been clumsy. You have the innate ability to trip over air and fall up the stairs, and it’s not something you’ve grown out of. But when you trip over a stack of coiled rope and drop your grandmother’s locket in the ocean, you’re sure you’re never going to see it again. You never thought it would lead to you meeting the love of your life.

Pairing: Clone Commando Fixer x F!Reader

Prompt: MerMay

Word Count: 2055

Warnings: Suggestive in some places, but only if you squint. The reader has all of the grace of Wile E. Coyote chasing the roadrunner.

A/N: So, I had an idea that morphed into something else. I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You sit on your knees at the end of the dock, peering down into the ocean beneath you as if staring will allow you to see the locket that you just yote into the depths.

It was an accident.

A series of accidents, even.

Your flip-flop snapped, causing you to lose your balance. And then, while you were struggling to keep from falling into the ocean, you got tangled in a rope that had been left on the dock. The rope twisted around both of your legs and you fell face first on the dock.

The bruised forehead, bloody nose, and scraped palms and knees are not the important things. Neither are the rope burns around both of your ankles.

No.

The important this is that your grandmother’s locket, a locket you inherited from your grandmother’s estate and had been holding since the clasp broke a little bit ago, fell from your hand, bounced on the pier, and then—

PLOP!

Into the ocean it fell.

You wrap your hands around the edge of the dock and lean further out, frantically scanning for any sign of the locket. Because, if you don’t find it, your mother might actually kill you.

Or worse.

She’ll sigh and say, “Why can’t you be more careful?” And be all disappointed.

And everyone knows that’s worse.

There’s a glimmer of something that might be the silver of the locket, and you lean out a little further, your eyes narrowing as you try to make out what you’re seeing.

You really, really should know better.

Just when you’re able to make out that the glitter is, in fact, your grandmother’s locket, your hands slip out from under you. And you, who had been leaning farther out over the water than you intended, find yourself toppling, head first, into the ocean.

SPLASH!

You’re a little dazed for half a second, the ocean is freezing after all, but after that you follow the bubbles and surface with a sputtering cough as you try to catch your breath.

This is just your luck, isn’t it?

Well, since you’re already here, might as well dive down to look for the locket, right?

Oh! But first, you need to toss your remaining flip-flop back up on the dock. You reach down to pull your shoe off, only to blink down at your bare feet. When did you lose your other sandal?

You look around for a moment, trying to spot the pale pink sandal and then you give up. It’s probably still on the dock, right? That would make sense.

Besides, they were on sale for a couple of cents at the local beach shack.

You tread water for a moment, your gaze locked on the glimmer of silver you can still see, and you’re about to dive down to see if it’s the lost locket when something hard bounces off the back of you head, and your foam sandal lands in the water next to you.

“Ow…”

“Why would you throw your shit in the ocean? The fuck is wrong with you?”

You twist in the water, already puffing up indignantly, though you falter when you see the man in the water behind you.

Why?

Well, because he’s clearly a merman. The dark green scales on his neck and across his chest, plus the green and white tail you can see in the water, make it very obvious.

“Obviously I fell in, dick.” You counter as you fling your shoe at his face. Sure, he might be a merman, but you’re clearly hurt. Anyone with eyes could tell that you didn’t mean to lose your shoe.

He arches a dark brow, “Yes. I saw. It was very graceful.” He throws the shoe back at you. Or, you think he is, but the shoe sails over your head and lands on the dock.

You feel your face burn, “Yeah…well…” You don’t actually have an excuse, so you turn away from him, “I’m busy. Go away.”

“Busy?”

“I have to find my locket.”

He sighs heavily, “You threw more trash in my home?”

Your head snaps towards him, “I didn’t throw it! I tripped!”

He stares at you, “I thought you humans were meant to be good at using your legs.”

“...I’m better at walking than you are.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’re better at using limbs that I don’t have. Well done.” He shakes his head, “Wait here.”

You watch as he dives into the water, and you’re pretty sure that he intentionally splashes you with his tail, and then he surfaces a little away from you, your locket held between his fingers.

“My locket!” You swim over to him to take the locket from him, but he moves his arm out of reach, “Hey!” You set one of your hands on his shoulders and reach up his arm to try and take your locket back.

“You can only have this back, if you come and hang out with me tomorrow morning.”

You blink at him, twice, “What?”

“I said,” He repeats, “You can only have this back if you come and hang out with me tomorrow morning.”

“Here?”

“No. There’s a cove not far from here, we can meet there. That way you won’t have to worry about falling in.”

You scowl at him, “Fine. You have a deal. Now, let me have my locket back—” You yelp when he suddenly lowers his arm and you lose your balance, “—you did that on purpose.”

“Oh? Did I?” He sounds innocent, but there’s a mischievous grin on his face, “I’m Fixer, I’ll see you in the morning. Be more careful, I might not be here to help you next time.”

“Fuck you.”

It’s the start of a slightly odd, but a solid friendship.

After that first meeting the next morning, you find yourself making the trek to the cove every morning, rain or shine.

And, after several months of this, you realize that you look forward to seeing Fixer. Not only look forward, but that your day is better if you can start it with meeting him. And if you aren’t able to see him, you get grouchy.

The week he ignored you after you went on a date with a family friend was like hell. But he was all rainbows and sunshine when you told him that you and the family friend didn’t work out at all.

You’d never assume anything about Fixer, but you know jealousy when you see it.

But you never mention it to him. And he never mentions it to you. It’s something that the both of you just never talk about.

And then, before you know it, a year has gone by.

It’s summer again, and you’re lounging on a rock in the ocean, dressed in your favorite bikini, relaxing in the sun. Fixer had been more than happy to bring you out here, since it means that he’s able to lounge in the sun with you.

“I still can’t believe you parade around in this,” Fixer says as he absently rubs sunblock on your chest. You could do it, but he seems to enjoy the feel and scent of sunblock, so you let him massage the lotion into your skin.

Plus, he has nice hands.

“I’m hardly parading.” You reply without opening your eyes, “It’s only us here.”

“It barely covers anything,” Fixer counters, “And they’re only held on by knots. There’s no way you could swim in this.”

“They’re not for swimming. They’re for tanning and looking good.”

Fixer’s hands stop high on your ribs, just under your bikini top, “Tanning? Won’t you have lines from this?” He asks as he hooks a finger under your top.

“Well, it’s not like anyone other than me sees me naked, Fixer.” You say as you sit up slightly and lift your sunglasses to the top of your head, “Though, the tan lines can be annoying.”

“So take it off,”

You blink at him, “You know, sometimes you say things that make me think you just want to see me naked.”

He grins at you, “I think human clothes are stupid. And that you’ll look much better without them.”

You shake your head, and lay back again, pulling your sunglasses down over your eyes, “Do what you like, Fixer. I trust you.”

“I’m flattered,” You feel his fingers move to the string holding your bikini top on, and you’re not the least bit surprised when he swiftly removes both your top and your bottom, “There. Now you won’t have any tan lines.” But you can feel his gaze sweeping across your bare body.

“...I can feel you staring.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound very sorry though. “So,” His fingers linger on your hip, “Am I the first person to see you naked?”

“Yup.”

Fixer doesn’t say anything in response, but he starts rubbing small circles on your lower stomach with his thumb. And you can feel the smugness radiating off him.

“Don’t be so smug, Fixer.”

“Can’t help it.” His hands drift down your legs, and you feel your lips curl up. He’s always been fascinated by your legs, “Look at you, you’re covered in bruises. What happened this time?”

“I fell up the stairs,” You pause, “And then back down again.”

He sighs, and you twitch slightly when you feel his lips against your shin, “You know, I’m starting to think that you’re just not made for life on land.”

“Well, tragically, I was born human—”

“You don’t have to stay that way.” Fixer interrupts, you open your eyes as you feel him move so he’s leaning over you, his hands pressed to the rock next to your head, “There are ways to make you a mermaid, if you wanted.”

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat, and for the first time, you have to acknowledge that your feelings for him are much more than just friendship.

But you also have to acknowledge that his feelings for you are more than friendship.

Slowly you reach up and press your hands against his cheeks, “My clumsiness is part of my charm.”

“You’re charming even when you’re not clumsy.” He counters, his eyes closing as he leans into your touch. “I’ve seen you in the water, you’re so graceful and peaceful. In a way that you aren’t on land.”

You hesitate, “I’m afraid.” You finally admit.

“Of what?”

“What if you get tired of having me around—”

“I would never.” Fixer counters firmly. There’s something soft in his gaze, “I picked you months ago.”

“I—” You trail off and then laugh softly, “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“It makes me think you’re in love with me.”

“Would that be so bad?” He leans in slightly so his lips are hovering just over yours, “I see how you look at me, and I know you see how I look at you—”

“I just don’t want you to have any regrets.”

He doesn’t answer you verbally. Instead he closes the distance between your lips and his and presses the gentlest kiss you’ve ever experienced against your lips. “How could I regret you?” He whispers against your lips.

“Fixer—” You trail off, and then you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a proper kiss. There are so many things you want to say to him, but the words seem trapped on your tongue.

“Do you love me?” He whispers against your lips.

“Yes.”

“Yes what? Use your words.” Fixer effortlessly pins your hands to the rock next to your head, and your face burns with slightly flustered embarrassment. You really need to stop reading those harlequin novels, they’re putting ideas in your head.

“Yes, I love you.” You manage to get out.

He grins at you, and kisses you deeply, “I love you too.”

“Oh, that—that’s good.”

He laughs and threads his fingers with yours, “You’re adorable. I’m going to spend the next couple of hours kissing you, and then we can talk about how to make you a mermaid.”

“Won’t you get bored?”

His grin turns into a smirk, “I have a lot of area to work with.”

It’s a warning. It’s a promise.

And you can’t wait to see what he has in store.

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#star wars #star wars republic commando #clone commando fixer x reader #fixer x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks #mermay 2025

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magickgarlick · 2 months ago

Text

the demeter

Ok actually? I'm *obsessed* with The Demeter Like being in Dracula's castle is it's own horror; you've entered the Evil Domaine

But on a ship?? Hello???

A) you're not alone. You've got a bunch of your sailor friends, and the captain, and the navigator, and you're British. Ignoring the horror of having to be British, you're protected by the most dangerous navy in the world. Fuck, you've probably been to India

B) this is a short journey. It's a quick stop shop type thing. And you're not transporting anything big or important, this isn't like. Spice. Or silk. It's just a bunch of weird boxes. Some rich guy is building a botanical garden. This is the least important thing you've done in YEARS.

C) you're alone, of course. Like. It's a ship full of friends but also. There's no radio, that's not invented yet. Your best bet for getting outside assistance is like.... Setting your ship on fire and hoping someone sees the smoke and comes to investigate and manages to rescue you before you either burn, suffocate, or drown. You can't swim. You're as alone as any modern astronaut. It doesn't matter what direction you face: there's just the water and the wind. You don't know which direction home is, but hopefully the navigator does

D) someone dies. Not uncommon. Between the scurvy, alcohol poisoning, malnutrition, infection rates, brawls, and other nonsense, some percentage of sailors are gonna die on every ship. Sorta embarrassing for someone to die so quickly, but it's fine. The dead guy looks weird, but it's fine

E) someone else dies

F) someone else dies

G) someone else dies

H) it's your turn to work at night. You don't want to be the next one.

