#obeys the command without hesitation

[colonel-bastard]

this is the exact moment i knew i shipped it

[rafegetinmybed]

rafe is touched starved... so he fucks you in the backseat of his jeep.

rafe's truck rumbled beneath you as he navigated the roads of obx, his grip on the steering wheel tight and firm. you watched him from the corner of your eye, his rugged profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. he was touched starved, and you found more and more reasons to touch him.

"you alright over there?" rafe asked, his voice gruff and low. you could hear the smile in his words, and it sent a thrill down your spine.

"just enjoying the view," you replied, your hand finding its way to his thigh. his muscles tensed beneath your touch, and he let out a low groan.

"careful," he warned, his eyes never leaving the road. "i'm trying to drive here, sweetheart."

you laughed, your hand inching higher. "i think you can handle it."

rafe's hand found yours, his grip firm as he guided your hand to his crotch. his erection strained against his jeans, and you felt a surge of desire.

"is this what you want?" he asked, his voice rough. you nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you squeezed him through the denim.

without warning, rafe pulled the truck over to the side of the road. he turned to you, his eyes dark with desire. "get in the backseat," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

you obeyed, scrambling over the center console and into the backseat. rafe followed, his body covering yours as he claimed your mouth in a fierce kiss. his hands roamed your body, fumbling with the buttons of your shirt and jeans until you were naked beneath him.

"fuck," he growled, his eyes raking over your naked body. "you're so goddamn beautiful."

you reached for him, your hands fumbling with his belt buckle as you pulled it loose. he helped you, his movements urgent as he shed his clothes. his cock sprang free, hard and thick, and you licked your lips at the sight of it, your hand stroking his hard length. "fuck, angel," he groaned, his hips thrusting into your palm.

"i need you," rafe said, his voice raw with desire.

he positioned himself between your legs, his cock nudging at your entrance. "you ready for me?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

you nodded, your body aching for him. rafe didn't hesitate, thrusting into you with one powerful stroke. you gasped at the sensation,  your back arching off the seat as your body stretched to accommodate him.

"fuck, angel, you feel so damn good," rafe groaned, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. your nails digging into his back as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper.

the truck rocked with the force of your passion, the windows fogging up as you moved together. rafe's hands found your breasts, his fingers rolling and pinching your nipples. you arched into his touch, your body coiling tighter and tighter.

"i'm close," you panted, your body on the brink. rafe's movements became more urgent, his thrusts deeper and harder.

"come for me, baby," he growled, his hand slipping between your legs to find your clit. he circled it with his thumb, and you exploded around him, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire.

rafe followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he came, filling you with his hot cum. he collapsed on top of you, his breath hot against your neck and his cock still buried deep inside you.

you lay there in the backseat of rafe's truck, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

"fuck, that was so good," hepanted, his voice raw with emotion. you smiled, your heart swelling with love and desire.

"yeah, it was," you agreed, a lazy smile spreading across your face as you traced circles on his toned chest.

"you know what this means, right?" he asked, a wicked grin spreading across his face. you raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"what?" you asked, your voice breathless. rafe leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

"round two," he chuckled, his hand slipping between your legs once again. you gasped, your body already responding to his touch.

[anantaru]

・✶ ｡ synopsis — capitano loves teaching his darling how it feels to receive pleasure by a real man <3

warnings — inexperienced reader & naive ?? reader, petnames used: good girl, size kink/size difference, age gap ? (he's mentioned as being older), fem! reader <3

the thought of capitano teaching you about pleasure and passion was unbelievably hot to the point where you couldn't wait for it to happen again and again.

yes, he's older and more experienced than you, so of course you believe whatever he tells you and certainly won't question all of the depraved things he'd ask you to do, the harbinger obviously know better than you do, correct? these thoughts never failed to echo in your mind as you found herself alone with capitano, the strongest and mysterious harbinger whose very presence sent your mind in a daze.

he towers above your smaller frame with his dark eyes piercing through the dim light of the room, the silent command in his gaze strong enough to send an entire army to its defeat.

you couldn't lie to yourself, especially not when it came to him— and you felt a thrilling mix of fear and anticipation as he sank inside for the first time, making your pretty mouth part with a high gasp as he pressed himself through your tiny hole— first his thick tip splitting you open, then his inches rubbing through you, his movements deliberate and controlled yet never too much where it could hurt you.

although before he proceeds, his scarred hand reaches out to your face, gently tilting your chin up to meet his focused eyes.

"you must trust me, you're aware of that, correct?" capitano's deep voice resonates through you, each word a promise of what was about to come as he begins to thrust into you gently, his next following words accompanied by deep grunts and groans, "only then i will teach you on how to receive the pleasure only i can give you."

you nod immediately, eager to feel more, your heart pounding in your chest as his experience in the bedroom was certainly undeniable— not only that but it was sexy, hot as the flames of a pyro user as the authority in his voice made you ache to comply, to please him too with all you can.

the rush of excitement at the prospect of being guided by someone who knew exactly what he was doing was enthralling as your body showed him such, and if you weren't so cock drunk, you'd notice just how hard and messily you're squeezing him right now, your pussy drooling and messing him up until he knows he's yours.

his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "wrap your legs around me," and begins to instruct, his voice a low growl that made your back arch up immediately.

without hesitation you obey, your legs encircling his broad waist as the closeness was beginning to turn intoxicating, feeling like minutes before you could feel true solace as you felt the strength of his body pressing against yours the more he'd add on speed and strength.

"good girl, very good," he murmurs proudly, his breath hot against your skin as one of his hands slowly slide down your sweat covered stomach before reaching your clit, "now, relax, alright? let me show you how to feel every touch, every sensation of me,"

his hand moves with practiced ease on your clit as he pinches it, tugs and teased it, rubbing over the pearl and igniting a trail of fire wherever he applied pressure the most as your body was responding to his every touch, your senses heightened by the sheer dominance he exuded.

"focus on my touch," he commands softly, your hips curving upwards so that you'd be able to get his cock to sink even further inside of you.

"feel how your body responds to me,"

capitano fucks you with purpose, tugging your hips deeper onto his cock with every grind as your legs begin to shake, the blur in your eyes making it difficult for you to see anything more than his panting demeanor— not only that but his cock was huge, splitting you apart like he's meant to do that, as if there was nothing more than this moment in your life which was deemed important.

the warmth of his drags against your walls pooled into your veins and flesh as his cock fucks and fucks and lets you squeeze his inches in and out until you end up hiccuping of being so full and satiated, almost feeling stupid as he sent currents of electricity straight to your core.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[misaerabl]

Sevika giving you backshots + The cabin shaking from her fucking you

CW : cabin shaking from sevika fucking you, strap on sex, strap referred to as cock and dick, established relationship, not proofread, PURE SMUT CONTEXT : okay I'm at an outing right now and there's these small triangular cabins that fits only a mattress and I'm sleeping in one. It moves when there's like huge movements and of course my mind went THERE immediately.

After a long, exhausting month, you and Sevika finally treated yourselves to a well-deserved getaway. The small private resort was quiet, with a pool glistening under the night sky and a small, cozy cabin and campfire just for the two of you.

You spent the evening by the campfire, sharing quiet laughter and trading sweet nothings, the warmth of the flames mirroring the glow in her eyes. When the fire died down and the night stretched deeper, you slipped inside the tiny cabin.

Of course, your sweet conversations soon melted into something more. Soft kisses grew heated, hands wandering as you found yourself straddling her hips, your body pressed to hers while your lips moved together with growing hunger.

She breaks the kiss, her breath hitching as she looks up at you with heavy lidded eyes. A small smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, her hands still gripping your hips tightly. "Your clothes, baby. Take them off" Sevika tugged at your pants.

Her hands slide up your chest, pushing your shirt up and off, her calloused fingers tracing the contours of your stomach. She leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and up your neck, nipping gently.

As she kisses and bites at your neck, her other hand reaches between your legs, rubbing at your clit through your pants. After a moment, she pulls back, looking up at you with a possessive gleam in her eye.

Her hands moving quickly to undo her pants. She pushes them down her legs along with her underwear, revealing a black strap-on harness and her thick purple rubber cock.

You whimpered at the sight, and her smile only grew. "You want this, sweet girl?" she purred, though she already knew the answer.

Without waiting for a response, she shifted your position, pinning you beneath her with effortless strength, her pants down to her knees as she pulled down on yours.

She lifts your shirt, and you bite down on the fabric, muffling a gasp as you watch her trail soft, lingering kisses down your stomach — each one tender, gentle, and laced with love.

She brings her fingers to your lips, voice low and commanding. "Spit, baby," she whispers, eyes locked on yours. You obey without hesitation, and she smirks, using your saliva to prepare your cunt with deliberate, torturous care.

Her touch is slow, intentional — dragging out every second as she watches your body respond to her. "Look at you," she coos, her fingers gliding over sensitive skin, "so good for me..."

Her fingers curl inside you, finding your g-spot and pressing firmly against it. "You're so wet for me baby girl." She withdraws her fingers and stands up, pulling the strap-on into place and adjusting it over her hips. "Turn over."

You turn over, presenting your ass to her, and she lets out a satisfied hum, giving the base of the strap-on a firm tug. "Such a pretty little ass,"

You arch your back, sticking your bottom out further, and she gives your ass a firm slap, making you yelp. She chuckles, dark and low in her throat, before reaching between your legs again. "Open for me, sweetheart."

You spread your thighs wider, giving her better access, and she slowly pushes two fingers inside you, curling them up to hit that spot she knows drives you crazy. She works her fingers in and out, stretching you slowly, her other hand resting on your lower back to keep you arched.

Your body pushes back against her fingers, greedy and needy. She withdraws them suddenly, making you whimper. She spits on her palm once, twice, coating the thick shaft of the strap-on. She places one hand on your hip possessively, lining herself up with your entrance.

With a slow, steady pressure, she pushes against you, the head of the strap-on slipping inside inch by inch.

She gives you time to adjust, her hand squeezing your hip, before pushing in another inch. You gasp. "Good girl," she pauses. "Take it like a good girl."

You're taking it deeper now, her thick rubber length filling you up completely. She starts to thrust slower, deeper, hitting your sweet-spot with each push. The cabin starts to rattle around you, feeling the walls shaking as she picks up speed, slamming into you harder and harder.

As she gets deeper, she starts to move her hips slowly, pulling out slightly before thrusting back in, filling you completely. She wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back onto her as she drives into you over and over, the white mattress banging against the wall. "You like that?”

Sevika's thrusts grow faster and more powerful, each one sending a shockwave through your body. The cabin shakes vigorously, the mattress shaking beneath you. She leans over your back, biting your shoulder as she fucks you intensely. The scent of sex and sweat fills the small space.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as she pounds into you mercilessly. The cabin squeaks. You watched the mattress moving on the floor with each powerful thrust. “F-Fuck… Mmmph!”

Sevika's breathing becomes heavier, her arm tightening around your waist as she lifts your bottom higher, angling the strap-on to hit that spot over and over with every thrust. "Shit, baby!”

You can feel the vibrations of the cabin's shaking deep in your core, matching the rhythm of Sevika's merciless pounding. Your protests become muffled screams as she hits you deep.

The small triangular cabin trembled, its windowpanes rattling with each jolt. The door creaked on its hinges, slipping open just enough to let the cool night air seep inside — a quiet witness to the relentless shaking.

"Can you feel it? The whole damn cabin shaking just from me fucking your perfect pussy" Each thrust is calculated, deep, hitting exactly the right spot to send sparks shooting through your vision.

"Touch yourself, baby.”

You manage to get one hand down between your legs, rubbing your clit desperately as she pounds into you. The cabin is filled with the sounds of slapping flesh, your moans, and the creaking of it's own material. She sees your body tensing, your whimpers getting higher pitched.

"You’re so close, aren’t you?" she breathes, her voice dripping with hunger. Her pace quickens, thrusts hitting deeper, more relentless — the mattress sliding across the cabin floor with every movement.

She leans over your back, her body pressing into yours, and covers your hand with hers, fingers working your clit in tandem. "Come for me, baby," she whispers, lips brushing against your ear like a promise.

As her fingers cover yours, pressing down on your clit with just the right amount of pressure, you shatter. Your entire body convulses, your pussy clamping down on the strap-on inside you.

When it’s over, you both collapse onto the mattress, bodies tangled and chests heaving as you catch your breath. The air is thick with warmth, skin sticky with sweat, but neither of you care.

You turn to face her, cheeks flushed, and she mirrors you, a lazy grin spreading across her lips. The room is quiet now, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the rhythmic pounding of your heart.

Then, almost at the same time, you both start giggling, the sound light and breathless. "I swear the whole cabin was shaking," you laugh, wiping sweat from your brow.

Sevika chuckles, running a hand down your side. "Yeah? Maybe we should test how sturdy it really is," she teases, her voice still rough around the edges, eyes dark with lingering want.

A/N: i literally just wrote it and hit post, i WILL be re-reading this later cuz yk damn well I'm drunk af

[art-by-jas]

That's my Girl (NSFW)

Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: You riding Robby

TAGS: Dirty Talk, Riding, Spit Kink, Slight-Breeding Kink

WC: 1.3k

Robby's hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him. His dark, intense gaze roams over your body, brimming with unabashed desire. He leans in close, his hot breath caressing your ear. "You're driving me crazy," he whispers hoarsely. Gently, he moves your hair aside and kisses your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His hands wander, exploring every inch of you with a touch that is both gentle and possessive. He pulls you closer, his body growing more aroused by the minute.