I) someone else dies

J) there's a storm. You're scared. Sailors are a superstitious lot, but people are praying a lot more than usual. Someone's hands are shaking. Someone died last night, and someone will be dead tomorrow

K) you start doing math. Basic math. How many sailors on the ship? How many days until the ship docks? Is there gonna be anyone left? Is the ship just going to float, full of dead bodies, until it capsizes on something and sinks?

L) maybe it would be better to capsize now. On purpose. Bring whatever is haunting them down to the bottom with them rather than bring it to England.

M) maybe the daily funerals are just kinda getting to you. With more dead, your food portions are bigger, and there's more alcohol aloted to you. It's not so bad.

N) maybe it's some weird plague going around?

O) the latest body has bite marks. This is not a plague. You are being hunted and there's nowhere to go

P) the mast reaches towards the sun. There's not that many of you left. You can feel your heart beat in your ears. You've grown inured to the salt in the air, but now you can't get rid of the taste. You bite your lips. The taste stays the same.

Q) you're thirsty. The captain has been taking more of the drink, and his writings have gotten more anxious - nervous scribblings in his diary and wary eyes peering through the dark of the ship. The eyes of the sailors peer back. You don't count them. It wouldn't do much good. You can't remember how many are left, anyways.

R) rust, you think, looking at a smear

S) it's not rust.

T) goodnight

Separately - there's also the question of vampirification. Did Dracula take "snacks" from other sailors? Did they slowly start turning into vampires before they were killed?

#dracula #dracula daily #demeter

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peachidin · 6 months ago

Text

I'm on the run (with you)

You work at a droid shop, happily, for as long as you can remember. Until one day your mentor Peli needs your help fixing up some ship. No droids. No Droids? Who would request such a thing.

din djarin x f!reader

Rated E - 1.4k

Divider by @/saradika

Tags: canon divergence at MAX capacity, Mechanic!Reader, Does he hate me? I think he hates me?, honestly no real tags until later in the series!

Peli screaming was an everyday occurrence. The loud shriek cut its way through the drill in your hand and pierced your ears, but you shook it off, focusing your attention back onto the broken fixture at hand. The scream came again. With a huff you slid the goggles off of your face, tossing them aside as you stood, an ache in your lower back causing you to wince. Peli’s garage was moderate in size but overrun with junk from years prior. Even the small droids had a hard time navigating the mess. Carefully, you slid past old parts and machines until you entered the clearing, a large ship docked in the center. Your eyes scanned the area, finally landing on your mentor, her curly hair bouncing as she held something aloft in her hands.

“Peli…” You sigh out, approaching the woman while your hand reaches out to rest on her shoulder.

There's a giggle.

Not Peli’s.

You blink as you glance around your mentor's shoulder, your wide eyes meeting identical curious ones.

“Look how cute this kid is!” Peli coos happily, bouncing the child within her arms as it stares between the two of you. You shake your head, glancing at Peli.

“And you got this child from..?” You ask, your question drawn out as Peli waves you off with a flippant hand.

“He needs the ship fixed and doesn't want droids to do it.” Is all she says before disappearing into the garage. No droids? You scoff at the request, moving towards the hunkering piece of machine now parked in the center of the clearing. It was worse for wear, to say the least. Your hand skims the rough exterior, roaming over the blast marks from maker knows where. Making your way around the ship you are able to run a pretty basic diagnostic, establishing what exact tools you would need for, well, any of the repairs this ship needed. It wasn't often you got to work on such a piece of equipment, and the curiosity within you bubbled at what you would be able to learn. You quickly move back to where you left your tools prior, scooping them up and jogging back out to the ship your eyes now focused on the lowered bridge from the ship. You pause, moving slowly towards the ramp, hearing low groans and scrapes from within.

“Hello?”

You place one foot on the bridge, listening intently. As you take another step forward, fast and heavy footsteps approach you, your eyes scanning up too late as a figure now stands in your way. The beskar armor shines brightly under the sun, almost causing you to shield your eyes away from it. Your gaze travels up further, settling on the face of a Mandalorian.

“Off.” A gruff, modulated voice breaks your focus. You blink rapidly, a look of disbelief spreading across your face.

“I’m the mechanic. So no, I’ll be fixing this piece of junk for you since you'd prefer a human over the very capable droids we have here.” You snap back, arms crossing over your chest as you wait for some harsh retort back. Instead, you are met with the icy chill of silence. Your eyes widen, the air growing stagnant between you both. You mentally curse at your short fuse, to snap at a bounty hunter for makers sake. The Mandalorians head tilts as if he was examining you. You mentally brace yourself for the consequences of your mouth, imagining just what a trained bounty hunter could do to a simple mechanic like yourself. Instead, the bounty hunter sighs, shaking his head, and brushes past you without so much as a second glance. Air returns to your lungs, and you only now notice just how much space he was taking up in front of you. You turn your head, watching the Mandalorian enter the garage, Peli’s distinct voice reaching your ears from inside.

They know each other.

You aren't sure what to make of this. You’ve been Peli’s assistant since you were a child, and yet, you’ve never met this estranged masked man. As much as you’d like to linger on that fact, the ship in front of you seemed to groan, pulling your attention back to your task at hand. You pat the ship gently, smiling at it with care. “I’ll get you up and running in no time.” Your hands move on autopilot, following the long list of maintenance needed just to get this thing stabilized. You work from sun down well through the night, celebrating each little victory you overcome. Once the outer repairs seemed decent, you moved deeper inside, not noticing the lingering stare of a certain masked stranger.

It takes you 3 days to fully repair the Razor Crest.

It was an accomplishment, to say the least, even Peli was surprised.

“Nice work kid, you can't get much better than that!” Peli praises, giving you a pat on the back. You smile softly, looking at the ship with pride. It was a pain to repair, to say the least. Half of the requests were nearly impossible to get correct for a ship this banged up, but you tried your best. You glance around, noting the distinct lack of a certain person.

“The bounty hunter?” You turn to ask Peli but frown as she already was back inside, no doubt cuddling that child for the last time.

“Here.”

You jump, whirling around to find the Mandalorian impossibly close to you. “Maker, you scared me! How do you do that?” You hiss out, clutching your pounding heart. Mando simply stares down at you, making no effort to explain further. Your eyebrows furrow, waiting for him to, well, say anything.

“Repairs should last you awhile, just, please don't bring this ship back here in that state again.” You request, your wrists sore even just thinking about all the work you would need to do again. There's no helmet tilt, no shifting of his body, no sign he even heard anything of what you said.

This was getting ridiculous.

“Alright, well, good luck out there I guess.” You say awkwardly, backing away from the conversation as quickly as you could. Your turn, hair whipping behind you, until you heard the faintest mumble from the bounty hunter. You turn your head, looking back.

“What was that?”

It was as if you shot him in the leg. The Mandalorian groans, a deep and gruff noise as he begins to stride towards you once more, his chest plate almost brushing against the front of your coveralls. Your breath hitches but your feet remain planted, your back arching up to just look into his visor.

“Thanks.” It was as if the words were acid from the way he gritted them out. It almost made you laugh.

“That's the best you got? I worked on this thing for three days with no sleep!” You huff back, staring indignantly into that dark visor. The air becomes electric once more, and you notice his hands flexing at his side. Then, there's a sigh, the Mandalorians legs shifting as if he loosened his rigid posture for the first time in years.

“Thank you. I’m sure it was hard.” The modulation disguised his voice well enough, but you could hear the notes of exhaustion within them. Your eyes widen in surprise, your reply caught in your throat. You clear your throat, looking down to the ground before responding.

“You're welcome.” You aren’t sure why your voice softens, why it seems to float in the minimal space between you two. A loud crash and laugh from inside the garage is enough to break the spell, the Mandalorian retreating as fast as he can, walking towards Peli as she exits the garage.

“Gave him a little lunch, so he should be all ready to go.” She smiles, passing the small being into the arms of the Mandalorian. The child babbles happily, settling into the crook of his arm. Mando turns without another word, striding onto the ship. Peli waves goodbye to the child excitedly, and you follow in suit, raising your hand in a quick wave. It was as if you could feel that stare from within his visor, your skin prickling as the ship's ramp began to shut and eventually, locking in place with a hiss. The Razor Crest hums to life, its engines firing up and lifting the ship off the ground. The bounty hunter easily maneuvers out of the depot and shoots into the sky, dissipating after only a few moments. Peli says something you can't quite hear and claps your shoulder before she heads inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts as your eyes stay glued to the sky wondering when exactly your paths would cross again.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader

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wynndigogh · 5 months ago

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A TMNT tale

The Perfect Trap

Part 4: Directive Noted Attack!

Warning: No Minors, 18+ ONLY

SYNOPSIS:

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles face a new threat when Baxter Stockman returns with a cunning plan and a deadly new weapon. As they battle his latest creations, the turtles realize their enemy is always one step ahead.

But the danger hits closer to home when Leonardo’s relationship with his girlfriend is put to the test, forcing him to balance his duty as leader with his heart.

With danger closing in from all sides, the turtles must uncover the truth behind Stockman's scheme before it destroys them and everything they hold dear.

But as secrets come to light, they learn that the stakes are higher than they ever imagined—and one of their own may be caught in the crossfire.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️

The four brothers land on the roof of a warehouse, adjacent to the docks.

Sure enough, the docks looked like the aftermath of a warzone. Crates were busted up and floating in the water. Splintered wood, metal and litter, from various destroyed containers and their contents, clutter the ground. A short distance away, more destruction is unfolding, and the sounds of officers shouting can be heard.

Leonardo is quick to dispense instructions, “Let’s hit them from both sides. Raph, Mikey, you two go around and come up from the south, Donnie and I will come in from the north. Let’s make this quick and as clean as possible. Oh, and remember, we’ve had some drinks, so no monkeying around or going rogue! Got that Mikey? Raph?”

“Yeah, yeah, we hear-ya. Don’t go getting’ ya panties in a wad mom”, the large brute snorts at his brother.

Raph, the coin-toss drunk. Heads you get the touchy, cuddling teddy bear or Tails you get ornery ass-hat; you never know which it will be. Leonardo sighs internally, just his luck, ornery ass-hat wins this evening.

“Like my body, I’m F-I-N-E, bro”, *hiccup*, “Your orders are my command mi Capitán”, Mikey smiles impossibly wide, his body is swinging as he bobs his head like he hears a tune.

Ah, Mikey, the hilarious yet SUPER mellow drunk. Not someone you want watching your back in a fight.

Great, that’s two he’ll have to keep on eye on while in battle. At least he has Donnie to rely on. Good 'ol reliable, quiet Donnie...wait…

It suddenly hits him, Donnie’s being too quiet. Leo looks behind him and the six foot eight turtle is leaning on his bo-staff asleep. Drool and all. The blue leader hangs his head in annoyance.

The insomniac’s kryptonite is alcohol.

“Okay, one more order, don’t get killed”, Leo commands.

With a roll of his shoulders and a crack to his neck, Raph turns grabs Michelangelo by the shoulder and starts south so they can loop around for the fight. Leo kicks the bottom of the bo staff jarring Donatello from his beauty sleep. With some silent hand signals from the blue leader, the pair head toward the commotion.

--------------------------------------------------

"Ok, ok, now do this one, do this one!", Bebop instructs Rocksteady pointing at a metal container a few feet from the edge of the pier.