Your hands roam his muscular frame, tracing the strong planes of his back and chest. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and every touch sends electric tingles through you. Your breath is hot against his neck as you whisper, "I can't get enough of you."

Robby groans softly, his body shuddering with desire. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring yours with a desperate, delicious hunger. His hands trail down your curves. Vulgar squelching sounds of your pussy as his hips moved with increasing powerful thrusts, his gaze fixed intently on your face, which was etched with rapture. He longed to forever preserve that moment of pure ecstasy. With each movement, Robby's necklace brushes against your skin, sending a cool, tingling sensation through you.

Robby slips his free hand down to find your swollen clit, making you acutely aware of how close you are to the edge. "That's my girl," he huffs, feeling you squeeze around him. The satisfaction radiates from Robby as he praises you, his low, rough voice whispering, "You take me so well. I love feeling you like this," his hands roaming your body possessively.

Robby's words of praise wash over you, his touch sending delicious shivers down your spine. You can palpably feel his desire, and the knowledge that he's reveling in your shared intimacy only heightens your arousal.

As Robby's hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer, your body responds to his touch. He leans in and kisses you hard, his mouth hot and demanding as he explores the curves and planes of your body. Robby's lips glide up your neck, his beard tickling your skin, and he chuckles into the crook of your neck, feeling you shiver beneath him. His teeth graze your pulse point, nipping lightly but just enough to send tingles down to your core. Robby's warm, heavy breath fans across your skin, thick with desire.

Robby's movements become more urgent, his body rocking up against yours with a possessive intensity. He can feel your body tightening around him, and he seems to revel in the effect he's having on you. Leaning closer, his mouth finds your ear as he whispers, "That's it. Let me hear you, baby. You're so damn perfect," he murmurs, his voice low and admiring.

"You know, you're not so bad yourself," you retort with a coy smile, your words coming out in a breathy gasp. Robby chuckles, amused by your snarky comeback.

With a smirk, he delivers a playful slap to your backside, the satisfying thud echoing in the room. You bite him in retaliation, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as his body tenses under your teeth.

"You're going to pay for that," Robby growls, his gaze heavy and intense as he cups your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. The heat radiating off his body is palpable.

He leans in close, his mouth hovering just above yours. "Open your mouth, baby," he rasps, his voice rough with want. Without thinking, you obey his command, your lips parting. Robby seizes the opportunity, leaning in to spit into your open mouth. His eyes hold your gaze, a satisfied, almost predatory gleam. He whispers in a low, commanding voice that left no room for refusal, "Swallow it." 

Without hesitation, you swallow, the taste of him mingling with your own. He looks pleased and a little smug, as if he knows he has you exactly where he wants you.

"Good girl," he says, his hand still cupping your face. "You can taste me on your tongue, can't you? I want you to remember that taste - remember who you belong to." Your cheeks flush at his words, but you can't deny their truth. You feel the possessiveness radiating from him, which makes you feel safe, desired, and loved all at once.

"I'm yours," you whisper, your voice cracking with emotion. Robby's grip on your face softens at your words, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable.

"Damn right you are," he says gruffly. "And I'm never letting you go." As the passion between you intensifies, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in this intimate moment. You are completely lost in the sensations coursing through your body, in the sound of Robby's ragged breathing and the heat of his touch.

Robby's breathing grows ragged, punctuated by a low, guttural moan. "God, I- I can't hold back much longer," he gasps, his words coming out in a strained rush. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, dark and wild with pleasure.

Robby's primal instincts ignite as you beg him, your nails scratching down his shoulder blades while you rest your head against his chest. "You want it, baby? Tell me what you need," he growls, his words strained by the last vestiges of his self-control.

Gripping you tighter, he pulls you onto his lap, your body responding to his touch, his words, the possessive gleam in his eyes. Desperate for release, your fingers dig into his skin. "Robby, please, I need... I need you to-" you pant breathlessly, your voice breaking with desire.

Robby knows exactly what you need and is quick to respond. He doesn't make you wait, answering your desperate pleas with guiding hands and a body driven by equal need. "That's it, baby girl," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "I've got you. Let go."

With a cry, you surrender, your body tightening around him as you tumble into ecstasy. Robby holds you close, his arms secure, his lips murmuring sweet, dirty nothings into your ear as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

Robby's intense gaze locks with yours as the sensations begin to subside. His voice, rough with desire, whispers, "Where do you want me?"

You meet his dark eyes, your desire evident. "I want you to come in me," you respond, your voice breathless yet confident. "Fill me up; make me yours."

Robby's eyes darkened further, a primal force stirring within him. A low rumble rose from his chest as his hands tightened possessively around your body, pulling you close.

"God, I want you so bad," you pant into his ear, your words sending a shiver down his spine. "I want you to come for me, Robby. I want to feel you deep inside me."

Each whisper plea stokes the roaring fire within him. Robby let out a strangled moan, his grip on your hips tightening desperately. As you sink your teeth into his neck, his body goes taut, like a rope stretched to its limit. The bite marks trigger his release - he comes with a strained groan, burying his face in your hair, trembling as he lets go.

His body still trembling from the aftershocks of his climax, he pulls you against him. "You're going to be the death of me," he mutters hoarsely into your neck.

You grin against his shoulder, savoring the wicked satisfaction of seeing him in this state. "You love it, remember?" you tease, trailing kisses up his neck and tasting the salt of his skin. Robby gazes down at you, his expression softening with affection. You reach up to gently cup his face, your thumb brushing his jawline. "I love you, Robby," you whisper, your eyes shining with sincerity.

Robby's breath catches as he hears your words, his eyes searching yours for any doubt. But he sees only a deep, sincere love reflected at him. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, and his hands tighten on your body. "I love you too, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything."

MASTERLIST

[misswynters]

Scientific purposes

drabble

featuring. viktor x reader

warnings. suggestive, kissing in the council room

requested. @pinklunarprincess

In council chambers which were dimly lit, the last vestiges of daylight filtering through the tall, arched windows. The air carried the faint scent of ink and parchment, mingling with the lingering tension of earlier debates. You remained seated at the head of the long mahogany table, meticulously reviewing the day’s proposals when Viktor entered. He moved quietly, his mechanical brace clicking softly against the polished floor. His golden eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. This wasn’t his first visit today. He had come by twice already under the guise of needing your counsel. But this time, his intent seemed different, and the way he locked the door behind him sent a spark of anticipation down your spine.

“I see you’ve returned,” you remarked without looking up, your tone laced with playful exasperation. “What pressing matter is it this time, Viktor?”

He hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “There are… complexities in the hextech approval process. I thought it best to speak with you directly.” His voice was calm, measured, but the slight tremor betrayed him.

You tilted your head, finally meeting his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, and it ignited something within you. “Complexities, hmm? Are you sure this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Not with you here,” he replied softly, his honesty catching you off guard.

Rising from your seat, you took a slow step toward him, watching as his confidence wavered under your scrutiny. “You seem rather insistent tonight,” you mused, the faintest of smirks tugging at your lips. “Tell me, are these complexities truly about hextech? Or is there something else on your mind?”

His breath hitched as you closed the distance between you. “I—” he began, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. His gaze flickered to your lips, and he took a small step back, his resolve clearly wavering. “It would be improper…”

“Improper?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Since when has that stopped you from seeking what you want?”

Your words left him momentarily speechless, and you could see the war playing out behind his golden eyes. Finally, he drew in a sharp breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “You.”

You closed the remaining distance, your hands finding the lapels of his coat as you pulled him toward the chair at the center of the room. “Sit,” you commanded softly, your tone leaving no room for argument. He obeyed, his movements almost mechanical as he lowered himself into the chair.

Hovering above him, you placed one knee between his legs, your weight barely pressing against him. The intimacy of the position made him tense, his hands gripping the armrests tightly as if anchoring himself. Leaning forward, your lips ghosted over his, your breath mingling with his as you spoke. “You could’ve just said you wanted my attention, Viktor. All this talk of ‘complexities’ wasn’t necessary.”

“I…” He swallowed hard, his hands twitching as though resisting the urge to touch you. “I did not want to—overstep.”

A soft chuckle escaped you as your fingers trailed up his jaw, tilting his face to meet yours. “And yet here we are," you murmured, brushing your lips against his in the faintest of touches.

The kiss deepened quickly, his restraint crumbling as his hands finally moved to rest on your hips. The heat between you was palpable, your bodies pressing closer as the tension that had been building for weeks finally erupted. Viktor's lips were fervent against yours, his usual precision and control giving way to raw need.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his ear. "You've been driving yourself mad over this, haven't you?"

"Yes," he admitted hoarsely, his voice heavy with desperation. "You... sure are intoxicating."

Your teeth grazed the shell of his ear, drawing a shiver from him as you whispered, "Then let me consume you."

His response was immediate, his hands tightening on your waist as though afraid you might disappear. You could feel his pulse racing beneath your fingertips as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. There was something beautiful about seeing him like this. Unguarded, vulnerable, and utterly at your mercy.

"You're trembling," you noted, your tone soft but teasing. "Are you nervous, Viktor?"

He managed a faint chuckle, though his voice betrayed him. "You have a way of... unbalancing me."

You smiled, your lips hovering just above his. "Good."

taglist. @xxblairslairxx @diffusebread @ekkosh @ash-84321 @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @mammonsleftring @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

banner. @anitalenia

[08luvmailz]

𓇼 ME MISS YOU . . ਏਓ !

summary 𓍯 which he followed you because he missed you ꒰ 🧾 ꒱ fluffy life with husband

The eerie silence and the harsh wind whispers weaving through the cool night air, though it's only 5:30 in the afternoon. Crouching low, I fisted my hands through my victim's hair and chopped his head off as my breath steadied, eyes locked on the faint rustle of the bushes—a promising sign of tonight's catch.

It's been almost a year of this endless cycle, by day cuddling and having a blissful life with Mr. Crawling as you give him endless affection, or he will whine to death, and by night- killing humans to feed him. As your eyes wandered through your vision toward the unmoving dead body, your mind wavered toward your husband even though you weren't married officially.

You two are together and bonded by our souls, obeying you and listening to you even though there is a gap in speaking, never ceases to stun you every day. He waits at home, is always patient, and is always trusting. The thought of his joy warms you as you tighten your grip on your crowbar and knife.

Back at the apartment, it feels unbearable still. Mr. Crawling gazes through the door—waiting for your return. His fingers relentlessly tapped the tatami board as it echoed through the room. It's been almost an hour since she left him, she always does every day for him.

He still remembered her voice firming when she told him to stay.

He watches her moving to gather her things, his legs tucked close to his body. He knows her too well—the same command she gives every time. Stay. He doesn't think about it but wants more of her touch, only about the moment before her absence, and he clung to her as his large frame wrapped around her waist. He chirped in a low tone, full of worry and protest. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make his point without holding her back.

He pressed his face into your legs, his arms curling towards your leg, "stay" he told her as he snuggled to her, not wanting to let go, “ you’re so stubborn” she murmured, stroking his head. The gesture was a silent reassurance for him to stop worrying though she knew it wouldn't stop him from worrying.

She turns to face him as his face is still smothered to her thighs, his cold lips puckering into her skin. He doesn’t need words to tell her how he feels; the way he clings to her, his body trembles faintly, caught between his instinct to obey and his need to protect her.

As her warm fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it calmly, she told him, " Me back soon; I find food. " she promised, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to worry.”

With a final sigh, she gently pries him off, his cold finger reluctant to let go. “Stay here,” she says, her tone firmer now, though her heart aches at the look he gives her. He didn't move and obeyed her, as she smiled one last time and crouched to his level to kiss his forehead, " I'll be back soon. I Promise," She said one last time to open and lock the door, leaving him in a trance with determination to follow her.

He was hesitant to disobey her requests and always did, lowering his head in submission. But now, in the suffocating silence, he feels the weight of her absence like a stone in his chest. He tried to wait, his attempts to distract himself with television, watching shows that helped him understand her language more, but as soon as his face glimmered when he saw the heroine with her lover cuddling in a scene. It was no use. missing her so dearly that his pull to follow her was too strong, an instinct older than obedience.

She is his world, his reason, and the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the night might bring, fills him with unease. Even though he knew she was capable of handling herself well, killing those people for him joyed him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her.

Making his decision wasn't easy for him, he knew he would face the consequences of her ignoring him though he shook his head, he wanted to see her, he needed her now.

He moves swiftly to the door. His movements are precise and quiet, the art of going unnoticed. He knows where she has gone—he’s watched her enough times at the window to remember the path she takes. He follows her scent, a trail as familiar to him as the rhythm of his footsteps. With every step, he feels her grace like a taut thread, pulling him closer to her.

Its darkness yawned wide like the mouth of a beast. He hesitates for a moment, hearing her voice in his mind, Stay. Wait for me. But he presses on.

He moved carefully, his body blending into the dark foliage as his fingers gripped the pole lamp. He saw her gripping tightly to her crowbar and massively hitting her victim, he watched in awe as pride swelled in his chest at the sight of her—strong, capable, everything he admires.

Though he knows the facade she's been growing through back there in his world, he saw her unreality in a tick of time, and by the hanging thread of webs-he had been with her, and he knew she was close to insanity. Was she close? Or she's already been insane nevertheless, he will always be there with her.