The large mutant rhino stands flaring his nostrils, huffs a massive breath, pawing at the ground with one foot before running full steam, head-first at the metal object. With a massive BOOM, the now dented container plunges into water with a ginormous splash.

Bebop laughs heartily, swishing his piggy tail in excitement.

"I think I'm going to need some aspirin after that one", complains the gray skinned mutant rubbing his bald head tenderly.

"Ya gonna need more than dat when we get done with ya"

The rhino and warthog duo turn right into the punch being thrown by Raphael and Mikey's wildly swinging nunchucks. The criminal couple are sent spinning and crashing to the ground.

"I think we got their attention", Rocksteady comments to Bebop as he rubs his aching jaw.

"And why do you want our attention?"

The henchmen look to the side to see that they are boxed in, the other two turtles are closing in and that pesky purple one is being nosy.

Bebop touches the communicator in his ear, "Uh, second boss, uh, they're here."

"Don't call me that!", the irritated voice barks in his ear, "my units are about to drop in, once they do get out of the way."

"You got it secon-, uh, um...n-number two"

"Moron", the single word fades out as the communicator clicks off.

The turtles square up, preparing for an all out attack. Leonardo is about to give the signal when a screaming metallic sound is heard from above.

💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩

To be continued...

PART 5

I remembered again! Tag you're it @thelaundrybitch

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theoceansluvr · 1 year ago

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Connor Stoll x Reader Alphabet

warnings; nothing ! author's note; THANK YOU SM TO THE PERSON THAT REQUESTED THIS !! literally haven't felt like writing much so this helped a lot :D credits to this lovely person for the template <9

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

‹𝟹 dear gods he's so affectionate. like always holding your hand or having his arm tossed over your shoulders !

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

‹𝟹 the friendship probably started because he used that zapping gum on you when you first arrived at camp, y'all know the one. you then pranked him back because he's literally in your cabin how could you not ? pulling pranks on Chiron and Mr. D🗣️🗣️ i will not be silenced on this one either !! definitely the kind of friend to laugh at you when you fall then help you up

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

‹𝟹 LIVES for your head on his chest ! doesn't matter how hot it is outside, if his siblings are in the cabin, you WILL be bear hugged and tackled onto the bed if has anything to do with it ! also likes just.. falling on top of you ? like he's laying on your back. (does this make sense y'all pls tell if it doesn't T^T) he likes being super close to you is all, doesn't matter how

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

‹𝟹 can't cook to save his life but is a pretty good cleaner since the Hermes cabin probably needs.. more than a good cleaning before cabin checks- I feel like because of the fact most demigods don't make it to adulthood, he doesn't really think about the future much and just lives in the moment y'know ?

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

‹𝟹 oh he's absolutely gutted. he a huge communicator so if you had to break up it was absolutely something serious. like REALLY serious.. he'd probably just sit down with you on the dock or something and talk it out with you. i feel like it would more than likely a mutual thing because of the reason why i think he'd break up with somebody

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

‹𝟹 like i said, doesn't think too fast about the future or marriage but definitely makes jokes about the two of you getting married at some point ! demigods usually have fast paced lives so he definitely is a commitment guy, plus he's still not over being betrayed by his brother(in my soul) so he likes to know you're there for the long run !

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

‹𝟹 physically, his touch is super energized but still soft. emotionally, he would rather take a dip in the Styx than say anything rude to you. sure he's a big tease, but never with anything that could actually hurt your feelings

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

‹𝟹 BIGGGGV HUGGER !!! will tone down if you don't like them but he heavily enjoys hugging you whenever he sees you. in the middle of the lawn ? hugging you. coming back from a quest ? hugged. literally just left to use the bathroom or smth ? you guessed it, hugs.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

‹𝟹 mmmm probably 3-4 months in ? nothing too wild i don't think ! it was probably really out of nowhere too like you guys were just sitting around doing whatever and he just blurts it out

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

‹𝟹 i really don't see him as a jealous person im going to be completely honest. if someone is hitting on you he's like "omg i know right ! that's why we're dating, aren't they so cool ?" and moves on with his life. in the incredibly rare situation he is jealous, he probably just marks them on his list of people whose shirts he has to put a bug in

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

‹𝟹 he likes to do temple kisses or very rushed ones ! usually rushed because he's running from some camper he messed with or because he can't sit still to save his life. really liked getting forehead kisses or kisses on the cheek, it makes him feel special !

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

‹𝟹 when i tell you kids love Connor, i mean it. he's like the cool uncle that gets you stuff your parents won't and teaches you how to play basketball or something but completely trashes you in a game.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

‹𝟹 he definitely sneaks over to you cabin table during breakfast because 1. cabin 11's table is way too crowded and 2. how could he possibly pass up time with you ? he attempts to make his schedule sort of match yours, but usually Chiron splits you two up when he takes notice.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

‹𝟹 my millionth time saying this but STARGAZING ! he definitely knows a crazy amount of constellations just for fun, so if he can see one he'll point it out to you. nights also involve sneaking into each other's cabins without getting caught. if you're on Mr. D's good side aka one of his kids, he'll look at Connor funny but let y'all do whatever. if you're anyone else, you're getting scolded and split back up

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

‹𝟹 Connor will drop little pieces of his life here and there if it isn't anything major like the whole Luke situation. if you weren't at camp during that time it definitely takes him a good 7-8 months to tell you about it, maybe longer. everything else he's a pretty open book about

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

‹𝟹 not easily angered at all actually. much like the break-up one, it takes a lot to get this man to crack, so insulting his family or anything to that extreme is really the only way to tick him off

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

‹𝟹 REMEMBERS EVERY. SINGLE. THING. he basically has a whole novel on everything you've ever said to him from your favorite color to the name of your fish when you when you were a kid. like if you tell him the name of some obscure show you liked as a kid before camp, he'll bring it up randomly from time to time. this boy has the littlest, most unnecessary details about you memorized it's actually fascinating

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

‹𝟹 when you first told him that you loved him ! now, based on how i personally view him, this could've went a number of different ways. but for the sake of my brain it was probably like that one scene in parks and recreation: "hey, i love you" "dude shut up ! that is awesome sauce :D" literally didn't acknowledge what you were saying and then frantically tried to apologize before giving up and just saying that he loved you too.. now it's an inside joke between the two of you

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

‹𝟹 not overly protective unless you are actually in danger or being bothered by somebody. isn't an aggressive person but if need be he will shove somebody for you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

‹𝟹 i like to think he's amazing at remembering dates and anniversaries, so the effort is there ! usually pretty simple because let's face it, there's not many dates to do when monsters are constantly around you. best giver in the world argue with a wall if you disagree,

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

‹𝟹 the person that spits out toothpaste and forgets to wash it out of the sink. talks over people on accident but it happens a little too often..

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

‹𝟹 not concerned at all actually- this boy's hair is a hot mess 24/7, 365, at a million percent. the only thing he slightly cares about is like.. his nails. but only because long nails get in the way of pranks sometimes

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

‹𝟹 yes and no. he can definitely live normally without you, but certain things just don't feel the same. like going to breakfast is weird if he doesn't get to steal some of your food or sneaking out of cabin 11 isn't as enjoyable if he can't stargaze with you

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

‹𝟹 SUPER BIG LEGO NERD !! i might have said this in my lil headcanon thing for him but he LOVES collecting Lego sets !!! especially the Star Wars ones but that's an entirely separate hc (him and Will talk about Star Wars all the time trust me)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

‹𝟹 choosing to go for a general dislike, he definitely doesn't like gardening. ironic really because he'll dig up dirt for a prank or two, but make him plant anything else and he's out. katie gardner has first hand experience with this little thing of his and was fed up with him the minute he started complaining

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

‹𝟹 the real question is, does he sleep ? he probably has the sleep schedule of a little kid left home alone without adult supervision. much to the hatred of Mr. D. however ! when he does sleep, he kicks. HARD. he tosses sheets and blankets and im pretty sure he's fallen off his bunk bed before and still didn't wake up- a very heavy sleeper to put it lightly. whenever you sleep with him you usually wake up to an arm across your chest and a leg over yours. and you can't move because even if he sleeps like a log, he'll know if you do, causing a chain reaction of you both being awake all night

I HOPE THIS WAS GOOD TO THE LOVELY PERSON THAT REQUESTED IT !!!

#connor stoll x reader #connor stoll x you #connor stoll #pjo #pjo hoo toa #poems from the sea

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crystalcatgamer · 1 year ago

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EGGHEAD KUJI PRIZES REVEALED

It's scheduled to be released on 2 August! Cheers! Review below! A pretty good kuji, they went all out on the prizes.

Starting with the last prize (why?), we have Luffy and Vegapunk as a figurine duo!

Prizes [A] to [D] are Luffy (by himself), Zoro, Bonney and Lucci respectively! Lots of [approx 17cm] figurines this round!

Prize [E] is a super cute Chopper plushie! The visor changes his expression when viewed from a different angle!

[F] prize is a multi-layered acrylic stand off the 🥚 Straw Hats!

[G] prize are choosable mini Seraphim figurines. I'm a little annoyed at how S-Snake turned out; why does her skin color have to be different from the boys?

[H] prize are acrylic standees of our six Vegapunks!

Egghead themed towels for our [I] prize~ From Vegapunk(s) to Zoro & Luffy's "You don't seem to like that!" scene!

[J] prize are rubber coasters of the Strawhats + Vegapunk & Bonney!

And lastly, our [K] prizes are the file & sticker combo!

Rating... I'll give it a 8/10 because of how fun and good all the prizes are, but docking points because Toei's a whitewashing bitch. Seriously, S-Snake did not need a design change like that. It's not in the manga, and it doesn't need to be in the anime. I hope it'll get reverted to normal eventually...

#monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #jewelry bonney #rob lucci #one piece seraphim #straw hat pirates #dr vegapunk #vegapunk satellites #egghead #one piece egghead #one piece #one piece kuji #one piece merch #summer nights in your lungs #<- personal tag don't rb

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sofasoap · 2 years ago

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First time - Part 2

Pairing : Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!reader

Summary: years of pinning, you find an excuse to get close to your best friend, Kyle. Now Is he going to say yes to your plan?

Part of Gaz Fest 2023

Warning : E rating. Slight angst. Pinning. Friend to lovers. Insecurity. Smutty smut.

A/N: Thank you @glitterypirateduck for organising the writing festival!! * cheering *

Enjoy!!

Master list

His hand glides back and forth the small of your back, the other slides up along the spine, coming to a stop at the nap of your neck, lightly holding it.

Leaning closer, he whispered in your ears.

“I have one condition.” Pulling back slightly, staring into your eyes with the usual softness you noticed that is only reserved for you. “I’ll treat you to the full package.”

“Full package?” your eyes narrowed slightly, confused.

“Like I said before, Sunflower, I don’t want this to be a loveless sex.” You open your mouth, trying to say something, but the gentle caresses of his thumb along your neck, rubbing little circles stopped you. “I want you to treat you to dinner,” Clearing his throat, “A… a date, first, if you can call it that.” Please call it that. You thought pleadingly. But you know he doesn’t mean it by a real date. “To, to get you in the mood.” Why is he getting flustered and nervous all of sudden? You wondered.

“And um, then, we can. Proceed. With ..” stuttering slightly, he took a deep breath.

“The deed.”

You suddenly burst out laughing. Breaking the moment.