She didn't notice him at first, focused on the task ahead. But then a chitter of a familiar voice captivates your attention as you whip your head, your coat shadowing your expression of bloodlust to confusion. There he is, his head tilted with his adoring smile. She shook her head with a giggle, he never listened to her as she pointed him to get closer to him.

He lowered his body as his smile creeped out to his ear, he skitters toward her, his movements quick but careful as he came faster to her and clung to her lower body as his face smothered to her bloodied coat "I miss you, I love you. " he said with a chitter as his cold hands hold her bloodied ones and directly placed into his head.

You sighed in intent and ruffled his hair as you looked down and cupped his face with our bloodied hands "You didn't listen to me, But I forgive you. " You crouched to his level as his hands wandered to your body and cupped your face and smothered a messy kiss on your lips, his cold lips puckering your bottom lip leaving a chitter from him. "Me love you, " he told you as he came closer to your body, his large frame almost hugging your smaller ones. You giggled to him as you corrected his grammar, always forgetting the "I", " I love you, too. "

He chirps, leaning into her touch, his body vibrating with relief, he clung to her like a baby as his face looked at the bloodied streets. "Food?" He questioned her, as his hands never left hers. "Yeah, food for you. " As she pointed to the dead body beside them.

As she stands up to place the chopped meat in a plastic bag with blood, "Let's go home." her hands directing him to hold her, he stands up, his towering silhouette blending with the shadows of the city. His mind is clear, his resolve unshakable. He is with her, the love of his life, and with every consequence they will face, he knows she will be there with him as she is with him.

[juneoirs]

devoted to you ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

katsuki bakugo who makes love to you with a tenderness you didn’t know he possessed—he refuses to call it ‘fucking’ says it feels too crude, too disrespectful to describe what you both share. it’s not just about desire, it’s about love, about trust, about the quiet moments where his world feels like it begins and ends with you.

katsuki bakugo who starts by holding your hand, rough fingers brushing against your soft skin, and kisses your fingertips one by one. then your knuckles, each press of his lips slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every curve of your hand. he works his way up to your arm, leaving warm, lingering kisses along the way, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your wrist, the curve of your elbow, until he reaches the crook of your neck. he plants a few soft kisses there, his breath warm against your skin, but never leaves marks. he doesn’t need to. others might talk about ‘claiming’ but that’s not him. he doesn’t need proof for anyone else—he knows you’re his, just as much as he’s yours.

katsuki bakugo who never rushes your time together. he’s not in any hurry to get anywhere. he takes his time, savoring every moment, every touch, every sound that escapes your lips. he wants to make you feel good—not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, in ways that only he knows how. he says it’s how a man should love his woman, with care, with devotion, with the kind of passion that builds slow and steady, like a flame he never wants to burn out. it’s not just about making love—it’s about showing you, with every kiss, every touch, just how deeply he loves you.

katsuki bakugo who hangs onto every word that slips from your beautiful lips like it’s gospel. it doesn’t matter what you say, he’s ready to obey without a second thought, no hesitation, no questions asked. you want to try something new? he’s already asking how and where you want him, his crimson eyes burning with anticipation as he waits for you to guide him. show him, teach him—he’s all yours to mold.

you want to have full control, to flip the dynamic and make him yours to command? oh, that’s his favorite. the way you take the lead, the way you look down at him with that confidence he loves so much, makes his pulse race. nothing gets him going like being yours to use, to please, to satisfy. he’ll follow your every move, hang onto your every demand, and do it all with a smirk because there’s nothing he loves more than surrendering himself to you.

you want him to get on his knees and beg? he’s already there, the second the thought crosses your mind. no words needed—he knows. and when you finally do speak, telling him what you want, his knees hit the ground faster than his pride can protest. for you, pride doesn’t matter. ego doesn’t exist. it’s you—your words, your desires, your commands—and he’d do anything to give you exactly what you want.

and if he ever did say no to you, even once? well, that’s not him. no way, no chance. katsuki bakugo who jokes that you might as well shoot him in the head if he ever dared deny you.

katsuki bakugo who is absolutely, undeniably, head over heels for you—like, beyond saving. it’s almost embarrassing how smitten he is, but he couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks. if someone asks him a simple question, somehow, the whole conversation gets derailed, and suddenly, it’s all about you.

"oh, that reminds me." he’ll start, and then it’s off to the races. "my girl loves that kind of stuff. did you know she—" and there he goes, talking about your favorite foods, the way you light up when you laugh, how you always manage to make him feel like he’s the luckiest guy on the planet.

it doesn’t matter who’s listening—his friends, his colleagues, hell, even strangers. katsuki can’t stop singing your praises. he’ll call you ‘amazing’ and ‘beautiful’ like it’s a fact of life, like the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. and don’t even get him started on the future.

he’s already got it all planned out. every time he talks about you, it’s with this quiet, determined confidence. "she’s gonna be my wife one day." he’ll say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. there’s no ‘if’ in his mind, only ‘when.’ "and the mother of my brats." he adds with a little smirk, already imagining the future—kids with wild blond hair and that fiery spirit he loves so much in you.

he’s completely, utterly gone for you, and everyone knows it. and honestly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

Y'know, I think one of the things that people get wrong with conditioned whumpees is their rules. Specifically, when a whumpee was in long term captivity/training and they later get released or escape.

Most people write them as latching onto a caretaker or new whumper, and begging for new rules so they know they're doing something right. A new set of laws to live by, a new framework to behave to.

And that's... not really how conditioning works.

Conditioning means automatic reactions. Your body doing something that was trained into you without consulting your brain first.

There is no decision making. There is no choice. The trigger hits, and you are immediately performing the correct action regardless of anything else.

You're told to kneel? Your knees have already hit the ground. You're supposed to be standing in one part of the house when a certain noise is made? You've launched into movement before you even realize what you heard.

These rules are woven into the fabric of your body. And they are insurmountable. The conditioning overrides emotion, internal conflict, hesitation, beliefs, wants... everything.

Your whumpee may very well hate what is being done to them, and after the moment has passed they're cursing themself and their whumper. They're still a person on the inside. And that person is still very much alive. Most of the time, they will have some level of awareness that what's being done to them is wrong. They'll be angry. They'll be hurt. And they will hate that there is nothing they can do about it.

But the next time that trigger occurs, the response still hits them exactly the same.

So now take your whumpee out of that situation. They ran away, were rescued, were sold. They got out. Now they're with new people, a new caretaker, a new whumper. Or they're on their own and trying to make their own way in the world.

But those conditioned responses are still there.

There's no turning them off. You don't just replace them with new rules. They are in your every fibre. They have been built into the very framework of who you are.

The next time someone says the word "kneel", your knees are on the ground again. No matter where you are, or who you're with. The response happens before you can stop it. If they don't know why, everyone looks at you like you're insane. And you feel like you are.

Deconditioning is an agonizing process that takes more effort than I can even begin to describe to someone who's never experienced it.

Every time they hit that trigger, that response will still be there. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Breaking those rules down takes YEARS. And it is a constant effort that the whumpee has to choose to undergo every single time. Progress is measured milimeter by milimeter. You're told to kneel, and you kneel. You're told to kneel, and your mind catches up with the fact that you already did it— but a little sooner than it did before. Then a split second sooner. Then as you're doing it. Then you feel the impulse just before your knees hit the ground. Then you have a split-second of resistance before you go down. On and on and on and on, inching toward progress despite the fact that you're fighting with all your might. And that progress is anything but linear.

You don't just start obeying new rules. You don't latch on to your caretaker's new way of doing things and drop everything that you were conditioned to do before. These rules don't just get replaced.

Conditioning is not a belief system. It's a flinch response. Programmed deeper than the instincts you were born with.

You can be ordered not to obey the old command, and moments later when the trigger comes, you will anyway. Because in conditioning, the action comes before the choice.

These rules, these laws of your existence, come above everything else. And if your new whumper wants to replace them, they are going to have to beat the new rules into you so often and so severely that the pain becomes stronger than the old conditioning. At which point, the newly desired response will very, very slowly start to take over.

You're not swapping out new rules. You're layering new, worse conditioning on top of the old. And your brain will spend time stuck in that split-second between both responses before one finally grows stronger than the other. And even then, the change will not happen quickly.

That is what your conditioned whumpee is up against. That is what makes it such a horrible—HORRIBLE— and powerful tool.

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!mean!m!reader, sub!bucky, bucky has a degrading kink, masturbation, shitty contact names, possessive!reader, use of 'sir', and 'slut', begging, use of toys (vibrating plug), use of a blindfold, edging, degrading kink

word count: >3k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2]

a/n: this is freaky but it gets worse by the next few chapters trust me.

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

it was supposed to be a standard morning meeting. bucky’s mornings were usually smooth. coffee, briefing, you. you were his secretary, sharp, efficient, and unshakably composed. you were always ten steps ahead. nothing ruffled you, not the board, not his clients, and definitely not him.

until this morning.

you were mid-presentation, there was clean delivery, and perfect pacing, when your voice caught, just once. it was barely even a stutter. bucky, who was seated at the head of the conference table, had somehow managed to catch it.

“might need a reboot there, don’t you think?”

a couple quiet chuckles sounded, but you kept your composure, though something in your eyes went cold. you wrapped up the presentation without another hitch, before ending the meeting with yet another satisfied client.

“you okay, man?” bucky stood, sipping his coffee. “didn’t think you glitched like that.”

“close the door.” you spoke, not looking away from your tablet.

“what?” he blinked at you.

“i said, close the door.” your tone was so calm, it didn’t even register as a command at first.

bucky’s body responded before his brain even caught up. the door clicked shut. you finally set your tablet down, and walked towards him slowly.

“you think it’s funny? mocking the way i speak, in front of people? while i’m representing you?”

“it was a joke,” he said quickly, backing away from you. “come on, don’t be like that.”

“like what?” you spoke, and he swore your voice dropped an octave. “sensitive?”

bucky’s mouth opened, then closed again, seemingly at a loss for words.

“you might be my boss,” you continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “but you don’t run me. not like that. not in front of people. not ever.”

he gulped, audibly, at your words.

“and if you think you can humiliate me without consequences,” you leaned in. “you’ve clearly forgotten who keeps your world from falling apart, mr. barnes.”

his breath caught, at that moment. he should feel cornered. but instead, he was.. turned on, inexplicably, shamelessly hard.

you noticed, of course you did.

“that do it for you, huh?” you chuckled.

“shit.” he swore under his breath.

“you get off on being put in your place?” you stepped closer towards him now.

bucky gave the smallest, slightest nod, just obvious enough for you to notice.

“then you’re going to sit there, and do exactly what i say.”

“yes.”

“on your knees.”

bucky hesitated.

“i said, get on your knees, barnes.” you spoke, dropping the honorifics now.

he obeyed, slowly but surely getting on his knees.

“i don’t want to hear you speak, unless i ask you something. nod if you understand.”

he nodded.

“you don’t get to tease without consequences. you will earn your forgiveness, inch by inch.”

his breath hitched at that, and you stepped back.

“if you’re lucky, i might just forgive you.”

his eyes lit up.

“might.” you huffed. “and don’t you dare get yourself off to this. you don’t get to cum today.”

for the first time in his life, submitting felt better than being in charge.

bucky barely made it though the rest of the workday. his legs were shaky, his mind a mess. he couldn’t focus during calls or meetings, couldn’t remember basic numbers in reports. every thought of his looped back to you, the sound of the door shutting, the feeling of carpet beneath his knees, that voice, low and sharp:

‘on your knees.’

by the time he stumbled into his apartment, he was hard again, still. he dropped his briefcase on the floor, kicked his shoes off, and collapsed onto his couch. his tie was half undone, shirt wrinkled from hours of sitting with a painfully, insistent erection.

he didn’t mean to touch himself. he just.. let his fingers drift.

‘you don’t get to cum today.’

bucky cursed under his breath as his hand brushed over his clothed cock. he tried to ignore the guilt rising in his chest. you weren’t here, you wouldn’t know. he needed this, needed relief. the second he pulled his cock out, the memories flooded back. the view of you standing tall, towering over him. then, he started to stroke himself.

‘you get off on being put in your place?’

“fuck,” his grip tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut, picturing the view of you when he was on his knees. he thought about being dragged into the supply closet while the both of you were at work, bent over his own desk, your belt around his wrist as you railed him. he was so close now, pathetically gasping for air.

“fuck, uugh, oh god- aah..” he came, hard, his hips bucked off the couch. then, the guilt- no, shame, hit. his heart pounded while his cock twitched, and your last words echoed in his head, louder this time.

‘you don’t get to cum today.’

bucky sat in silence, panting. he had disobeyed you, and part of him hoped, prayed that you’d find out. because, if you were dangerous when you were mad, he couldn’t even imagine how you’d be like if you were disappointed, in him.

---

the next morning,

it had started with a confession, sort of.

you noticed first, bucky was twitchier than usual. extra attentive, overly obedient, weirdly perfect. when it was time for your break, you cornered him.

“you’ve been jerking off without asking, haven’t you?”

he freezes, visibly.

“barnes.”

“once..” he swallows.

“when?”

“y-yesterday.. i couldn’t sleep. i just-”

“and you didn’t ask.” you cut him off.

“no.”

you were quiet for a beat, too quiet.

“go to your office, and kneel.”

bucky obeyed, without a word. the moment he kneels, you walked in behind him, closing the door with that soft click. the same one that led him into all this shit in the first place.