Biting your lip to try to control your laughter, leaning into his shoulder. “I am sorry if I am pressuring you into this, Kyle. You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to. I can find someone else. “ letting out a sigh as you finally calm down from your laughter. “Sam seems to be pretty enthusiastic when I mention to them last time that I haven’t had anyone…”

“No. NO please, let me do this. I don’t trust anyone else looking after you.” There’s his knight in shining armour attitude again. Always there to protect you. That is why you fell for him. Love him. He’s always looking out for your back. As you do for him.

Straightening himself up, gaining his confidence back slightly as he plastered his signature smile on his face.

“So, Sunflower, where would you like to go for the pre-deed date?”

“You look very lovely with that dress, Sunflower.” He smiled.

You are sure there’s one. Yours. You are for sure he is going to break your heart again for the second time by the end of the night. Shattering it even harder than the last. When both of you part ways. And with possibly complete change in your friendship.

Your mouth gaped as you see there, stands Kyle Garrick, in dark colour tight jeans, long sleeve turtle neck with a sand colour leather jacket. With a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Ready to pick you up for … the supposed pre-deed date.

How many hearts has he captured and broke with his handsome look?

Before you spiral down too far, you decide you should just enjoy this moment, living out your fantasy. The fantasy of Kyle Garrick has finally asked you out on a date, to be his lover, the one and only, your happily ever after.

He isn’t joking when he mentions to get you into the mood during the date.

“You know that is my favourite dress? It really accentuates your figures well.”

“You smell really nice. New perfume?”

“There's a bit of chocolate on your face…Let me wipe it off for you.”

“Come. Hold my hand. So I don’t lose you in the crowd.”

The few comments and warm looks from the passerby as the two of you standing by the dock, watching a cruise ship slowly pulling away from the port, sailing into the distance, chatting about the possible destination of the travellers.

“Oh,aren’t you two a cute looking couple. I remember my husband used to take me walking along this Strand for dates when we were too poor to go on proper dates in a restaurant..” The old lady smiled and looked up to the old man beside her, who was lost in his own fond memories.

You can almost feel Kyle's smile as he kisses the top of your head, pulling you tight against him before replying, “Oh, this is why I am bringing my beautiful girlfriend here now, creating memories so we have something to look back to when we grow old together.”

To anyone’s ears, this would certainly be a possible marriage proposal. But you know it isn’t.

That sincerity in this tone just makes your heart flutter and melts. You start to waver, does he really mean what he just said?

No. he makes it very clear. This is only a pre-deed date. Just to get you into the mood.

And he certainly has done it.

Now, standing in the middle of your bedroom, clasping both of your hands together, you look down onto the floor at your own feet.

You couldn’t stop shaking as both of you waited for each other to make a move.

Maybe this is a bad idea after all. Maybe you should have just faced the fact that you're going to stay a virgin until you die. Or you will never have Kyle to yourself. Not even as ……

“We can stop here if you want Sunflower. I don’t want you to think we have to go through with this.” Sensing your hesitation and discomfort radiating through, he took a step forward, breaking your thought, gently enveloping your hands with his, caressing your knuckle with his thumbs. “We can just end the evening here, I’ll just … “

“No!” Coming out slightly more forceful than you expected, you gulped as you shake your head before tilting your head up, glossy eyes slowly blinking with a softer but determined tone.

“I want you, Kyle. Take me. Please.”

He lets go of your hands, slowly sliding up your arm, towards your shoulder, your neck, and comes to a stop as he cups your jaw, leaning down with his lips hovering over yours, as if asking for that final permission again.

Tilting your head slightly, closing the gap. Feeling his warm and slightly chapped lips on yours.

Since when you hit adolescents, when you realise your attraction to him is not just mere childhood crush.

How you have dreamt of this moment for a long time. YEARS.

Maybe there was some teenage hormone rage happening at the same time. But even now, there are nights of dreaming about him, trying to relieve that ache with your own hands, it was never enough. Nothing ever satisfied you.

Boldly, sliding one of your hands behind him and sliding down between the gap of his pants, grabbing onto his butt, the other underneath his top, feeling both of his firm abdominal muscles, lightly scratching it with your nails. Teasing him a bit.

That seems to tip him over the edge. He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer to him.

“For someone who claims never had any experiences before, you are certainly a tease. Look how hard you make me.” Rolling his against you, feeling the almost hardened cock even through the material.

Fuck. If you weren’t aroused before, now you were pretty sure your core is dripping wet. You never heard him talking in such a dark and lusty tone before. You wouldn’t say you dislike it. What you will do to hear more of it.

“Lacey lingerie? All for me? What a pretty girl…” you can hear his amused tone as he turns you around, pulling down the zipper of your dress, letting it drop down to the floor.

Your body is heated up with his comment. You have debated days ago if you should wear something special underneath, or just a plain safe option of your normal underwear. But now you are glad you bit the bullet and went to the shop and got the lingerie set after hearing his praises. He leans down and plants light kisses trailing down from the tip of your ears down towards your neck and shoulders.

“Kyle….” You whimpered as you tighten your thighs together, trying to get a bit of relief. He quietened you with a little shush, before coming back up and kissing your temple. You need him now. You can’t take anymore of his teasing.

“Just relax. I will take care of you, love. Don’t worry.” lightly grabbing onto your breast, teasing the nipple through the thin fabric, as the other hand slights down, cupping your sex, and slide his hand back and forth

You moan and gasp as he pushes the fabric aside and slides one of his fingers in, rubbing lightly on your clit with his thumb and slides his other fingers through the slit.

This is better than your own finger. Even better than you imagined.

Before you know it, your first orgasm hits you fast as he rubs circles with his thumb on your clit, eyes closed, you lean back against him, biting your own lip trying to suppress the urge of screaming out loud.

He slows down his ministration as you ride out the waves of your orgasm, whispering words of praise. If not for his strong arm circling around your waist to hold you up, your jelly like leg wouldn’t even support you up.

Oh.

Slowly pulling out his fingers and after tilting his head down to give you a deep kiss, he bent down a little, arm behind your knee to scoop you up into a bridal carry.

Carefully lowering you on to the bed, taking a moment to admire you, he stood back from the bed, slowly undressing himself. His beautiful toned body slowly reveals as he shreds each piece of clothing. Until the last one disappeared onto the floor.

OH. he is.

Well endowed.

Like the rumours you have heard.

Jokes have been made around the table amongst close friends how “well grown” Kyle has been, but you always thought that is just shits and giggles amongst the mates and men throwing at each other, but seeing is believing.

Rumours confirmed. Fact. Ticked.

You tense up. Feeling like a novice jumping straight into the hardest setting in a game, you wondered how in the hell are you going to take him?!

Snapping back from your thought, you saw Kyle crawling onto the bed with a box condom and a tube of lubricant.

“I, ah, didn’t know if you have any so I brought some for you..” he smiled shyly, holding the items up.

The ever thoughtful Kyle. It's actually quite touching.

When he was about to grab the packet of condom, your hand reached over, asking in a quivering tone.

Your shoulder relaxed slightly, nodding your head as silent thanks. He edges forward on his knee, and nudges your leg to spread open slightly. Although you only just came down from your orgasm, you feel like you are ready to go again with his fingers works around the area, gently applying the lubricants.

You don’t think you will ever get enough of his touching you. Nor you touching him.

“Can.. can I.. put it on for you? Can you please teach me how?” you pull a nervous smile, asking him for permission.

His gentle hand guides yours towards his arousal, taking in a sharp breath as you hold the base of his cock and slowly roll the condom down his length.

Aiming at your sex, he slowly and gently pushes his tip in, inch by inch, letting you get used to the stretch.

“Try to relax, love.. Take your time. No pressure here..” he leans forwards, giving you light kisses on the face as he notices your face contorted with discomfort and pain. “You are doing so well.. Taking me…just tell me when I can move, at your own pace.”

Grabbing onto his shoulder, you try to relax as much as possible, nodding your head to urge him to push on, until he is fully seated inside you.

Such a strange sensation, him inside you. So big. So hot. You feel like you are melting into one with him.

You take another deep breath in, looking up at him with your hooded eyes. You can see his jaws tighten and eyes full of lust as he looks back down at you, trying to control himself for your sake.

“I am ready. Please. Kyle.” You begged.

Starting slowly, he slides his cock out, before thrusting it back in again. And repeating the motion, again and again, but you can feel he is holding back slightly, afraid to hurt you if he moves too much.

You throw your head back, reaching your second orgasm of the night, screaming out his name. Amongst the haziness of orgasm, you feel him going for a few quick short sharp thrust before reaching his own high, groaning out loud as he rides it out.

Slowly the discomfort and pain is taken over by that familiar feel of delightful heat pulling around your lower region. You start rocking your hip upward, to meet with his thrust, trying to chase that bliss that you have felt earlier on.

He pushes your legs towards your body more, hitching the feet onto his shoulder to get a deeper angle, you let out a loud moan as he has hit the perfect spot. One of his hand made its way towards your clit, pinching it lightly.

Collapsing on top of you panting away, he buried his face in between your breast, trying to steady his breathing.

“Heaven..… I can’t believe it.. Oh gosh.. I love you.”

Your head snapped up from the pillow, looking down at him. You felt him tensing up as soon as he realised what had slipped through his mouth.

“You…“ Did you hear him right? “You.. love me?” you asked in a very small voice. Body starts to shake. This must be just post-sex brain talking, right? There is no way possible he loves you.

Awkward silence lingers, you try to push yourself up, trying to get away from him, but he grabs onto your arm before you can fully pull away, and head raises up and looks at you, with pleading eyes.

“I.. I never intended for it to come out this way. I am sorry.” he replied in an almost choking voice.

See? He is regretting what he said already. There is no way he loves you.

“That’s why you refused.” you whispered.

“You don’t know how happy I was when you came to me about your… proposal,” he continued. Closing his eyes, recounting the memory. “I don’t know how you feel about me, other than being a close friend. I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

He nodded. Face falling back in between your breast again, feeling his hot breath on your skin as he let out a breath.

“But I was so heartbroken seeing you running away from me..planning to run away into another person’s arms with the same proposal. How can I let that happen? I want to be your special one.. I want to be your first.” he gulped, “I want to be loved by you.”

“Way too long. Even the others have noticed it.. I suspect.”

“Kyle…” you lift your hand, running your finger through his short curly hair. “I.. I've been in love with you since we were young.” You confessed. His head snapped back up, suddenly hope glittering in his eyes, “I .. never thought you will return my feeling, I was too scared to make a move, and I was sick and tired waiting for you to make a move.” tears streaming down your face, he reaches up gently, wiping it away. “And I thought, using this excuse, at least.. At least I can be with you first and last time, and move on. Forget about going after you. Just keep our relationship as friends.”

“Oh my Sunflower…” he leaned his forehead against yours. “Looks like both of us have been hiding from each other. For a long time.”

Kyle’s eyes snapped open, brows raised.

“One of them pushed me to just get on with it and ask you.” you smiled. “ and I am glad they did.”

“So do I..” After a brief pause, Kyle wriggling himself around a bit, to pull out from you, throwing away the used condom. You moaned slightly at the loss of the heat and feeling of him..

You raise your eyebrows as he grabs another condom from the box, and his cock already recovering from the session.

“We gotta make up for all that lost time, right?” he winked.

Oh, you wouldn’t say no to that.

“Like I said, my Sunflower, there are still a lot of tricks up my sleeve I need to show you.. We have all night to go through it all.”

@deadbranch

This chapter went on way longer than I expected. oops.

@kaplerrr

@homicidal-slvt

@lia0-0

@floral-force

@saltofmercury

@siilvan

@rileyslibrarian

@mistydeyes

@okayyadriana

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@jynxmirage

@nrdmssgs @schr-torta @glitterypirateduck@devcica @cumikering@roosterr

@groguspicklejar

@obsolescent @whydoilikewhump

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pursuitseternal · 2 years ago

Text

“Surprise me,” an update to “The Rogue You Were” for more NSFW Ascended Astarion romance…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.5K Spice

Summary: A party, a massive affair and feast for all the powerful of Baldur’s Gate. But you crave only one thing on which to feed… your love and maker. With so many around you, you will have to be creative… find ways to… surprise him…

CW: Semi-public sex (twice), oral sex, vampiric sex on the ceiling, dom/sub undertones (the usual with Astarion), praise kink… oh and Astarion like it loud… even in semi-public.

Read on AO3 if you prefer

Continue for a scene that is full of surprises…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Your palace was full. Brimming with dignitaries, the wealthy, the powerful. Every single being with money or military might was in your palace. Guests of every race and class, as long as they had something that would be… beneficial… to your rule.

To that of your maker. He glides through the masses, his silken voice and frequent laughter piercing through the din intermittently. You have kept your distance, however, watching from your seat on the dais. Your padded, gilded chair beside an empty one, matching but more grand and opulent.

Thrones. Though no one calls them that quite yet.

“They will. In due time,” he had said, practically salivating into your mouth as he had held you on his lap, the first time he rested on that gold and crimson seat.

Now, you rest in your throne, elegant black gown draping around you, cut just revealing enough to enhance your curves, but not so much as to tempt anyone. For that would end in only one way, as Astarion had laughed darkly, mentioning it as you had slipped it on. It would end…murderously.

You can almost imagine him giggling to say, “And that does so spoil a dinner party…”

You grin, raising the edge of your golden goblet to your painted lips. The red liquid sloshes a bit. Wine, wine that is supposed to be heady and fragrant. The best Faerûn has to offer. But it meets your tongue with bitterness, filling your stomach with sour bile.

You hunger.

It’s clear, as time passes, you are not some spawn, there is more to your powers than even Astarion had thought possible. For the more power he gains, the more you seem to, too. Strength, agility, scent. You do not hunger blindly for the blood of thinking animals. Not some vague predator.

But each day, your hunger does gnaw at you. Hungry for only one being, one creature. Astarion, your lover, your master, your everything.

You can’t resist it, the need for him inside you, be it his blood coating your throat or his cock buried to his balls between your thighs. You keep trying to make pleasant conversation when you are approached, but it turns to a dismissive wave the moment you see him cutting through the crowds. Silver hair, flawless and unruly, eyes bright and crimson.

This gathering is most important, he had said… a sign that he was better than Cazador ever was. More fun. More powerful. More charming.

He certainly is. All that and more. But tonight, it seems he needs to convince himself as much as all of Baldur’s Gate. His smile is shallow, demure. His giggle is a bit too sharp, too shrill. Meant to call attention and prove how happy he is.

Not that any remained that would have known him as a slave, a spawn. Those were all dead.

Now, Astarion, Ascendant Vampire Lord mingles as if he is running for office or brokering deals at the docks. In many ways, both are true. Only now, if he wills it, he can scramble up the walls, burst into black mist… but for now, you can see the traces of the 200 year old magistrate, manipulating and flattering everyone around him. A bending to his will, subtle but distinctive. Charming, and entirely… roguish.

You struggle to take another small sip of your wine, only to stick your tongue out in total disgust.

“Not to your liking, darling?” his voice whispers in your ear, even as you see him a hundred paces away. “The best wine money can buy this side of the sea, and you look like you swallowed sea water itself.”

“Astarion?” you whisper, eyes wide for any sign of a trick.

“No tricks, my treasure. Simply power,” he purrs in your ear. You stare at him, his head nodding as some tall Drow blathers on and on. His full attention bores into the speaker before. Until his eyes flicker at you, making you catch your breath. So intense, so wicked in his delight. “Well?” he pushes again. “The wine is… unsatisfactory? Ugh. I’ll have to have a word with the merchant… a word or a murder…”

“No,” you raise the cup to your lips, hiding the fact from prying eyes that you speak to the air as if you were insane. “It’s just that… I do not wish to feed on… wine, my love.”

“Darling…” he coos, attentive, placating, concerned, “my poor, thirsty, little consort, longing to feed from her master…”

“Yes,” you sigh, squirming on your chair ever so slightly. That catches his eyes again. “And…”

“Oh, my queen, one day I will fuck you on that throne for all to see,” his voice seems to caress beneath your chin, circling to your other ear. “But perhaps it is a bit soon for these ignorant fools.”

“Then when?” you moan into your goblet again, the thought of riding his cock, your bodies pressed against the gilt and crimson finery. Your mouth waters and your fangs itch. “When can I have you, my love?”

“When it is convenient for me… for us…” he hisses in your ear. “Not too long, I promise you.”

“Do not make me wait, Astarion, or maybe it’ll be more than your neck I’ll bite…”

“Promises, promises,” he bursts in a giggle. You can see his mouth smirking even as his eyes focus on others. “Don’t make any you don’t intend to keep, darling…”

“Oh, I won’t.” And just to prove your point, you down the rest of the foul tasting wine in two gulps, tossing the metal chalice to the floor beneath you. It clatters, but you can barely hear in the chaotic chorus of voices.

But he hears it. His head snaps up. Crimson eyes stare at you, disapproving.

His mouth opens, as if he is going to chastise you. His feet begin to weave his way through the masses, eyes locked on you. His goal. His prize. His destination.

He doesn’t even need to touch a soul to part the crowds around him. You can see the blaze in his eyes, the power throbbing between you, the need for him to show you that you must toe the line, to be wonderfully obedient, especially in front of all these people.

The bright clang of a gong reverberates loudly. The call for dinner. The banquet about to begin. You see Astarion draw himself straight, forcing that composure of refinement as he slides up the lower step of the dais. Pale fingers unfurl, reaching for your hand— your escort to the dinner, with a subtle smirk flitting around his lips. You extend your hand, feeling all eyes watching you as he bends his head to kiss you in greeting, his lips gently lingering on the back of your hand. His eyes flutter shut. As if, he too, savors the slight contact of your bodies. As if, he too, craves more.

He tugs you from your seat, your black gown flowing its train behind you as you make your way to the next room. You feel conspicuous, those observant eyes watching the way Astarion’s hand holds you close, the sweep of his thumb over the inside of your wrist.

You give him a devoted smile, one that flashes your own fangs at him. He stops you both at the entryway of the banquet hall, “Pucker up, my sweet. Make it look convincing.” His voice caresses your mind. “Even if your eyes tell me you’d like nothing better than to pin me down and make me bleed…”

You place a hand on the rich brocade of his jackets, fingers lacing into the collar to press into the soft silk of his shirt. His palm cups your cheek, cold to the touch, but on fire with his possessiveness. He claims your lips, and you feel it, taste his own hunger. His pride at having you, his consort, his queen, on display for all of Baldur’s Gate to see.

It lasts a minute, but in that moment, your eyes shut tight, leaving you with nothing but the pressure of his touch on your face and the working of his lips with yours. The intoxicating, heady dance you do each and every night, the one that always begins with this. The stealing of your breath and the tangle of your tongues.

He pulls away far quicker than you would have liked, careful not to let you nip or draw blood. Oh no. That would not do with so many people here. That smirk on his lips tells you he will keep you dangling for more, not forever. But enough to let you burn for him a little while. The veil of his power clearly tinting his view. That pulse of his presence covers your mind, sending you a vision… Thousands stand before him, where he is seated and crowned. Magnificent and powerful, eyes glowing in his triumph. All of Baldur’s Gate, Faerûn, the world. kneels at his throne, and he wants you kneeling too… between his thighs, his cock freed and pulsing in your hand as your head bobs and sucks over his length.

You snap out of it, watching as his brow raises slowly, his smirk deepening as he leads you into the now crowded and spinning banquet. The high table faces everyone from its perch at the end of the hall, covered in decadent red cloth and set with pieces of purest gold for dozens. Your nose fills with the heavy scents of wine and roasted meat, all manner of dishes slathered in spices and butter.

Your stomach turns but not in hunger. Not for that anyway.

Astarion stops short, the end of the high table before you, his hand resting on the back of a gilded chair. You frown, hurt and enraged. His seat, and yours by rights, are always to the center, presiding over the festivities. But now, he denies you even that. Seating you so far from him.

He tuts his tongue, scolding you even as his eyes skate down the dip if your cleavage. “Don’t give me that, pet, not in front of all these people. I need you to take this place, I need you to submit yourself tonight, to free up those seats near me that I might… continue our very important work.” His eyes glow, his hunger obvious only to you, his consort, his mate.

“And should I refuse?” you sling the dare, a look of pure demure adoration masking your face.

“Don’t make me bend you over my knee to reprimand you, darling… not in front of all… these… people…” he growls so quietly.

Your stomach is on fire with need, your mouth watering at the image and the desire it conjures. You can sense it does the same in Astarion, the growing bulge of his cock clear to your eye in those black velvet trousers of his.

You smile sweetly, lifting on your toes to whisper in his ear, a message for him alone, “I’ll make you pay for this, Astarion.”

“In what way, darling? Or are you going to… surprise me?” his voice is a caress, his hand lingering on yours as you center yourself before the chair.

Your folds ache, engorged and slick and so painful. It hurts your body to obey, to make yourself sit on that chair at the edge of the long table. You want to whine and whimper as you watch him walk away. To watch that magnificent profile cut through the crowd at such a distance. Smirk plastered on his lips. Eyes scanning the crowd, reveling in his court. Looking everywhere except for you.

Servants laden your plate with food, meats and sauces, the scent is rich enough to make anyone drool. Except for you. No. Your desired feast sits in the middle of the table, a dozen dignitaries between you. Other ladies try to make idle gossip around you, they giggle as they speak of handsome merchants, valiant warriors, speculating on the sizes of their weapons.

You fight the growl in your throat. Keeping one ear open, just in case they decide to speculate about your master. But from the way you clutch at the gold knife in your hand as you attempt to saw into the pieces of mutton on your plate, they undoubtedly know better.

No, you can only poke at the food on your plate, eyes devouring every movement of that silver haired head, every reach of his elegant, dramatic arm.

He’s hungry, you narrow your eyes to focus. Another reach of his arm as he spoons another serving on his plate. Enjoying the benefits of his ascendant abilities to taste and savor foods once more.

Must be nice, you sneer to yourself grabbing your goblet for more wine. Nice he can ignore the hunger he has for her to indulge in mortal foods, dismissing the raging erection you know is most certainly still straining in his breeches…

You smile. An idea… a little delicious revenge. One where you could serve it so easily, and savor it to sate your hunger.

You wait for the entertainment to begin, bards singing, the hall echoing with lutes and drums and dancing. Half the ladies near you leave to find themselves some dancing partners.

But even as the company at the high table thins a bit, you keep your gaze fixed on Astarion, on how he lounges back in his chair now, idlily chit-chatting and sipping his own wine.

Quickly, you slip to the ground, letting the cloth of the table drape to cover you, tucking the train of your gown around your hips. Your vampiric stealth comes in handy now, scuttling your way beneath as you avoid feet and legs, barely making out muffled conversations though the thick skirt and rhythmic beating of music.