“i gave you rules, and you followed them for a while. i was starting to think that i was being too mean to you.” you spoke, stepping behind him, and running a finger down the back of his neck. “but then you decided you could take pleasure without my permission.”

he shudders.

“you think you’re too good now? did i not give you enough?”

“no- sir, i swear, you give me everything. i just- i was desperate, couldn’t stop thinking about you..”

“you don’t get to think of me when you break my rules, barnes.”

he went silent.

“since you want to cum so bad, i’ll give you a chance.” you dragged his office chair so that you could sit in front of him. “you’re going to get yourself off right here. on my shoe.”

the humiliation hit bucky like a freight train, and he hesitated.

“go on.”

he straddled your foot, grinding slowly at first, letting the pressure build as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. your shoe was firm beneath him, unmoving.

“look at you, pathetic, desperate. you don’t get to cum, not until i say.”

“f-fuck..” he moaned softly, rutting harder now. he could feel the friction through his pants, the embarrassment only heightening his pleasure.

“feel that, barnes? you’re so hard, you’re drooling through your pants, just from my shoe.”

the words made everything worse. he whimpered, grinding down with desperate rhythm. he chased that friction, shame building in his gut and spreading all throughout his skin.

your shoe didn’t move, you made no effort to assist him, just watched.

“wanted to act like a desperate slut, now you get to cum like one.”

“i-i.. mmh..” he gasped, almost there, but he froze, stopping immediately. he remembered. he wasn’t allowed.

“good, you’re learning. keep going, slower.”

bucky obeyed with a broken sound, dragging his hips in a slower rhythm. your shoe was now ruined, slick with pre-cum that had soaked through the fabric of his slacks. he was shaking now, sweat beading at his temples, while his breath caught in broken little gasps. his thighs, and hips ached, but he didn’t dare to stop, didn’t dare to speak. he just kept grinding, like you told him to.

“you want to cum?”

his head jerked up, his pupils were blown wide as he nodded frantically.

you slapped him, just hard enough to make him snap out of his trance.

“words, barnes.” you tugged on his tie as you spoke, pulling him forwards slightly.

“yes, ugh- mmh, please.. please, let me-”

“beg properly. tell me what you’re doing.”

his face flushed, and he took a second to compose himself, before he spoke.

“i.. i’m getting myself off on your s-shoe.” he spoke, breathily. “i broke your rules, now i- fuck, i’m grinding l-like a slut.. just to cum.”

“good boy, cum for me.”

bucky cried out, his hips jerking wildly as he came in his pants. he clung onto your knee for balance. he didn’t stop moving though, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding through it. the slick mess spread further over your shoe as he rutted through the aftershocks. he pressed his forehead to your knee, before looking up at you with blown pupils. he kissed your knee gently, as if he was trying to thank you.

“that’s the last time you forget the rules.” you spoke, leaning down to lift his chin with two fingers. “isn’t it?”

“y-yes, yes sir.”

“remember this the next time you try to cum without permission.” you finally moved, sliding your shoe back, and leaving the room.

he sat there for a long moment, his breath slowing. his mind was fogged with shame, but somewhere under that haze, pride coiled in his gut. he thought he had finally pleased you, for once.

---

later that night,

bucky couldn’t sleep. he laid on his back, naked and spent. sheets twisted around his legs. he had been jerking off since the moment he got home, he couldn’t stop himself, not when it came to you. he stared at the ceiling, as if it would pardon him for his sins.

it didn’t, though. he broke the rule. you had told him, clearly, what the boundary was:

‘that’s the last time you forget the rules.’

your voice echoed in his mind.

he had disobeyed, like some needy teenager who couldn’t help himself. it was pathetic, really. hesitantly, he reached for his phone. he opened up your messages. the both of you had saved each other’s contacts with silly, quirky names. he started typing something, before deleting it. this went on and on for at least 10 minutes, before he took a deep breath, and finally mustered up the courage to send it.

boss man:

‘i’m sorry’.

minutes passed, and there was no response.

boss man:

‘i couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier.’

‘couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘i tried to wait. i swear i did.’

still no response. bucky felt himself grow impatient.

boss man:

‘let me make it up to you.’

‘please?’

then, after what felt like a century to him, you responded.

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘you touched yourself?’

boss man:

‘yes.’

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘did you ask permission?’

boss man:

‘no.’

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘then you’ll be punished.’

boss man:

‘please.’

no answer.

bucky’s heart pounded again. he waited five minutes. then ten.

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘i expect to see you on my doorstep in 20 minutes.’

‘move.’

immediately, he sped to your house. by the time he reached your home, it was close to midnight. he hesitated before ringing the door bell. the door opened without a word. you stood there in a black t-shirt and grey sweats, it was casual, but still commanding as hell.

“strip.”

bucky obeyed instantly, kicking his clothes off the moment he entered your home. he was left bare now, under your gaze.

you said nothing, just turned and walked towards the living room.

he followed, on instinct, like a dog.

the living room was dim, lit only by a floor lamp in the corner.

“hands on the couch.”

he obeyed, bending forward slightly. he heard you open the drawer, but he didn’t dare to look. there was the sound of something slick being squeezed out. then, your hand was between his thighs. and with that, you pressed the slicked plug inside.

he gasped, a soft, broken sound, as he flinched. it slid in smoothly, and once it was in place, you praised him, making him whimper.

you let him turn around, and there was a pillow in the center of the carpet. bucky dropped to his knees without being told.

you took your time, first pacing, letting the silence stew. the longer he waited, the more the anticipation ate at him. he squirmed, shifting his weight. you sat down on the couch, spreading your legs enticingly, and draping one arm lazily across your lap.

“hands behind your back.” you finally broke the silence.

he obeyed immediately.

“i told you not to cum.” you leaned forward, close enough to caress his face. you slid your fingers through his hair, gently at first, before tugging roughly, forcing his chin up.

“i know,” he whispered. “i’m sorry-”

“you knew you weren’t allowed, but you did it anyway. why?”

he was silent now, feeling ashamed of himself.

“tell me what you want.”

“want.. i want you to use me,” he spoke softly, afraid to make another mistake. “to let me make it up to you.”

“pathetic.” you replied flatly.

bucky’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away. he didn’t dare to.

“say please.”

“please.”

“louder.”

“please, sir.”

“that’s better.”

you pressed your foot onto his clothed cock, and he bit his lip in an attempt to stay silent.

“you don’t get to beg for forgiveness,” you spoke, still pressing onto him. “you’re going to have to earn it.”

“yes, s-sir.” he nodded quickly.

you pulled your foot away from him, making him sigh out. you reached to the coffee table next to you, pulling something from its drawer, a blindfold.

“tonight, you don’t get to see me. you don’t get to touch. you don’t even get to know what i’m doing.” you spoke, tying the blindfold tightly around his eyes.

then the teasing began. bucky knelt motionless on the cushion in your living room, naked, trembling, and blindfolded. he was so hard he could barely breathe. his fingers twitched against his thighs where they rested.

he couldn’t tell where you were in the room. his senses were heightened, he was extra sensitive now. all he could hear was the slight ruffle of fabric, the occasional click of something being set down on the coffee table, and the quiet, calm rhythm of your breathing.

then finally, after what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“you like sneaking around my back, mr. barnes?” you stuck to the honorifics on purpose, just to tease him, to remind him that even though he had a higher position than you in the office, you were still in control of him.

he visibly flinched when you spoke.

“you like thinking i won’t find out when you break the rules?”

he shook his head.

“words.”

“no, sir.”

“but you did break them.”

“yes, sir.” he swallowed hard. he knew he was fucked.

“then tonight, you’re going to show me just how sorry you are.”

there was a pause. then, the soft buzz came alive inside him.

bucky inhaled sharply as he felt the plug vibrate suddenly, low and steady. it wasn’t enough to make him cum, but enough to make his hips buck slightly.

“ah- fuck.” he hissed.

“ah ah,” you spoke, “position.”

he forced himself upright again, breath shaky.

the plug buzzed again, stronger this time. he let out a noise before he could stop it. the sensation was unbearable, too much, yet not enough.

“you’ll sit like this while i read. you won’t move, you won’t speak, you won’t touch.” you spoke, settling back down on the couch. “if you so much as twitch, we’ll start over.”

“y-yes, sir.” his voice cracked.

---

15 minutes later,

minutes had passed, bucky wasn’t sure anymore.

the buzzing varied, sometimes low, and slow, then turning off entirely, then a sudden strong jolt that made his hips jump. every time he moved, you clicked your tongue disapprovingly at him. every time he whimpered, you paused your reading, glaring down at him until he corrected himself.

he was hyper-aware of his surroundings now, considering how he wasn’t allowed to see. he could hear the pages of your book turn, could smell the cologne on you. his body ached with the effort of holding back. he kept holding his position, still obeyed, just for you. because if he didn’t, he’d lose all the progress he had made.

an hour later,

finally, the toy stopped. there was an uneasy silence.

bucky’s muscles shook from tension. he was soaked in sweat, his heart pounded as his mind tore at the seams.

then, he could hear the sound of your book being shut, and he almost moaned from the sheer anticipation he was feeling.

“not bad,” you murmured. “better than i expected.”

he shivered, not daring to speak.

“you want to cum?”

“yes, sir.” he gasped, voice light and breathy. “please, m-may i?”

“then you’ll spend the next night like this too.” your hand slid down his chest, light, and slow. “and the one after.”

bucky’s breath hitched. he wanted to bargain with you, but he knew better than to piss you off again.

“but tonight, you sleep here, on the floor.”

he whimpered.

“i want you to think about what it means to belong to someone, mr. barnes.”

you kissed the side of his throat, right below his jaw, then pulled the blindfold off, before stepping away to your room.

[2]

[delilaheilish]

JUST WANNA GET HER OFF 𓂃 billie eilish

⤷ dry humping, dirty talk, pet names, praise, multiple orgasms, dom!billie, kissing.

a wave of arousal washes over you as you watch billie, her bright eyes locked on yours with an unspoken challenge. the air is thick with tension and desire, the silence between you both broken only by the sound of your heavy breathing.

"cmere," she commands, her voice dripping with lust as she pats her knee, a devious smirk playing on her full lips. swallowing hard, you hesitantly move closer to her, your heart racing with both excitement and nervousness. as you straddle her knee, the rough denim of her jeans rubs against your soaked panties, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"good girl," she praises, her voice low and sultry as she begins to gently move her leg up and down, creating delicious friction between your throbbing pussy and her knee. "fuck...billie," you moan, unable to hold back your desire any longer. your hands grip her thighs tightly, your nails digging into her skin as you grind against her knee harder, desperate for more of that intoxicating sensation.

"that's it, baby," she groans, her hands moving to grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements. "show me how much you want it..” your breath hitches as you obey her command, moving your hips faster and harder against her knee. the rough denim of her jeans rubbing against your panties is enough to drive you wild with lust, your juices soaking through the thin fabric and onto her jeans.

"you like that, don't you?” she teases, her voice filled with dark promise. "you're so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" a loud moan rips from your throat as she thrusts her knee up against you, hitting that perfect spot inside you that has you seeing stars. your whole body shakes with the force of your building orgasm, your pussy clenching and unclenching in desperation.

"oh god...billie...i'm...i'm going to cum," you pant, your voice shaky with desire and need. "cum for me, baby," she growls, her voice low and commanding. "show me how much you love this." with a loud cry, you cum hard against her knee, your juices soaking through your panties and onto her jeans. you collapse against her chest, panting heavily as she strokes your hair gently.

"good girl," she whispers, a satisfied smile on her face. "go again." breathless and still trembling from your orgasm, you quickly straddle her knee once more. this time, however, she has a surprise in store for you. "take off your panties," she orders, her voice firm and commanding. "i want to see that beautiful pussy of yours."

without hesitation, you slip off your soaked panties, exposing your glistening pussy to her hungry gaze. a wave of arousal washes over you as you watch her lick her lips in desire. "fuck...you're gorgeous," she breathes, her eyes locked on your pussy. "now, ride my knee again. i want to see that perfect pussy of yours cum all over me.”

moaning loudly, you obey her command, grinding your pussy against her knee harder and faster than before. the sensation of her rough jeans rubbing against your sensitive clit drives you wild, your juices flowing freely onto her jeans.

"that's it, baby," she groans, her hands gripping your hips tightly. "keep movin’ those hips..." a loud cry rips from your throat as she thrusts her knee up against you, hitting that perfect spot inside you once more. your whole body shakes with the force of your orgasm, your pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing as you cum hard against her knee.

with a satisfied smile on her face, billie eilish pulls you closer, her lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. as you kiss her back passionately, you both know this is far from over.

© delilaheilish

💌: surprise motherfuckers this has been marinating in my drafts for a while

[surielstea]

Embers Entwined

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader was one of the most affected by Beron’s rule, after his death Eris was crowned High Lord and Reader became his personal servant by extension, what happens when she begins to recognize Eris for his kindness and not his cruelty?

Warnings: Beron being a right asshole as usual, and some kissing (*gasp* the scandal!)

A.Note: Sorry it’s been forever!! This one took me awhile but I’m pretty happy with it. Hope you guys enjoy too! Some Azriel smut coming out in a few days also! 💋💋

Word count: 7.9k

The ball was decadent, far grander than in previous years, though I supposed tonight warranted the excess. A special occasion, one that carried far more meaning than the usual frivolous gatherings meant only to remind the rich of their own wealth.

Tonight, the Autumn Court celebrated the coronation of Eris Vanserra. More importantly to me, we celebrated Beron's death.

I would never say such a thing aloud, never give voice to the hatred that simmered in my veins. But I knew I was not alone in my sentiments. Most despised that wretched male—just not enough to ever act against him. Beron had been cruel, but only to those within his grasp. His wife. His sons. His staff. Me, in particular—his personal courtier.

It had been my duty to obey him without question, to smile and nod and endure, no matter what vile thing he asked of me. The words he'd spoken to me, the way he'd toyed with me, broken me, forced me into submission—I would never find peace after him. I knew that.

I stood against the wall of the ballroom, my hands clasped in front of me, a pleasant, vacant smile painted on my lips. The same as always. My black dress marked me as staff, distinguishing me from the nobles twirling beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers. It wasn't an ugly dress—not physically—but the symbolism it carried made my stomach churn.

I was meant to be invisible. To stand for hours, heels biting into my feet, lips aching from feigned delight, waiting. Always waiting for the High Lord's command. That was my place.

But tonight, for the first time at an event like this, someone spoke to me. Not just someone. The newly crowned High Lord.

"Do you not wish to dance?"

His voice was smoother than I expected, rich and effortless, as though the words required no thought. When I turned my head, Eris Vanserra stood before me, resplendent in his deep forest green attire, gold-threaded embroidery glinting beneath the chandeliers. Rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he gestured vaguely toward the center of the ballroom.

I had known Eris Vanserra since I was a girl—back when my father served as Beron's personal courtier and I trained under him, shadowing his every move. In those early years, Eris and I spent countless hours in the kennels, where I had been sent to feed the hounds, and he had sought my company. Even then, I knew better than to refuse a Vanserra. But it hadn't felt like an order. Not when he spoke so passionately about his dogs, his amber eyes alight with something rare and unguarded.

I had listened, quietly captivated, as he ran his hands through thick fur, naming each hound like they were something precious, something his father could not tarnish. And though I rarely spoke, I knew he never minded.

But time had a way of reshaping things. Our duties grew heavier, our paths diverged, and whatever thread had once tied us together frayed beneath the weight of expectation. I often wondered if he remembered—the girl who once sat beside him in the straw-covered kennels, listening in rapt silence as he spoke of things he loved. Or if I had faded into nothing more than a ghost of his childhood, long forgotten.

I snapped back to the present when I realized my hesitation, startled by his presence, by his question. By him.

I glanced at him only briefly before averting my gaze. I had long since learned better than to expect kindness from the Vanserras, Eris or not. "I'm working, my lord," I answered smoothly, forcing the usual mask into place. "Besides, the late Lord Beron was always particular about the servantry enjoying themselves at these sorts of things."

A flicker of something crossed Eris's face at my words. Perhaps it was amusement, perhaps something else. I wasn't certain. Then, he did something I never would have expected. He extended his hand to me, palm up. A silent command. I stared at it, my heart stuttering.

Was this a trick? A test? Was he waiting for me to disobey so he could remind me of my place? "Well," he mused, tilting his head, "I'm not Beron, am I?"

I swallowed thickly, but I did not take his hand. His amber eyes gleamed as he studied me, something unreadable lurking beneath their molten depths. "You were my father's personal courtier, yes?"

"Correct, my lord."

"And now that he's gone, you're mine." A statement, not a question.

I nodded.

"And you're required to do as I say."

Another nod.

"Then take my hand." His voice was softer now, quieter. "Dance with me." My breath caught in my throat. I hesitated. Was he attempting to humiliate me?

I had seen what his brothers were capable of, how they had reveled in Beron's cruelty, how they had wielded it against others for their own entertainment. I had heard the stories about Eris—his ruthlessness, his ambition, his callous disregard for those beneath him. I had no reason to believe he was any different.

Yet something about the way he stood there, hand still outstretched, gaze unwavering, made my stomach tighten. He wasn't forcing me. He wasn't demanding. He was patient. I hated him for that. For making me doubt my own certainty.

But in the end, I had no choice. With a deep inhale, I placed my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine—warm, steady. Not gripping. But I knew better than to believe in illusions.

Eris Vanserra was his father's son. And I would never trust him.

The moment my hand settled in his, a hush seemed to fall over the space around us—not total silence, but a ripple in the atmosphere, a shift in attention that pressed against my skin like a physical thing.

They were watching. The nobles, the courtiers, the sycophants who had spent years learning to fear and obey Beron, and by extension, his eldest son. They watched, likely waiting for me to make a mistake, waiting to see what game Eris Vanserra was playing.

I was waiting, too. But if this was some cruel trick, he did not let it show.

Eris led me toward the dance floor with unhurried ease, his grip firm but not forceful. A reminder, perhaps, that I was following him willingly. I didn't know what unsettled me more—that he had given me a real choice, or that, despite knowing better, a part of me wanted to believe he truly meant no harm.

The moment we stepped onto the floor, the nearest dancers shifted subtly away, giving us space without making it obvious. No one wanted to be caught in the High Lord's wake, in whatever he was planning.

He turned to face me, releasing my hand only to settle one warm palm against my waist, the other clasping mine once more. I stiffened beneath his touch, the weight of it burning even through the fabric of my dress.

"Relax," he murmured, amusement curling through his tone. "It's a dance, not an execution."

I forced my muscles to remain neutral, my expression placid, though I could still feel the weight of a hundred gazes searing into me. "That remains to be seen."

His lips curved slightly. "If I wanted to make a spectacle of you, I'd have chosen something far more dramatic." He guided me into movement, a slow, fluid step that I had no choice but to follow. "But I much prefer this."

I nearly scoffed, but reeled in my tone, replacing it with a polite one. "Dancing?"

His gaze flickered down to mine, something unreadable within it. "Yes," he admitted, voice quieter now. "It's one of the few things I enjoy."

I arched a brow at him, skepticism bleeding into my tone. "Truly?"

"Truly." A small pause, then, "My mother taught me."

His hold on my waist remained steady, his movements effortless as he guided me through the waltz. "She used to say that knowing how to dance was just as important as knowing how to wield a blade. Both would assist me on a battle field."

I couldn't stop the flicker of surprise at his admission. Not because I doubted his mother's wisdom—if anything, I had always pitied the Lady of Autumn, the horrors she must have endured under Beron's rule—but because I had not expected Eris to share something so personal.

And yet, before I could decide how to respond, he added, "It was the one thing Beron couldn't take from me."

I swallowed, focusing on my movements, on the way his body angled just to keep me steady, to keep the dance seamless.

He was watching me closely, I could feel it. I hated that I could feel it.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice quieter than before, as if the words might shatter between us.

His lips twitched, though there was something different in his expression now. A quiet sort of challenge. "Because you're expecting me to be my father."

I stiffened.

"I'm not," he continued, tone smooth, unwavering. "And I think you already know that."

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing down the retort that sat at the edge of my tongue. I wanted to deny it.

Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I had no reason to believe him, that I had no reason to trust him. That, after what I had endured, I had no space left in me for blind hope. But I couldn't. Because, for the first time, I allowed myself to see him—not the heir of Beron Vanserra, not the male who had stood by and done nothing while his father ruled with malice, but the High Lord before me now.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous, cunning, and far too quick-witted for his own good. But he was not his father. And as much as I hated it, as much as it made something twist deep in my chest—

He was also undeniably beautiful.

His russet hair gleamed beneath the chandelier light, his sharp, angular features like something carved from fine marble. And those eyes—deep amber, filled with fire and calculation, but not cruelty. Never cruelty. It unnerved me.

I averted my gaze, the pressure in my throat tightening. "I don't know anything."

His fingers flexed slightly against my waist, the only indication that he had caught the tremor in my voice.

"You will," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. A promise.

I did not know whether it was a comfort or a threat. But I did know one thing—

The game, whatever it was, had only just begun.

As the waltz came to an end, Eris's grip on me loosened, but he did not immediately step away. His amber eyes remained locked onto mine, searching, calculating—always calculating.

I did not look away. I refused to.

Even as my heart pounded against my ribs, even as my throat tightened with the weight of memories that clawed at the back of my mind, I held his gaze.

He exhaled softly, something almost amused flickering in his expression before he lifted my hand, his touch lingering just enough to send a sharp jolt of awareness through me.

Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent heat curling in my gut, Eris pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

A calculated move. A display of power.

And yet—his lips were warm. Gentle.

He let my hand slip from his grasp, stepping back with an air of ease, as though he had not just sent my already-frazzled mind into chaos.

"Thank you for the dance," he murmured, voice like silk and embers.

I said nothing. Because I couldn't. I simply bowed my head and turned away, ignoring the stares, the whispers that followed me as I slipped back into the shadows of the ballroom.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous. And not for the reasons I had always believed.

I had not been able to get him out of my head.

I hated it.

No matter how much I tried to shove the thoughts away—to remind myself of the horrors I had endured under Beron, of the way his sons had stood idly by for years, of the haunting whispers that surrounded Eris himself—I couldn't stop replaying that moment in my mind.

The warmth of his touch. The softness of his voice. The way he had looked at me, not with hatred, not with indifference, but with something else entirely.

It was a trick. Had to be. And yet, I found myself watching him more than I should have.

Every time he called for something, every time I had to be in his presence, I bowed low, just as I had always done for Beron. I kept my voice neutral, my head down, my routine unchanged.

As if nothing had changed at all. As if I had not danced with him. As if his hands had not burned against my skin. As if I had not spent the past few days wondering, against all reason, if perhaps he was not as evil as I had once believed.

I would not let myself believe it. Not when I had learned, time and time again, that kindness was a dangerous illusion.

So when one of the guards found me in the halls, stopping me with a clipped, "The High Lord is requesting you," a cold dread curled in my stomach.

Requesting me. Not a general summons for any courtiers. Not a task that could have been handled by anyone else. Me.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Memories crashed through me—memories of Beron's summons, of being called for with no warning, no explanation. Of standing before him, knowing what was coming but never being able to predict just how bad it would be.

My hands clenched at my sides. I swallowed hard, pushing down the panic, shoving it deep beneath layers of practiced control.

This was not Beron. I knew that. And yet, my body did not.

With carefully measured steps, I made my way to Eris's study, every inch of me wound tight.

My mind whispered warnings, my heart pounded against my ribs. I forced my hands to remain steady as I knocked once, then pushed the heavy wooden door open.

And there he was—seated behind a grand desk, amber eyes lifting to meet mine the second I entered.

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn.

And the male who, for reasons I could not begin to understand, had called for me.

I braced myself, preparing for whatever awaited me next. And prayed that I was not about to be proven a fool.

The door shut behind me with a soft thud, the sound too final, too reminiscent of a past I wanted to claw away from.

I stayed near the entrance, hands clasped in front of me, chin dipped ever so slightly—not meek, but neutral. Just as I had been trained to be.

Eris sat at his desk, one elbow braced on the armrest of his chair, fingers resting against his temple as he watched me. Not impatient. Not cruel. Just watching. Then, with that signature tilt of his head, he asked, "What's your name?"

I blinked. "My name?"

He arched a golden brow, the flickering candlelight making the sharp angles of his face seem all the more severe.

"I'd like to know who to call for to keep my company, so yes, your name."

Company. Was this a game? A test?

I studied him, searching for the trap, but found nothing except expectation.

I told him my name carefully, waiting for the moment his expression would shift, for him to sneer or mock or twist the knowledge into something mean.

But he only smiled slightly, a soft curve of his lips that felt almost out of place on a face like his.

Before I could think better of it, before I could convince myself to stay silent, I blurted, "Have you been lonely, my lord?"

Eris's head tilted further, amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

I stiffened immediately. "Forgive me for asking. That was incredibly impolite. I'm so—"

"I have." He cut me off smoothly, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

I swallowed.

"I imagined being High Lord would be quite different," he mused, gaze flickering to the stacks of papers on his desk, the glowing hearth, the empty room around us. "Nevertheless, here we are." He nodded as if conceding something to himself.

My lips parted slightly, but I had nothing to say to that. Nothing that wouldn't cross a line I was still hesitant to even approach.

Instead, I dropped into another practiced bow. "Will that be all, my lord?"

His eyes snapped back to me, something unreadable stirring behind them.

"Eris," he corrected.

I hesitated.

"I am not my father," he said, voice quiet but edged with finality, as if he were daring me to argue. "Nor do I wish to become him. So please, call me Eris."

I nodded slowly. "...Well then, Lord Eris."

"Just Eris, my dear," he corrected again, leaning back slightly. "Like friends."

I didn't know what startled me more—that he wanted me to call him by his name, or that he had referred to me as a friend.

Still, I tried to ignore the warmth curling in my stomach as I forced myself to say, "Eris."

His lips twitched, something satisfied gleaming in his gaze. "Good girl."

The praise sent something unfamiliar down my spine, not in the way it had whenever Beron complimented me... this was different.

"Now come, get comfortable." He gestured toward the plush green chairs adjacent to his desk.

I stared at him. "You want me to sit?"

"Stand, lean, lay, I don't care." He waved a lazy hand. "Just relax."

"My lord—Eris," I corrected, still trying to wrap my mind around the strangeness of this entire interaction. "I don't get paid to... relax."

He smirked. "No, you get paid to follow my orders. And I am ordering you to get comfortable."

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to decipher the true meaning behind all of this.

But I saw no malice in his expression. No cruel intent. Just anticipation.