You can smell him, his scent of bergamot barely covering the musk of his arousal. You stop at those bent knees and manly spread legs, clad in crushed black velvet breeches. You breathe in that fragrance of your lover, the bond of your powers grows taught as you nestle yourself between his thighs, careful not to touch him yet. Slowly, you take the pads of your fingers, tracing up the inside of his thighs.

Surpsied, he stiffens, the muscles of his legs clenching at the contact. One hand darts at you under the table, finding your face in his lap as he cradles your cheek.

He knows you. Invites you in. “You’re… still… full of surprises aren’t you, my love? Is this your idea of catching me off guard with revenge?” His voice caresses your mind as his thumb presses along your lower lip. “I’m positively delighted…” his hips cant forward, sliding those lower regions completely under the table. Always so thoughtful when it comes to his pleasure. And yours.

Your fingers trace over the rise of his arousal, feeling it twitch and pulse even beneath the soft velvet that encases him. You reach for the laces of his breeches, quickly, quietly freeing that engorged length. His hand still strokes into your hair, beckoning you to pay him the homage of your revenge.

But it is not for his cock alone you hunger. You take a single nail, scoring it into the crease of his thigh. You feel the rush of his blood, thick with his power, coating your fingers. You raise it quickly to your mouth and lick it clean. His hand clutches in your hair painfully hard. A warning, but one you ignore.

Your hands pull down the fabric of his trousers, your face burying in his lap. Tongue licking at the blood, letting even that little trickle coat your tongue and send an immediate bloom of need between your own thighs.

His hand tugs at your hair, trying to pry you off, but not so hard. Just a little resistance. A little fun. “Clumsy me and my nails, my love,” you whisper against his lap, letting your tongue lap at the blood one more time.

“You’ve had your revenge, darling, now give me what I’m owed for my troubles,” he purrs into your mind. His hand shifts the back of your head, centering you over his straining, twitching cock. You take him, slowly, teasing that blunt head with little laps of your tongue. You wish you had swallowed more, making all his blood fill you. But this will have to do.

You run your tongue up that seam on the underside of his length, working from base to silken tip, making him jut against your face. His other hand slides to join your worship, holding his cock, wrapping his fingers around himself as his grip on the back of your head works your insolent mouth towards that seeping head.

You take him, sucking as you bob forward and back, thankful that music is pounding and loud enough to cover the pops and slurps you make. You close your eyes, picturing all the times you have pleasured him, meeting that glassy, enamored stare of his crimson eyes down at you.

His own hand works to pleasure himself into the wet workings of your mouth, the clenching of his thighs on either side of your head goads you on, making you suck harder, faster. It is your own dance to the evocative music of the party. And you would have your partner no other way.

You feel the rumble of his voice through his belly, his words muffled, but the pattern of speech starts to falter. His hand around his shaft stills and grips harder, the only sign you get before he fills your throat with his seed. The bitter fluid sating your hunger, mingling with the sweet tingle of his powerful blood that still coats your tongue. You lap it, greedily, cleaning him so that not a drop will offend the pristine black of his trousers. He would never accuse you of being inconsiderate. Lustful? Perhaps. Willful? Most definitely. But you wouldn’t want your mate and master to traipse around with any offending stains to speak of your… vengeful indiscretion.

And he knows it. The way his fingers knot gently into the curls of your hair is gratitude enough.

For now.

There is still the matter of your own arousal and its required tending.

You slink your way back to your seat, letting his hands slip himself back into the band of his breeches. With perfect stealth, you slide yourself back into your chair. And all of that just as the drums beat their last and the music crescendos to its own climax. You grin, seeing him lean in his chair to watch you, eyes a glowing vermilion, his own tongue licking his mouth as you take your napkin to clean your sticky lips.

You see his fist clench on the table top, the only hint he is burning with need. His perfectly charming smile returns, he nods his head at those dignitaries around him, clapping his ivory hands slowly with the rest of the applause. You can almost hear him, his silken voice bidding for those around him to excuse him.

Then he raises from the table, still smiling. A smile that shows his teeth, but doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that looks perfect but filled with sharpened ice. He extends his hand, gentlemanly, polite, all except that burning in his gaze. “Stand,” he orders to your mind. “My obedient love, it’s time to return the favor.”

You raise a brow, face bright with his attentions at last. “My love,” you purr, mimicking the way he speaks to perfection, as every lady near you looks with envy at the male from whose arm you now hang. They covet you, and you simper at them, still licking the bitter tang of his cum from your lips.

A wave of his hand, a merry order to continue to the bards, and Astarion begins to lead you down the edge of the great hall. Candles flicker, smoke and fragrant dishes still fill the air. To the casual eye, the host is but taking a moment in privacy with his love.

But to you, you know better. The way his hand grips at your waist, the way his eyes dip into that subtle cut of your neckline. You’ve made it impossible for him to keep that veneer of restrained refinement. And now, you will pay the price to the vampiric monster that lurks beneath.

Your belly clenches with excitement, your thighs so wet, they slip and squelch beneath yards of black fabric as you walk. Drenched from your own festering need. Soaked from your sucking.

“Proud of yourself, my love?” he taunts, as he grips harder on your body, tugging you into a servants corridor. The party still goes on just beyond the door frame, the music and voices just as boisterous as if you were in the room. “Delighted that I am at your mercy as all of Baldur’s Gate is now at mine?” His hands are everywhere on you, skating down your back, clawing at your throat, tussling in your hair. “Because… I am…” he breathes as he presses you against the stone wall behind you.

“You’re what?” You taunt, a toss of your head, jutting your chin up to meet the intensity behind his eyes.

“Proud of you,” his voice is no more than gravel in his throat. “And you shall be rewarded for your surprises.” His tongue runs over your neck, the pounding of your heart deafening your ears.

“Anything to please you, my love,” you breathe, barely more than a moan. “Now, I’ll take my reward…”

“In good time,” he speaks, his voice reverberating into the crook of your neck. “It is my turn to grant you your own surprise, darling…”

“Fucking me against the wall in sight of the servants would hardly be a surpise for any…”

Your words cease, the rush of his power overcoming you and stealing your breath. You gasp, wind rushing around you, your feet lifting off the ground as you fly. You look down, the tiles of the floor so far away, his body heavy on you, magic tingling around you, pressing you into the ceiling.

“Surprise, darling,” he whispers between your lips before taking them with his own. “I’ve been saving this trick just for you… for the right moment.”

Your world spins, the languorous rhythm of his caress grounds you, as does the little thrusts of his hips between your thighs. His hands ruck up your skirt, his magic floating to keep you pinned to perfectly. “Now…” he purrs, fingers grazing up against your bared thigh, straying over the curve of your mound, “for as quiet as you were pleasuring me, I expect you to turn the tables, darling. Let those mindless pions know how much pleasure I give you…”

Quicker than breath, his teeth sink into your neck, the rush of your blood coating his tongue sends you into bliss already. The bond between you thrums, your blood in his veins, and his in yours. His hand slithers into your folds, stroking you, relief finally flooding down your nerves as he touches you with such command, such knowledge. The carnal kind he has been most diligent to study.

Your hips buck, a strange surge of gravity fighting your body, his magic still pinning you all the harder to keep you in place. He laughs as he presses up from you, those eyes shining bright, observing as he licks his lips ever tweak of your face. His fingers still diligently slip into your cunt, widening it. Preparing you for him. You buck again, catching his nail on your clit, releasing a strangled cry from your throat you try to swallow.

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth with a rakish tilt of his head. “I told you to make some noise, darling…” Then he scratches at you again, the delicious edge of his nails scoring into your folds, clawing at your clit. And scream you do.

“Better,” he praises in his silken voice. “But you know better than to hold back from me, my treasure,” his voice rumbles into your own chest. His hand slips from your legs, wet fingers pressing in between your lips. You suck them clean of your own slick before he even can command you. The groan from his grinning mouth is reward and encouragement enough to continue. “You tortured me, you know, your mouth offering me worship as the riff raff prattled on. I never dreamed to be so worthy of a consort, a queen, as ravishing as you.”

His words alone make you come, let alone the way his hand now slinks into the cut of your dress, your breasts freed as he works them. Lips descend upon them the instant he sees their pale fullness, their straining nipples. And you give him a low throated groan of pleasure.

You are at his mercy, nowhere to go, only to lose yourself in the punishing reward he has in store for you. Pressed by his cold, unyielding body and pinned by his ever-increasing power. He begins to slink down your belly, you breath catching as the safety of his chest, his arms, his whole self leaves you splayed upside down on the ceiling to nestle between your legs.

“One greedy turn deserves another, my love,” he croons, fingers already returning to your folds to slicken them and spread them. “I have feasted already, but not on anything half as divine as you…”

Oh, that tongue, so silken and honeyed in his words, so incessant and demanding in your own honeyed cunt. Your hands reach for his head, those silver curls soft and stubborn as you grip him tight. Just like him.

You ride his licks, bucking on his fingers as they stoke deeper and deeper still. But it won’t satisfy. Not yet.

“Please,” you beg, reduced to a whimper. Words catching inaudible in your throat.

“What was that, darling? I can’t hear you….” He glances up for the smallest second. Enough to flash his crimson eyes at you with all the mischief and lust that drives you wild.

“Please, Astarion,” you whine louder. “Please, take me.”

But he only laughs into your mound, fangs scraping against your folds as he grins wide. “Come now, I expect better, my love,” he ends his silken chastisement with a run of his tongue up your whole seam.

“Argh,” you cry, “Astarion, please… I can’t anymore… pretty please….” Your begging pours from your lips, trying to pull his head over you, to bring him back, to satisfy the craving that rages to have him on you. And in you. “Fuck me, please….”

Instantly, he covers you, his hand pressing into your belly, the snap of leather laces unwinding.

“Better,” he purrs into your mouth, “keep up the good work, darling, and you’ll drip with my seed for the rest of this godsforsaken party.”

Then, he fills you to bursting, burying that long shaft of his deep into you with one stroke.

You mewl, hips rising to take him all. Your hands grip into his shoulders, pulling him tightly to you, as if you can’t get enough of him inside your body. His hunger burns as brightly, his mouth devouring you again, snapping shut on your lips and cutting his fangs into your kiss. Your blood tingles the tip of your tongue as it dances with his. His thrusts are deep, deliberately, ensuring you feel every inch of him dragging and pulling through your walls. Every thrust, every clench of his ass and every dip of his tongue is meant to drive you into oblivion with him. But it’s not enough. Not yet. Not after he left you burning for him for so long.

You clutch him in your thighs, digging the heels of your slippers into the backs of his legs. You feel him smiling wickedly, his thrusts picking up the pace until it is punishing, the loud slap of his flesh into yours is deafened only by the constant keening that comes from your throat. You writhe, you flutter. Back arching and thighs shaking for more. Always more.

He slows his pace, lifting from your body, eyes drinking in the glorious sight splayed beneath his body and wrapped around his cock. “Such beautiful sounds, better than the dribble the bards churn out,” he preens, eyes half veiled, his tongue licking the rest of your blood that trickles from the corner of your mouth. “But I think you can do better than that yet, my treasure…”

“You want them to know…” you growl, it is not a question. “Want them to…”

“Of course, darling. I want everyone to look at your beauty and know only I will ever bury myself up to my balls in you.” He flashes his teeth, taking you all the deeper until you feel him slam against the end of your channel. “And I want them to know that you, my dark…” he thrusts agonizingly slowly, “beautiful…” again, deeper this time, “treasured consort, are the only one I will ever take for my own.”