I swallowed and, slowly, I did as he said. I sat stiffly, hands clasped in my lap, my back straight as if Beron himself was still lurking behind me, waiting to scold me for stepping out of line.

Eris, however, did not acknowledge my rigid posture. He only let out a pleased hum, as if my mere presence was enough to meet whatever unspoken standard he had set for this moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he returned his focus to the parchment before him.

The only sounds in the room were the quiet scratching of his quill and the faint crackling of the candlelight.

I should have been grateful for the silence. It was better than savage words, better than commands meant to humiliate me. But instead, an odd tension settled in my chest, as if I were waiting for the real reason he'd called me here to be revealed.

Minutes passed. Then—

"You're staring," Eris murmured without looking up.

I blinked, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I am not."

His lips curved slightly, and he flipped to another parchment. "You are."

"I was merely looking in your direction." It was wrong of me to talk back, but something about him let my tongue a little looser, he didn't seem displeased by it in the slightest.

He hummed, unconvinced, dipping his quill back into ink. "And why, pray tell, were you looking in my direction?"

I hesitated. "...I was thinking."

Amber eyes flicked up from the page. "Dangerous habit."

That small smirk still played on his lips, but something about it was softer than usual, teasing rather than taunting.

I frowned, not ready for this interaction to feel comfortable, for me to feel comfortable. "I don't find it particularly dangerous."

"That's because you've never played with fire." He twirled the quill between his fingers before dragging the tip across the parchment again. "Not the kind that burns."

I scoffed. "You forget who I served before you."

He paused at that, glancing at me fully and my heart rate spiked. Too far, I'd gone too far, just a few words and the walls I built were crumbling before my very eyes.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression, but it was gone before I could place it. Instead, he dipped his head slightly, understanding the point. "Then I imagine you know better than most that fire, when wielded incorrectly, only ever destroys."

I stiffened, his words striking something deep within me.

Is that what I was? A thing destroyed? Is that what he saw when looking at me, or himself?

Eris exhaled, shifting his focus back to his work. "For what it's worth," he murmured, quieter now, "I don't intend to wield it incorrectly."

I studied him carefully, as I had done many times before, searching for the game, for the cruel edge I knew so well from his father.

But there was no trick. Only a High Lord—no, a male—focused on his work, offering me something I had never once been granted in Beron's court.

Peace.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look away, to ignore the unfamiliar warmth creeping into my bones.

Minutes passed again in silence, but this time, it didn't feel quite so heavy.

"I was serious, you know," Eris mused, not bothering to look up as he broke the quiet.

I frowned. "About what?"

"Keeping my company." He flipped to another document, signing something at the bottom. "I'd prefer your presence over my advisors any day. They're old and dull. You, at least, have some spirit."

I scoffed. "I think you are confusing obedience for spirit."

"Oh no, my dear." His lips curved in a knowing smirk. "You and I both know you're anything but obedient."

I bristled, opening my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "It's alright. I find it... refreshing."

I wasn't sure what unsettled me more—the implication, or the way my stomach twisted at his words. Beron preferred all the servantry to have a fiery spirit, which makes it more fun to break, but he never really could stomp my flames out, and now Eris was sparking the embers. It was dangerous, so dangerous.

Silence fell between us once more.

For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it. That I would sit there, a piece of furniture in this room while he worked, just as I had been in Beron's court.

But then, without looking away from his parchment, Eris murmured, "Tell me something, Fawn."

The way he said that nickname—so deliberate, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue—sent something sharp down my spine.

"Tell you what?" I asked carefully.

He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled in thought. "Something real."

I hesitated. "That's vague."

"Intentionally so." He arched a brow. "Consider it a challenge."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he only waited, watching me with that same expectant look, as if he truly wanted to hear something about me.

I exhaled. "I don't like the cold."

His lips twitched. "A courtier of Autumn who doesn't like the cold? Shocking, really." His voice was sarcastic, but something in his eyes told me he knew what I meant.

I shrugged, explaining anyway. "It reminds me of your father." The words left me before I could stop them, before I could think better of them.

Eris didn't flinch, but something in his expression shifted. "I hate the cold, too," he admitted after a beat.

I blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

He returned his attention to the paper in front of him, but his next words were soft, almost contemplative.

"It's why I keep the fire going."

And despite everything I had come to know about Eris Vanserra—despite everything I feared—those words stayed with me long after I left his study that night.

It became routine.

Every evening, after the day's duties were done, I was summoned to Eris's study. At first, I had thought it was some kind of test, some trick to lull me into a false sense of security before he reminded me of my place. But the days passed, and the cruel words never came. The taunts never sharpened into something harsher.

Instead, I found myself sitting across from him as he worked, the fire crackling between us, filling the silence in ways neither of us felt the need to.

And I was learning things.

Not just about him—but about myself.

I learned that despite being raised under Beron's thumb, Eris did not rule with a hand of iron. He listened—to his advisors, to the reports of the court, to me, even. And when I spoke, he truly listened, as if my words meant something.

More recently I learned that he was—Gods help me—attractive.

That fact had been easy enough to ignore when I hated him, when I thought he was just another Beron in the making. But the more time I spent with him, the more I noticed things I shouldn't—like the sharp angles of his face, the golden hue of his eyes, the way his hands moved across parchment with effortless precision.

It was incredibly inappropriate.

He was a High Lord, for the Gods' sake. I was a mere servant. A courtier, yes, but still beneath him in every sense of the word.

But there were moments—subtle, fleeting—where I felt that he didn't see it that way.

Like when he'd catch me staring and smirk, as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone. Like when his fingers would brush against mine as he handed me a book, a touch so brief it might have been an accident, but my traitorous body knew better. Like when he said my name—not the way Beron used to, as if I were an object, a thing that existed for his whims, but as if I were someone worth hearing.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. And yet, I kept returning to his study, night after night, drawn to him in ways I did not understand.

I was comfortable around him now. Too comfortable. And I wasn't sure if that terrified me or eased me more.

The fire crackled behind him, casting golden light over the room as I sat at his desk, scanning over the trade agreements he had asked me to review. Eris stood in front of the hearth, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the flames with a contemplative expression.

"They're bleeding the smaller villages dry," I murmured, flipping to the next page. "The tariffs are nearly double what they should be."

Eris hummed in response, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "And what do you suggest, fawn?" His voice was rich, edged with amusement.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, biting back a smile at the teasing lilt in his tone. "Lowering them would be a start."

He took a slow sip of whiskey, then turned, his gaze burning even hotter than the fire behind him. "Very well. Lower them."

I blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He smirked, as if amused by my surprise. "You have a sharp mind. It would be a waste not to use it."

A compliment. A genuine one.

I busied myself with the documents, ignoring the warmth that curled in my stomach. But before I could shift to the next matter, I felt it—him.

The space between us disappeared in a breath. Eris leaned over my shoulder, one hand bracing against the desk as he peered down at the papers with me.

His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, his scent—smoke, cedar, spice—curling around me, intoxicating. I stiffened, my fingers tightening around the quill.

"See?" His voice was softer now, smooth like velvet. "That wasn't so hard."

I swallowed, forcing my focus back to the parchment. "I assume the next set of reports won't be as easy."

His chuckle was low, deep. "Unfortunately, no."

We worked through the rest of it together, his proximity never wavering, his breath occasionally ghosting against my cheek as he murmured his thoughts. It should have been unbearable. It was unbearable. And yet, I didn't pull away.

Not even when he poured me a glass of whiskey.

I had refused at first, telling him I was technically working but he had simply raised an eyebrow and said, "I won't tell the high lord if you don't."

It burned going down, leaving warmth in its wake, emboldening me just enough to loosen the tight grip I always held on myself.

Perhaps that was why, when we finally leaned back in our chairs, the tension of duty momentarily relieved, I dared to meet his gaze with something close to ease.

"You're a better High Lord than I expected," I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty.

He turned his glass between his fingers, watching me over the rim. "High praise, coming from you."

I rolled my eyes, but the smallest of smiles played at my lips. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he quipped, grinning.

I shook my head, but I wasn't fast enough to hide the way my lips twitched in amusement.

Eris noticed. Of course, he did. And he leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "Careful, fawn. Keep looking at me like that, and I'll think you actually enjoy my company."

I should have ignored the remark. Should have cut the moment short, should have reminded myself that this was Eris, that I was his courtier and nothing more.

But the whiskey hummed in my blood, and I found myself tilting my chin up slightly, arching a brow.

"Who said I don't?"

His gaze darkened, a flicker of something wicked dancing in those golden eyes.

The air between us tightened, the tension shifting into something heavier, something dangerous.

And for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to run from it.

The room was suffocating with heat—not just from the fire, but from him. From the way he looked at me, like he could see through every carefully placed wall I had built around myself.

I should have left. Should have bowed my head, murmured a polite good night, and returned to the servantry quarters where I belonged.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stayed, rooted in place, watching the way Eris's eyes flickered between my lips and my eyes. The tension stretched unbearably tight, wound so thin that one more word, one more breath, would surely snap it.

And then it did.

One moment, we were speaking, our words slow and softened by whiskey. The next—I was in his arms, and his mouth was on mine.

It was a collision, a wildfire consuming everything in its path.

His lips were searing, his hands gripping my waist as if he couldn't bear to let go, pulling me flush against him. I gasped into the kiss, and he took full advantage, deepening it, his tongue sweeping over mine in a way that made my knees threaten to buckle.

He groaned, low and guttural, and something inside me snapped.

I met his fervor with my own, fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the silk of it between my fingertips as he backed me into the desk. The papers we had worked so hard on crumpled beneath us, utterly forgotten.

He exhaled a quiet curse against my lips as his hands gripped my hips tighter, and I—I didn't stop him. I arched into him, into the warmth, the danger of it.

And then—it happened.

A tether snapped into place.

Invisible, undeniable, unyielding.

My entire body locked up as a force stronger than anything I had ever known latched onto my very soul. The bond—a mating bond—solidified between us like molten steel cooling into iron, a force so absolute it stole the air from my lungs.

No, no, no.

I stumbled back so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, my hand flying to my lips as if I could erase what had just happened.

Eris reached for me, eyes wide, something dangerously close to awe written across his sharp features. "Wait—"

But I didn't.

I turned and ran.

I ignored the way his voice followed me, calling my name, ignored the way my heart thundered in my chest, the way my mind screamed at me that this was impossible, that it couldn't be real, that it shouldn't be real.

Because if it was—if it was real—then it meant I was bound to him. To him.

Not just the male who had been slipping under my skin, infiltrating the cold emptiness I had built to protect myself. But Beron's son. Beron's heir. A Vanserra. A High Lord.

By the time I reached the servantry quarters, my breaths were ragged, my hands shaking as I shoved my door closed behind me, locking it with trembling fingers.

I pressed my back against the wood, squeezing my eyes shut.

This couldn't be happening. It was a mistake. A trick. A cruel, cruel joke.

I was nothing.

A courtier, a servant.

I did not get to have mates.

And certainly not him.

I curled onto my cot, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress as if I could anchor myself back to reality. I forced my breathing to slow, willed myself to forget the feeling of his lips, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the way his hands had fit so perfectly against my waist.

I did not sleep that night.

I had been avoiding him.

Days had passed, and I hadn't stepped foot in his study again. I hadn't so much as looked in his direction, even as the court whispered about me, about us, about the undeniable scent of a bond snapping into place.

They all knew.

I could feel their stares, the pity in some, the amusement in others. I knew what they thought—that it was only a matter of time before I bent, before I folded myself into the neat little role fate had carved out for me at Eris's side.

I refused.

I stayed tucked away, keeping to my duties, bowing as I always had when in his presence, keeping my head low, silent. I had done it for years under Beron. I could do it again.

Or at least, I thought I could.

The bond had other plans.

It had been clawing at me, a sick, twisting thing in my chest, gnawing at my ribs every time I kept my distance. The more I ignored it, the worse it became, a restless, aching pressure that built until my hands trembled with the need to do something—run to him, scream, sob. I didn't know which.

I was too caught up in my own mind, too focused on fighting the invisible thread tethering me to him, that I didn't notice the male approaching me until it was too late.

"You've been rather elusive, haven't you?"

I turned sharply, expecting him, expecting Eris—

But it wasn't him.

It was Kyden.

My stomach twisted.

Kyden Vanserra had always taken the most after Beron compared to the rest of his brothers, cruel for the sake of cruelty, sneering down at those he deemed beneath him. Which unfortunately included me.

His smirk was slow, predatory. "I almost mistook you for one of the nobility, standing there all stiff and proper. But then I remembered—you're just a servant, aren't you?"

I forced my body not to react, not to let the memories claw their way up my throat. He had that same look in his tawny eyes that Beron always had on one of the particularly hard days.

Kyden stepped closer, voice a lazy drawl. "And yet, despite your lowly position, you managed to ensnare a High Lord." His lips curled, eyes gleaming with something dark. "Or rather, the bond did. Funny, isn't it? How fate makes fools of us all."

I kept my chin high, my hands at my sides. I would not cower.

He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear. "You reek of him."

I flinched. Kyden chuckled. "It's amusing, really. Eris, of all people, shackled to someone like you." His gaze flickered over me, assessing, and I knew that look—I had seen it before, a lifetime ago, picking apart my worth, deciding how best to use me.

"What do you think he'll do?" Kyden mused. "Surely, you don't believe he'll actually keep you. A High Lord's mate should be powerful, worthy." He tutted. "You are neither."

The words hit their mark, sinking into my skin like tiny blades, because deep down I knew he was right. This is why I've been avoiding Eris, avoiding having that confrontation that will only result in rejection and sorrow.

"I wonder," he continued, tilting his head, "how long it will take before he grows bored of you. Before he realizes you're nothing more than the same little courtier Beron used to—"

A deep, guttural snarl split the air.

And then Kyden was no longer in my space, no longer crowding me like a looming shadow.

Eris had him by the collar, dragging him back, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl beside his brother's throat.

"Say another word," Eris hissed, voice like fire crackling over dry wood, "and I will tear out your fucking tongue."

Kyden, to his credit, did not flinch. He only grinned. "Touched a nerve, did I?"

Eris's fingers tightened, the flames in the nearby sconces flaring wildly.

"Walk away, Kyden," Eris said, voice quieter now, deadlier. "I raised you better than this."

A beat of silence. Then Kyden huffed a laugh, shoving Eris off him with a roll of his shoulders.

"As you wish, brother." He turned to me, and there was something smug in his eyes, something knowing. "See you around, little courtier."

And then he was gone.

Eris exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before turning to me.

"Are you—"

I shook my head, stepping back. "Don't."

His jaw tensed.

I couldn't do this. Not here. Not now.

The hallway was silent except for the distant clatter of pots and the hushed murmurs of servants slipping past us, their eyes darting away the moment they caught sight of Eris. I could still feel the ghost of Kyden's words slithering over my skin, the way he had looked at me, spoken to me. But more than that—I could feel the weight of Eris's gaze, burning into me as if he were unraveling every thought in my head.

I didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to feel the way I did when he looked at me.

His amber eyes flickered with something unreadable, something heavy and tense. He hadn't moved since Kyden left, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was still fighting the urge to chase his brother down and finish what he started.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. We stood nearly a yard away from each other in the servants' passages, the house was so vast that to get from place to place quicker in the manor there were secret paths to take. It was odd for the High Lord to even know about them.

I swallowed hard, then whispered, "Why are you here?"

Eris blinked, as if startled by the question. And then, with the ghost of a smirk, he drawled, "It's my house, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know what I mean."

More silence.

His smirk faded.

"I was looking for you," he admitted finally.

I stared at him, heart hammering against my ribs. "You could've called for me."

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer. "Would you have come?"

I said nothing.

He huffed a bitter laugh. "That's what I thought."

I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. "It's my job, Eris," I whispered.

His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach for me, wanted to touch me—but he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, looking more defeated than I'd ever imagined a Vanserra could.

"Can we go somewhere more private?" I asked, my voice quieter now, because we were standing a distance apart with maids and cooks scuttling silently past us, pretending they weren't listening, pretending they couldn't see the invisible string between us.

Eris studied me for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he turned on his heel, leading the way.

I followed.

The room he brought me to was small, tucked away in one of the unused wings of the estate. A study, maybe, or a reading room—the kind of place someone could go to disappear.

He shut the door behind me, and then we were alone.

Eris exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Are you alright?"

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I don't know."

His jaw tightened. "Kyden—"

"I don't want to talk about Kyden."

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Then talk to me about something else."

I let out a breath. "About what, Eris?"

He stepped closer, slow and careful, as if I were something fragile. "About why you've been avoiding me."

I scoffed. "You know why."

"I want to hear you say it."

I met his gaze, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. "Because this—" I gestured between us. "—isn't supposed to happen. Because you're a High Lord, and I'm a servant, and this bond—" I swallowed hard. "It's cruel."

Eris's expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched again, and I wondered if he even realized he kept doing that—kept stopping himself from touching me. "You think the Mother is cruel?"

I hesitated. "I think fate is."

Eris exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Do you hate it that much?"

I didn't answer.

Did I?

Hate was easy. Hate was something I understood, something I could hold onto. Hate had kept me alive under Beron's rule, had hardened me, protected me.

But this? This tether between us, this thing that hummed in my chest, that made my body ache to close the distance between us—

I didn't have a name for it. And that scared me more than anything.

Eris watched me carefully, as if searching for something in my expression. He let out another sigh and retreated, taking a seat on the small leather couch adjacent to the popping fireplace. I watched him silently, still standing by the door.

"I never wanted this either," he admitted, voice softer now. "I spent years ensuring I would never be bound to someone who could be used against me. And yet..." His lips quirked into something bitter. "Yet here we are."

My throat felt tight. "Do you hate it?"

His amber eyes burned. "No."

The breath I took was unsteady.

"You never answered?" he looked up at me.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Shook my head. "I don't know."

Eris nodded once, as if that answer was enough.

Silence stretched between us again.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You don't have to accept it," he said. "Not now. Not ever, if that's what you choose." He met my gaze, something like resignation flickering in his eyes. "But I won't apologize for it."

He wanted to keep it? Wanted me to accept it?

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

He tilted his head, considering me. "So what now?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "That's twice now."

I scowled. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "I suppose I should be grateful I got anything out of you at all."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no bite to it.

Eris studied me again, quieter this time. "I meant what I said," he murmured. "I was looking for you."

I looked away. "I know."

Silence settled between us again, but it was different now. Less suffocating.

More dangerous.

Because I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending I didn't want him to find me. I approached his side quietly and sat.

The leather couch was cool against my skin as I sank into it beside him, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. The bond thrummed like a second heartbeat, relentless and inescapable.

The son of the man I loathed most in this world was the one I was expected to love beyond reason.

Fate was a sick, twisted thing.

I sighed, tired of thinking, tired of fighting, tired of everything. Slowly, hesitantly, I tilted my head, letting it rest against his shoulder. His body stiffened for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, exhaling a breath I might've imagined.

It was enough for now.

"I'm High Lord," he said after a beat.

"Painfully aware," I murmured.

"Meaning—there are rules of the Autumn Court that I can... simply get rid of."

I huffed a soft, tired laugh. "You're a lord, not a king."

"Mm, true," he mused, tilting his head back against the couch, "but if Rhysand can bend the rules to marry his mate, so can I."

I hesitated. "His court is much more pliable. Autumn is notorious for its... old-fashioned ways."

"Well, the Autumn Court has a new High Lord." His voice was steady, sure. "Let's just hope I'm changing it for the better."

I smiled faintly, my eyes fluttering shut. "You are, 'Ris."

The name slipped out before I could think better of it, before I could remind myself that familiarity with him was dangerous.

His body went still beneath me.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he looked down at me, amber eyes burning with something I couldn't name.

We stared at each other for a long moment, really seeing each other.

And then, quietly, almost reverently, he murmured, "I'm going to kiss you now."

I nodded.

And then he did.

His lips pressed against mine, slow and deep, as if we had all the time in the world. As if the bond wasn't something to be feared but something to be savored. His hand lifted to my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone before sliding into my hair, tilting my face up, pressing deeper.

I sighed into him, gripping the front of his tunic as the bond pulsed between us, as the warmth of his body and the scent of campfire and rainy mornings wrapped around me like something familiar, something I could fall into.

It should have scared me.

But all I could do was kiss him back.

Eris pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. My heart pounded, my thoughts a chaotic mess, but the bond hummed in quiet contentment—as if it had known all along that this was inevitable.

His fingers stayed tangled in my hair, his other hand still cupping my jaw, holding me there, keeping me grounded. "We'll figure this out," he murmured, voice low, steady. Sure.

I let out a slow breath, my hands still fisted in his tunic. "You make it sound so simple."

"It doesn't have to be complicated."

I swallowed hard, my mind already spinning with the realities of what this meant, what it could mean. But as I looked at him, at the quiet determination in his gaze, at the warmth that had nothing to do with the firelight flickering around us, I found myself wanting—just for a moment—to believe him.

So I nodded, just barely.

His lips brushed my temple, lingering there for a heartbeat before he leaned back, his hand finally slipping from my hair. "One step at a time, my dear."

I exhaled, my pulse still thrumming in my throat, and echoed, "One step at a time."

And maybe, just maybe, we'd find our way through this. Together.

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[a-bit-of-writing]

08/30 - Negotiate

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Characters: Astarion x Reader 

Words: 1,291

Summary: Astarion is used to giving… in exchange for something. Blood, pleasure, favors - everyone wants something. So when you do something kind with no strings attached, he’s suspicious. Then he’s confused. Then he’s undone. Because no one ever offers him company without a price….until now.

note: been wanting to do this for a while now - so I consider this the 1st chapter of my yet to be announced full story. For now, it serves as Day 8th of my fanfiction challenge,

Moonlight silvered every broken column around the camp, catching on pale birch trunks and the scattered shards of shattered statues. The others were asleep or on watch, their muted voices drifting somewhere beyond the ruined archway. Only Astarion remained in the central clearing, lounging with theatrical languor on a fallen pillar, crimson-lined cloak spread like spilled wine across the stone.

You approached with a small mending kit cradled in one hand. His white silk shirt - savaged by a ghoul’s claws earlier - gaped open at the shoulder, fraying threads fluttering against alabaster skin.

Astarion’s eyes flicked to the kit, then to you. One pale brow arched in lazy appraisal. “Darling, if you were desperate to get my clothes off again, you only had to ask.”

You ignored the bait, sinking to your knees beside him. “Hold still.”

“My favorite command,” he murmured, voice a purr shaped for dark corners and entanglements. “Though I usually prefer it whispered.”

You threaded the needle. “And I prefer my patients quiet.”

His lips parted in a small, delighted “ooh,” but he obeyed. Only the occasional hiss of thread sliding through cloth broke the hush. When your knuckles brushed his skin, cool as porcelain beneath moonlight, he glanced down, lashes half‑lidded.

“Must you be so gentle?” he asked, faux‑petulant. “I fear I’ll become accustomed to it.”

“You could learn to enjoy softness,” you said, tightening the final knot.

“Oh, I enjoy many soft things.” His gaze dipped, undeniably appreciative, before returning to your face. “But softness always comes with a bill.” He flashed teeth - not quite a smile, not quite a threat. “Shall we discuss payment?”

You finished snipping the thread. “There is none.”

A laugh burst from him, bright and brittle. “Adorable. Truly. But come now - everyone wants something.” He rose, looming above you, silk settling over lean muscle. “A kiss? A bite? A night tangled in sheets until dawn burns us both? Name it.”

You stood, brushing pine needles from your knees. “Not interested.”

“In me?” He pressed a hand theatrically to his chest. “Impossible. Or perhaps coin, then? Secrets? I have centuries’ worth - recipes for poison, noble scandals, the names of hidden vaults.”

You shook your head.

His smile thinned. “Power, maybe? A favor owed by a monster with sharp teeth. Very useful, our kind of favor.”

Still you said nothing.

Astarion’s mirth cooled into suspicion. He prowled a half‑circle around you, predator graceful despite the torn shirt. “Fine. We’ll drop the flirtation. What darkness do you hide, sweet thing? Are you planning to trade my gratitude for someone else’s misery?”

“Astarion—”

“Or do you fancy ensnaring me?” He leaned close, breath velvet and iron. “Make me yours the way Cazador made me his? I’ve worn chains before; I can spot new ones being forged.”

The hurt behind the venom stung more than the words. You inhaled, steadying your voice. “I don’t want chains. Not on you. Not on anyone.”

He scoffed, but the sound wavered. “Then what do you want?”

You hesitated. Because the truth felt too small, too fragile for a man who thought currency only came in blood or lust. Yet you spoke it anyway, quiet but unwavering.

“Your company,” you said. “Your presence. Sit with me awhile. Just talk. Nothing sexual, no favors owed.” You met his eyes. “That’s all.”

A bark of incredulous laughter escaped him. “That’s rich! You mend my shirt and ask for tea‑time conversation? Darling, is this some new kink I haven’t heard of?”

“I’m serious.”

“People do not help Astarion Ancunin for conversation. They help for pleasure, profit, or pity and I despise all three.”

“I’m not offering pity,” you answered. “And conversation is a pleasure, at least to me. If you’d rather walk away, you can.”

He opened his mouth - surely to deliver another teasing barb - but the words died. You watched his expression shift, glittery amusement draining until confusion sat naked on his features. It lasted only a heartbeat before he hid it behind a smirk, but you’d seen it: the startled child beneath the painted masque.

He licked his lips, voice softer. “You truly expect nothing else?”

“I expect you to keep the shirt intact,” you said, folding your kit. “Beyond that? No.”

Silence unfurled, heavy as velvet. The campfire popped; an ember drifted skyward. Somewhere distant, a nightjar called.

Finally, hesitantly, Astarion settled back on the pillar and patted the mossy stone beside him. “Well. If conversation is the price, it would be rude not to pay.” His tone aimed for flippant but landed shy of conviction.

You sat, leaving a respectful hand’s breadth between you. He glanced at the gap, then at your face, as though trying to discern an angle he could exploit. Finding none, he exhaled - a soft, bewildered sound.

“What would you have me speak about?” he asked. “I warn you, my tales skew toward decadence and gore.”

“Tell me what you miss,” you said, staring into the fire. “Before all this.”

He blinked. Perhaps no one had asked him that in two centuries. You could almost hear the rusty gears turning.

“I…miss flavor,” he said at last, voice contemplative. “Food was pointless after Cazador. Imagine recalling the taste of wine, but every sip now is ash unless it’s blood.” He forced a laugh. “That’s terribly morbid dinner chatter, isn’t it?”

You shrugged. “Dinner’s long over.”