He pants, his silken praises weaving that web of bliss, riding you past the edge of your senses for that wall of climax. It tears through you, splitting you in two, into a million shattered, moaning pieces as you come.

You feel his body grow rigid in time with yours, his hips gyrating with irregular rhythm. His own voice a deafening growl above you, his lips sneering back, his eyes half-lidded as he watches your own waves of orgasm rend you apart.

He stills above you, your body weightless, limp. You groan to feel him pull that intoxicating fullness from your folds. Your world tilts on its axis, held by nothing but the iron embrace of his arms, your body floating back to the ground.

Feet resting on the floor. His cum dripping down your thighs. You steady yourself against him, and you feel his breath in your hair, a kiss on your temple. You shake, unable to move… to speak… to think straight. His hands fix you, slipping your breasts back inside the black of your dress, tugging your skits and flouncing them. His eyes scrutinize without mercy. Ensuring you look every bit his perfect, desirable consort before he tends to his own vanity.

“Very… good,” he comments, his praise warmed by the rasping honey of his voice. “No more surprises, then, my love. Not until I can bed you properly once this is all through.”

“May I?” You smirk, raising on your toes, as if to place a kiss on his smirking cheek.

He eyes you, looking down in lustful approval, cocking his head with that mischievous smirk twitching his lips. “You’re… not asking for a kiss, are you?”

“Close your eyes and find out…” you whisper, craning your neck closer as you lick your lips.

He laughs low and slowly, clutching you against him, the slight angle of his head brings that strong, pale column of his neck to brush your lips. And you bite, just enough to bring a mouthful of his blood to coat your tongue.

You moan as you drink, the slight pressure of his hand woven into your hair, cradling you as you feed, it makes your body arch with need again. You can taste his pleasure, a rich bouquet of sated and unsated desire, a hint of obsession and love mingling with the rich blossom of his power. You feel it filling your body, tingling through the pit of your stomach and wetting your thighs again. Licking his wounds one more time, you hum, a sound of pleasure as his mouth descends on yours. His tongue caresses over every crevice of your mouth, consuming the drops of his blood, stealing them back with unquenchable hunger.

“You are delicious, every time,” he rasps into your mouth, “especially when your tongue tastes of… us.” His fingers grip your chin, tilting your face to look into his, the fog of your ecstacy beginning to clear as you stare into those pleasured, crimson eyes. “Hold your head high, my beautiful queen,” he purrs into your mouth. “Try not to smile too much as you struggle to walk from the sound fucking I just granted you…”

“Of course,” you dip a small curtesy, reaching for his proffered hand, “my king.”

His smile of approval, his whisper of “my love,” warms your belly more than his blood, more than his cum seeping down your thighs.

Music crescendos as you reenter, the crowd’s eyes flit away, the festivities still going strong, as he leads you towards the dancing.

He wants them all to see you, your mouth bloodied, his neck still wounded from your own feeding. He wants you to walk, unsteady and swaying your hips, hips he fucked, loudly and mercilessly for them all to hear.

His arms sweep around you as you move in patterned steps, lilting to the music. And even as all eyes gaze upon you, you don’t care. Can’t care. Not as long as that rakish smile and roguish stare is only on you.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Part 1: Welcome me…

Part 2: Cleanse me…

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alwayslurkinginthebackground · 10 months ago

Text

Mariposa - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Thirteen of Pedrotober: Javi G Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Javi G x f!reader

Rating: This one's soft and SUPER angsty but is also rated E for some mature themes. Brief mentions of the softest of intimacy (oral and p in v sex occur) near the end but it's not exceptionally explicit.

Word Count: 4014 (idk if this can truly be classified as a drabble anymore, but here we are anyway!)

a/n: This is a VERY special day. There's a full list of notes about how this incredible collaboration came to be at the end, but I would be remiss if I didn't START by mentioning the unbelievable work created by @imdrinkingpedro and @alyssamariag. Before you read, please start by putting on THIS PLAYLIST by @alyssamariag and check out the stunning Book Cover she's created HERE. Then make yourself a drink with THIS RECIPE by @imdrinkingpedro and settle in to read THIS DRABBLE that inspired everything you're about to read here. Or you can save it for the end. The work below is actually a prequel to the world they so beautifully created. I want to note that I could not have done this without their love, assurance, and dedication to bringing this story to life. Plus the one brain cell that we seemingly share. This is their story as much as it is mine and I'm just thankful they trusted me with a part of it.

You always loved the feeling of the dirt beneath your fingertips.

It was one of your earliest memories, the way your small hands were enclosed in your grandmother's gentle embrace as she taught you how to help things grow. You could still smell the sweet scent of lemon and picture the blanket of colorful blooms that flourished outside the little home she owned in Mallorca, and as the golden sun beats down on your bare shoulders, you can hear the whisper of her lessons in the air.

A sigh of relief escapes you when your feet hit the dock. The Mediterranean is just as you remember it, reflecting brilliant hues of blue that you admire as you begin the walk to the estate on the hill. It's impossible for it to feel like anything but home as a wealth of memories flood your senses, and you will the salty air to calm your racing heart.

Your parents had been the ones to suggest that you return to Spain. On one hand, traveling halfway across the world to prepare your grandmother's home for sale, a long overdue task after her passing nearly three years prior, felt like an opportunity straight out of Mamma Mia! On the other hand, it also meant putting your life on hold for the entire summer. Not that there was much to put on hold.

The gravel path that leads to the only home your grandmother ever knew crunches beneath you as you adjust the duffle on your shoulder. The two lemon trees out front are larger now than you remember them, but are still standing proudly, and it feels a little like she's there when you pluck one from the branches, bringing it to your nose as you inhale its scent.

The rest of the house, however, immediately causes you to frown.

Long gone are the flourishing gardens, replaced instead by a wealth of overgrown beds and half-destroyed planters. Things aren't any better inside, where you cough the moment you open the door. A layer of dust unsettles as you push your way inside, clouding the space in a haze as your hope for an easy summer abroad quickly deflates. Each room is in desperate need of a deep clean, most of them need to be repainted, and you find that the floor in the kitchen is barely there. In another life, you can recall this home brimming with energy. Now, it simply feels empty.

But, as your grandmother said, emptiness can always be filled with love.

Unlike the house, the local market is exactly how you remember it. The distant sound of music is what draws you in like a moth to a flame, leading you to the rows of vendors selling everything from fresh vegetables to art. The noise of livestock mingles with the constant hum of the city, bringing the square to life in the same way it did during your childhood.

You weave from booth to booth, reminiscing about the way your grandmother would hold you by the hand as she introduced you to the people she shared her life with. You recognize some of them, still here selling their wares, but you eventually find yourself gravitating toward a booth, not unlike the one she once ran.

The memory is intensified when you spot the young girl hiding behind her mother's skirt, clutching a stuffed fox in her hand, and it's almost like you can see a younger version of yourself in her eyes. She smiles back at you when you offer her a small wave, and soon you're being led around the small booth as she eagerly explains the meaning of each flower to you.

Her name is Sofia, you learn, and she's about to explain the significance of tulips when you realize that you aren't alone in your crash course on flora.

"Javi!" Sofia yells excitedly, abandoning you as she rushes toward the man you know has been watching you. He's tall. Handsome. Incredibly so, with messy curls and broad shoulders covered by a knit top that perfectly emphasizes his arms. He drops to a knee as Sofia rushes to embrace him in a tight hug, and when your eyes meet his, something shifts.

Like there is only before and after this moment.

"How are you today, Little Duckling?" he asks, rubbing Sofia's back gently when she releases him from her grasp. "Selling lots of flowers?"

"Lots of roses," she groans, her smile morphing into a look of disgust.

It causes you to laugh, and Javi glances up at you, a flame erupting in your chest that you quickly try to dampen. Something unspoken passes between you, and you wonder if he feels it too, but then he focuses again on Sofia. "Roses are pretty gross, aren't they?"

She nods. "I think tulips are better."

"Yeah," he agrees, turning back toward you, but you're already gone. "I think they are, too."

"These are for you," Sofia explains the moment you step into the booth the following week. She's holding a brilliant bouquet of yellow tulips out for you to take, and when you attempt to refuse, she reaches out for your hand, gently wrapping your fingers around the stems until you have no choice but to accept them.

You shake your head regardless. "I didn't buy these, Sofia."

She smiles brightly, eagerly letting you in on the secret she's already tried and failed to keep. "They're from Javi."

Javi, the man who has infiltrated your thoughts for the better part of the last week. The entire week if you're being completely honest, no matter how hard you tried to resist. A quick search had granted you far more information than you perhaps wanted to know. You learn that he grew up in the olive business, that he writes for film, and that he's able to buy you far more flowers than you could ever afford. You know already that there's no way for your life to fit into his, but it does little to dull the ache you feel.

"Are they now?" you ask her, tilting your head as you look to Sofia's mother, Helene, for confirmation. Her response is nothing more than a knowing glance before she returns to another customer.

"Tulips," Sofia begins, standing a bit taller as she begins her lecture, "represent soul mates. He said the yellow reminds him of you. Of his Mariposa."

Your eyes widen. "A butterfly?"

"Specifically a yellow butterfly," comes his accented voice from behind you. You find him in a yellow shirt that hangs loosely over his shoulders, and you wonder if he chose it on purpose. "But yes, a butterfly. Thanks for helping me pick them out, Little Duckling," he finishes, winking at Sofia before she scampers back to assist her mother.

"You didn't have to do this," you tell him the moment you're alone, unsure of what else to say.

"I wanted to." It's a simple statement, one that immediately threatens to counteract any resolve you might have. "Plus, Sofia insisted that I buy the pretty girl some flowers."

The two of you observe as Sofia cunningly convinces another buyer to change from roses to tulips. "I suppose she is rather convincing."

"Can I be convincing, too?" he asks playfully. "Would you care to join me for a walk?"

You almost say no, but what feels like a whisper of the wind convinces you to say otherwise. "Walk me home?"

Javi nods, taking a step in the direction of the hill you climb each day. How he knows where you live, you don't ask, but this is a small town, and you've already learned that most of the community will be rabid with discussion tomorrow about Javi Gutierrez and the newcomer together on the cliffside.

The walk is, at first, spent in silence, although it doesn't feel uncomfortable. It feels nice to have someone beside you, filling the space in a way you haven't felt in a long time. Your reasons for traveling to Spain had been about more than just your grandmother's estate, and you feel a sense of ease by his side.

"She reminds me a bit of myself," you offer as you start the climb. "Sofia, that is."

"How so?"

"I grew up here. That's my grandmother's house," you point to the home you're heading toward. "I spent every summer until I was ten visiting her and I'd join her at the market every week just like Sofia does. I'm just back now to get it ready for sale."

You both stop at the end of the drive, taking in the yard that's still thick with thistles and overgrown herbs. "I would have taken care of it if I'd known," he tells you.

It's an odd statement, one that you aren't quite sure what to make of. "That wasn't your responsibility. Plus, you weren't even here," you continue, exposing the fact that you already know more about him than he likely knows about you.

Javi scuffs his canvas shoes against the earth. "I still would've taken care of it. Carmen was a wonderful woman."

It shouldn't surprise you, really, that he would have come into contact with your grandmother at some point, not in a place as tight-knit as this. Not when you know he's spent his entire life here too, and you wonder if you crossed paths in a different life, too. "You knew her?"

"She used to let me pick the lemons," he notes with a soft smile, stepping toward the two trees covered in yellow fruit at the edge of the yard. He moves forward, closing his eyes as he breathes in their fragrance.

"My grandfather planted them for her as a wedding gift," you explain, joining him. "She said that the scent calmed her nerves."

"It calms mine, too," he says with a sigh. The unspoken seems to be louder than the little he admits, but you don't say anything, letting him process whatever it is that seems to have a grip on his mind. "What happened to your grandfather?" he asks eventually.

You consider the roots at the base of the tree and the way the short truck barely seems to support the weight of the leaves and fruit at the top. "He passed away when they were still young. They only had a couple of years together before he got sick."

"And she never remarried," he replies, more of a statement than a question.

"No. She didn't."

A beat passes, and the two of you stand again in silence, golden light bathing you both. When the moment breaks, when his dark eyes take in your form, you feel the fire ignite again, the blush creeping into your cheeks until he nods toward the garden behind you. "How are things going here?"

You turn, letting out a breath. "I..." you start, and then you hear it again. The reminders she's left behind for you.

You don't have to shoulder everything.

"It's a little overwhelming, to be honest."

"I could help," he offers, nervous energy radiating off him, matching the feeling you have in your bones. Like you're both flying a little too close to the sun and if you aren't careful, you might get burned.

Javi, you quickly learn, is not a gardener. But for what he lacks in domestic skills, he makes up for with his company, quickly charming you as you instruct him on how to take out the dead plants and clear the land to make space for new ones.

In turn, he shows you his home. He takes you to the places you remember from your childhood. He drives you along the cliffs, your hair whipping in the wind, making you feel more carefree than ever. And in the evenings, after you've shared glasses of his homemade limoncello, he lets you fall asleep against his shoulder. He introduces you to the films that made him want to write, even if you can't seem to figure out why he's stopped writing now.

Despite the overwhelming scale of his life, he fits into yours as though he's always been there. You talk about what feels like nothing, even when it also feels like everything. From the way you take your tea to the places you want to go. The foods you couldn't live without and the kinds of things you like to read.

When he learns what you're most afraid of, you're standing near a dock that sits on the far reaches of his compound.

"Come on, Mariposa," he begs in the voice you can already recognize as the one he drops into just before he gets into trouble. It's light, completely unlike the man you expected him to be when you read article after article about the controversy surrounding his business years before. "It's just water."

A shake of your head confirms your denial to follow. "I don't swim, Javi." He raises an eyebrow, moving closer to you before carefully taking your hand in his like he's afraid you might break if he grips too hard. You roll your eyes, but you let him lead you toward the waves, your sandals echoing on the wooden dock. "You're not going to change my mind."

He stops at the edge, turning toward you before letting your hand fall back into place. In one quick motion, he grips the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. His shorts are discarded next, leaving him in just his boxers, and you barely catch a glimpse of the grin on his face before he lets himself fall back into the water.

"Javi!" you scream, immediately fearful that he's made a mistake. That he didn't actually mean to fall into the water. You rush to the end of the dock just as he reappears, head bobbing up past the surface as he shakes some of the water from his hair. "Don't ever do that again," you scold, shifting so your legs hang over the side, feet dangling in the waves. Close enough, your mind reminds you, causing you to grip a little tighter on the boards you sit on.

"You've really never swam in the Mediterranean?" he asks, floating closer to you, his arms swinging up onto the dock to hold him out of the water at your side.

"Never," you state.

"Will you?" he questions honestly, growing a bit more serious, "before you leave?"

You hesitate, unsure of what to tell him. Unsure that, at this rate, you'll ever convince yourself to go at all. "Maybe." He seems to accept your answer as he pushes back off the dock. "What are you afraid of, then?" you ask.

He dips down beneath the surface for a moment, causing you to hold your breath until you can see him once more. "I was afraid of my father, once," he explains, arms swaying through the water to keep him afloat. "He was not a kind man. But when he got sick, I think I realized that, really, I was never afraid of him. I was simply afraid to let myself love him."

"Why?" you question, even if the answer already echoes in your mind.

"Because everyone I love leaves."

The summer races by. Javi helps you repaint the house, the two of you spending hours breathing in the fumes and ending up with more color on you than on the walls. He hires someone to fix the floor in the kitchen, even after you protested that the house was your responsibility. He works in the garden at your side, Sofia and her mother joining you as you plant new blooms where old ones once grew.

You're kneeling next to him, both of you covered in dirt, when you realize that he's not patting the soil down firmly enough for the plants to root. You stop him with a laugh, instinctively taking his hands in your own, shifting so your knees are touching. "Like this, gentle," you breathe out, guiding him the same way your grandmother had done for you.

The pads of your fingers burn as they linger on his skin, and neither of you speaks when you pull back, the silence deafening for the first time in weeks until Sofia races to join you.

"Mariposa, I found a butterfly!" she exclaims, holding her hands out to show you the beautiful creature perfectly balanced on her fingertips. "Just like you!"

"It's beautiful," you note, wishing you had your phone with you to take a picture to save for later, for when you were missing this place and these people.

"She is," Javi notes from beside you, and it's only later that you learn that he hadn't been looking at the butterfly at all.

"He's a good man," Helene notes as you watch Javi carry Sofia's sleeping form, the two of you trailing after them on the cliffside. "And he looks at you like you're the sun."

You don't know how to respond, your focus solely on the person you're quickly finding it difficult to live without. You've desperately tried to keep some space between you and Javi throughout your time in Mallorca. To put the breaks on what feels like something quickly speeding out of control. But with each passing day, you find yourself wanting.

Wanting to give in to the thought that maybe you would adjust to the massive scope of his existence. Wanting to stay here, on the island, the way your grandmother had. Wanting to pull him into your bedroom and give in to the desire that now regularly overcomes every muscle in your body. Wanting to know what it would be like to have his lips on yours.

"He's my friend," you lie, to yourself and to the woman beside you.

Helene hums. "Sofia will miss you when the house sells," she says softly, and you know she's talking about more than just her daughter.

"I know."

Someone buys your grandmother's home.

The buyer isn't disclosed, but it puts a definitive end date on your time in Spain. You don't tell Javi, but he seems to know anyway, even if he never brings it up. You notice a difference, though, in the way he's acting. The way he'll stand closer when you're both tending to the garden or the soft hand he keeps on the small of your back when you walk through the market.

None of it changes your mind.

He takes you to the cliffs the day before you're scheduled to leave, silence lingering between you. You let him take your hand in his, let him guide you from his jeep and lead you down a well-trod path to what feels like the end of the earth.

And when you step to the very edge, the water below flickering specks of gold as it crashes against the rocky shore, your shoulders tense. It frightens you. Both the vast expanse of the sea and the emotions swirling inside you, and your eyes fall shut as you breathe deeply.

It's only when he steps behind you, arms gently wrapping around your waist in the way you've longed for them to all summer, that you relax. "Trust me, Mariposa," he whispers against your ear, "open your eyes."

So you do.

Music envelopes you when you step into the safety of his living room, the space bathed in the last of the golden light as the sun sets on your final evening in Spain. You don't speak, you don't think you can when he draws you back into his arms, swaying slowly to the record he's set to play.

"I started writing again." His confession hangs in the air, a silent plea for you to stay, because while he's never told you why he stopped writing, you know exactly why he's started.

"Javi," you return, your voice begging for him to stop, to let this be the end and let it be easy. To let you make a clean break the way you know you have to. But you can't even manage to convince yourself. You only hold him tighter, and you don't stop him when he guides your lips to meet his.

It's gentle, the way he holds you like you're the most precious thing on earth. Surrounded by reminders of his wealth and status, but with a gaze that only sees you. He finds the straps of your sundress, sliding them over your skin until it floats to your feet. You find the buttons of his shirt, delicately undoing them one at a time until you can push the fabric from his shoulders.

He lowers you to the ground once you're both bare, his lips tracing a path to your center until he's settled between your legs, one of his hands stretching to lace his fingers with yours as you arch into his mouth. When he presses into you, you finally feel whole, and he guides you higher and higher until you're certain you float amongst the stars.

Javi murmurs into your skin when he collapses against you.

"Don't leave."

The morning sun warms you as you stand on the dock, waiting for the boat that will bring you home. Tears still threaten to spill over, the same way they have since you slipped quietly from Javi's arms this morning as he slept. You turn back to look at your grandmother's home atop the cliff, sitting above the town that has felt more like home than the one you're returning to, when a small shape appears along the road that leads to the top.

Sofia.

It takes time for her to reach you, but her form is unmistakable, and once she's close enough she races down the dock. "You can't leave, Mari!" She's in your arms the instant she reaches you, your duffle bag abandoned at your feet so you can fall to your knees and cling to her just as tightly as she's clinging to you. "I have to show you my new house!" she cries into your skin.

Helene appears at the end of the dock, and you meet her gaze instantly. You don't even need to ask the question for her to confirm the answer.

They were the ones who bought your grandmother's house.

How, you weren't sure. You knew how much it sold for, and how distant the price was from their means. Still, the tears fall freely, and you bury your face in the crook of Sofia's neck until Helene encourages you to look up at her. Her gaze tries to convey something she isn't supposed to tell you. Something you were never supposed to know.

But as the boat finally arrives, shaking the dock you stand on, everything clicks into place.

You find him in the garden. Not the one you'd carefully nurtured at your grandmother's house, the same house Sofia would now grow up in, but the one just outside his home. He'd followed you around one evening, listening intently as you outlined where everything could go - the raised beds, the irrigation system, the greenhouse, the lemon trees - all overlooking the sea he so loved.

The sea that reminds you of him.

He's facing away from you, wearing the same thing he was the day you met, his shoulders slumped slightly as he takes in the space in front of him. It's empty, the same way you'd felt when you'd arrived. The same way you supposed he's felt for longer than he lets on. Until somehow, some way, your souls found each other.

When he turns, the world stops, and you know this time that there is only before and after this moment.

Your breath hitches when he wraps you in his embrace, his hands tenderly pulling you closer. When he kisses you with a silent promise, it feels like returning home. And as the breeze swirls the fabric of your skirt against your legs, it brings with it the faint scent of lemon and the whisper of the words your grandmother once told you.

Emptiness can always be filled with love.

a/n: Let me take you on a quick journey. Months ago, @alyssamariag created a Spotify playlist aptly titled "javi g's living room after he drives you through the cliffs." It's 97% of what I listen to while working. Unbeknownst to me, @imdrinkingpedro created a drabble that wove the music into an incredible story about two souls who found each other amongst the lemon trees. Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago, when I was looped in so we could collaborate on something extra special for the one and only Javi G.

To continue your story, if you haven't yet read the original drabble by @imdrinkingpedro, which is set after the events of this work, please read HERE. It's gonna melt your heart. PLUS, go check out the recipe for a drink inspired by Mariposa HERE.

For your listening enjoyment, you can find the playlist HERE, and please go see the artwork created by @alyssamariag that brought this all together HERE.

#pedrotober #pedrotober 2024 #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez #lurking and writing #The Pedro Pascal Holy Trinity Shared Brain Cell Collective

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