He studied you. In the fire‑lit dark, his crimson eyes caught sparks of gold. “I used to love pastries,” he muttered, as if confessing sin. “Piled high with sugared berries. There was a bakery near the palace in Baldur’s Gate. Dawn‑rise steam in the windows, the scent of yeast and honey.” A wistful curl shaped his mouth, bruised by longing. “I would sneak out with friends after magistrate meetings. Ruin my appetite before banquets.” He huffed. “Petty rebellion, but mine.”

You listened, neither pitying nor prodding. The quiet between you carried no demand. He seemed to feel that difference - like cool water on burned skin.

“Your turn,” he said, after a while. “What do you miss?”

You told him: moonlit windows in a city far south, the hush right before summer rain, the way fresh parchment smells when you crack open a new journal. Small, human things - evenly traded.

Time blurred. He lounged with one knee drawn up, cloak draping elegant folds. Anecdotes slipped free - barbed jokes about Balduran nobles, sly impressions of Cazador’s fawning spawn. Each story left a little more daylight between him and his fear.

When the fire dwindled to a glowing heart, Astarion stretched lithely. “Look at that - we’ve nearly talked the poor flames to death.”

You offered him the blanket draped over your shoulders. “I’m heading to my bedroll. Keep warm.”

He accepted it, fingertips brushing yours - a touch light as breath, yet enough to raise gooseflesh. He noticed, of course; his lips tilted upward in the faintest, most genuine smile you’d seen.

“I’ll return it tomorrow,” he said. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

A pause. “For deciding I’m worth more than barter.”

You gave a small nod and started toward your corner of camp.

At your first step, his voice followed: dry, teasing again, yet threaded with something softer.

“Just so we’re clear,” he called, “if you ever want to renegotiate - say, trade polite company for a night tangled in scandalous positions - you have only to ask.”

You laughed, glancing back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He watched you until you vanished beyond the ruined archway. Only when the night quieted did Astarion glance at the neat stitches on his sleeve. He brushed them with one thumb, as if testing reality.

For the first time in two hundred years, someone had offered him kindness priced not in flesh, coin, or fear but in presence. A currency he scarcely believed existed.

And in the hush of crumbling moonlit stone, Astarion found himself strangely, achingly…rich.

[itsnesss]

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | max & charles × fem!reader

summary | you're stuck between two pilots, praying for them and letting them do whatever they want to you

warnings | smut without plot, threesome, rough, power dynamics, dom!max, dom!charles, sub!reader, fingering, oral, p in v, unprotected

word count | 1.1 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ more cl16 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The dim lights of the hospitality barely illuminate their silhouettes, but you don’t need to fully see them to feel them. Max is behind you now, his hot breath against your neck, while Charles kneels in front of you with that determined look he always wears on the track… and clearly, he has it here too.

"Leave her breathless, mon cher," Max says with that deep voice that vibrates straight through your stomach. "I want to see her beg.

Charles obeys without hesitation, slow at first, almost torturing you with soft touches, barely-there kisses that make you arch involuntarily. Your hands search for support on Max’s shoulders, but he doesn’t let you escape.

"Not so fast," he whispers against your ear. "Hold on. I want to see her lose control for us."

The tension builds. Your legs tremble. Max’s hands slide down your hips with surgical precision, while Charles’s lips explore you like every inch of skin is new territory to conquer.

And when Max finally whispers your name, loaded with restrained desire you know you’re lost. There’s no podium higher than this. No race more intense.

The heat between the three of you is almost unbearable. Max holds you firmly by the waist, forcing you to stand upright while Charles kneels between your legs, impatient, determined.

"Open wider" Max commands in a low, dangerous tone. It's not a suggestion, it's an order. And you comply.

Charles doesn't wait any longer. His tongue finds you with precision, as if he knows every exact point where to break you into a thousand pieces. You moan, one hand tangling in his hair while Max holds your face, forcing you to look at him.

"I want to see you react. I want to see you unraveling for us—he says, his lips almost brushing against yours". Don't close your eyes. Look at me while he makes you tremble.

You feel your whole body burn, an explosive mix of pleasure and desire. Charles growls against you, more impatient, deeper, knowing exactly how to make you lose control. Your back arches, your legs tremble, and you are about to…

"Not so fast" Max says, pulling you back just at the edge of the abyss. Your lips protest, your hips seek more, but he doesn't allow it.

Charles rises with wet lips and an arrogant smile.

"Not yet" Max adds, gently pushing you toward the bed behind you. "Let's take our time with you".

They both surround you, one on each side. Hands everywhere. Lips, teeth, gasps. There's no room for modesty. There are no rules. Just the sweet punishment of their bodies claiming you as if you were theirs.

Because tonight, you are.

Max is the first to remove your clothing, each garment taken off with a mix of urgency and reverence, as if undressing you were a privilege that only he had the right to exercise. Charles is not far behind. His fingers trace your skin as if memorizing every line, every curve, every shudder they provoke.

"So perfect..." murmurs Charles as his lips travel down your abdomen. "Let's make you feel it all".

You are trapped between them. Max behind you, naked, his firm chest against your back as his hand slides between your thighs, playing with the wetness you can no longer hide. Charles, between your legs again, but this time his fingers join the dance. It's two against one, and they know it. They enjoy it.

Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more, begging without words.

"Do you want more?" asks Max in his gravelly voice, gently squeezing your neck as he bites your earlobe. "Ask for it".

"Please..." you sigh, unashamed, without resistance.

He tilts you forward while Charles stands, his erection brushing against your lips. You look up, swallowing hard. He smiles, caressing your cheek.

"Be good" he says, guiding himself toward your mouth.

As your lips wrap around him, Max thrusts into you from behind, a single thrust that elicits a muffled moan from you. You are completely full, completely trapped between the two of them.

The pace is intense. Max takes you forcefully, without rest, his hands firm on your hips. Charles moves in sync, gasping each time your lips close tighter, every time your eyes look up at him, filled with lust.

"Look at her..." Max says with a grunt. "She’s made for this. For us".

Your body no longer belongs to you. Each thrust, each caress, each command... is fire. And when Max finally comes with a guttural groan, trembling against your back, it's not the end. It's only the beginning.

Charles takes you next, lifting you effortlessly, placing you on top of him on the bed. And then it’s you who moves, who sets the rhythm, as Max watches, still panting, with a satisfied smile.

"I want to see her come on you, Charles"he says. "I want to hear her scream your name".

You don't need much more. You're so close. So on the edge.

And when you break, you do so with a scream that carries both names, both bodies, both pleasures intertwined.

Your body surrenders. But they do not.

Your body still trembles, breathless, muscles relaxing after that first climax that left you gasping. But they are not satisfied. They are never satisfied.

"We’re not finished with you yet" whispers Max, sitting beside you, his hand trailing down your chest to your belly, slowly, possessively. "Can you handle another round, sweetheart?"

Charles doesn't wait for a response. He is already standing again, walking around the bed with that smirk that is pure sin. He grabs you by the waist and drags you to the edge of the mattress.

"Face down" he orders, his accent thickened by heavy breathing. "I want to see you from behind, trembling for me".

You obey, your body still sensitive, but each of his touches ignites a new fire within you. Max positions himself in front of you, tenderly caressing your face while Charles takes you from behind, slow at first, stretching the moment until all you can do is moan his name against Max's belly.

"Open your mouth" Max tells you in a soft, commanding voice. "Let me soothe you".

And you do. Without thinking, without holding back. You take him in your mouth as Charles quickens behind you, thrusting forcefully, hungrily, until the moans blend together, wet, dirty, perfect.

You are caught between two men who know exactly what they are doing. Every movement, every thrust, every word. They are experts at taking you to the limit... and then crossing it.

When Max comes again in your mouth, his fingers tangled in your hair, Charles doesn't take long to follow, buried deep within you.moaning your name as if it were a mantra.

You collapse among them, gasping, body marked by lips and hands and desire. Max kisses your forehead. Charles gently strokes your back.

"Now yes… " says Max, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Now you are completely ours".

And you cannot dispute it.

You do not want to.

[cameronsbabydoll]

i want ward to eat me out then bend/fold my legs to my head pounding my pussy then switch me to doggy fucking me even more deeper while rafe is tied to a cuck chair

the room is dimly lit, the air thick with tension and the scent of arousal. ward’s kneeling between your thighs, his strong hands gripping your hips as he pulls you closer to his mouth. his tongue dives in without hesitation, lapping at your dripping pussy with a hunger that makes your toes curl. he’s relentless, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you gasp, then dragging his tongue down to tease your entrance, tasting every bit of you. your fingers twist into his hair, pulling him closer as your hips grind against his face, slickness coating his chin. he groans against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core, and you can feel yourself unraveling already, thighs trembling as he devours you like a man starved.

“fuck, ward,” you moan, voice shaky, and he doesn’t let up, his tongue plunges inside you, curling and flicking, while his nose presses against your clit, driving you wild. your orgasm hits hard, a wave of heat crashing over you as you clench around nothing, soaking his mouth with your release. he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips glistening, before grabbing your legs and yanking them up.

“hold still,” he growls, his voice rough with lust. He bends your knees toward your chest, folding you in half until your ankles are damn near by your ears. the stretch burns in the best way, leaving you exposed and vulnerable as he lines himself up. his cock’s thick and throbbing, the tip already leaking as he rubs it against your soaked entrance. then he slams into you, no warning, no mercy—just a deep, brutal thrust that fills you completely. you cry out, the angle letting him hit spots so deep it’s almost too much, his hips snapping against yours with a force that makes your whole body shake. he’s pounding you relentlessly, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, your pussy clenching around him as he drives you toward another edge.

across the room, rafe’s tied to a chair, ropes biting into his wrists and ankles, his cock straining against his pants as he watches. his jaw’s tight, eyes dark with a mix of fury and helpless arousal, unable to do anything but stare as ward fucks you senseless. “enjoying the show, son?” ward taunts, not even breaking rhythm, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you folded as he rams into you harder. rafe’s chest heaves, a low groan slipping out despite himself, his erection painfully obvious.

ward pulls out abruptly, leaving you whimpering at the sudden emptiness, but he’s not done. “on your knees,” he orders, voice commanding. you scramble to obey, ass up, face down, and he’s behind you in an instant. he grabs your hips, yanking you back as he thrusts into you again, deeper than before, the angle making you scream into the sheets. doggy’s his domain now—he’s fucking you like an animal, each thrust stretching you, hitting your cervix with a delicious sting. his balls slap against your clit with every brutal stroke, and you’re a moaning, dripping mess, pussy gripping him tight as he takes what he wants. “look at him,” ward snarls, fisting your hair to lift your head. “look at rafe while i ruin you.”

your eyes lock with rafe’s, his face flushed, lips parted as he pants, completely at your mercy—or ward’s. ward’s pace picks up, impossibly deeper, and you shatter again, cumming so hard you see stars, your walls pulsing around his cock. he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it, chasing his own release until he finally spills inside you, hot and thick, groaning your name.

[sylvieisoffline]

Steamy Interrogation

word count: 3k words

tags: 🔞 Explicit sexual content / NSFW (18+) MDNI! | Slight Gunplay (used as a prop)| Dubcon | Improper Use of Evol | Power Imbalance | Mild Objectification | Overstimulation

Please only consume what you can handle.

note: Aaaand I'm back with another Sylus fic! I swear I have the other LIs in my drafts, it's just that I'm so inspired doing Sylus' ones first haha. Have y'all seen Magnum Opus? It's soooo good and I'm so satisfied with how they gave us a peek into sylusmc's dynamic in a free 5-Star Card. Hope you enjoy this one and please let me know in the comments what you'd like to read from me next. divider by: @cafekitsune

You text Kieran after a particularly arduous mission, asking if you could use the hot tub on their penthouse again. You were already in front of the unit but insisted on waiting for his reply before you go in.

It had been a sort of an after-mission ritual. When after one mission had you very sore and your gym buddy / best friend Kieran started offering access to one of his brother's places. You were reluctant at first, initially overcome with embarrassment with the idea of taking baths on another person's place. Someone you haven't met moreso.

"My brother doesn't stay there anyway. He just bought the place 'cause it looked nice and wanted to have someplace to stay whenever he's here in Linkon—which he rarely does now by the way. Even Luke is sulking with how busy he's become that he doesn't even visit now."

You agreed then, asking him, like, ten more times after that even if he kept reassuring you that it was fine.

You were pulled back to reality when your phone pinged with a new notification.

“Sure, left the doors open. Make yourself at home ;)”

You thanked him, entering the unit and depositing your stuff on one of the couches. The place is quiet—sunlight slicing through the tall glass windows, steam already curling from the water’s surface. You strip without much thought and slip into the heat, letting it swallow the tension in your shoulders. After a while, you climb out and sit at the edge, towel draped lazily across your lap as you dry your hair.

That’s when you hear the bathroom door open.

Heavy, deliberate steps echo into the space, followed by the unmistakable sound of a safety catch clicking off.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze.

Your breath catches as you look up—and see him.

Not Kieran.

Someone else. Taller. Sharper.

Ruby eyes locked on you, gun aimed steady and unshaking.

“Who the hell are you?” “I—I thought this place was empty,” you stammer, arms instinctively tightening around your towel. “Hands where I can see them,” he says coldly.

You raise your arms slowly. The towel lifts with you, but slips slightly—your bare body catching in the low light.

His right eye glows as he's scrutinizing but his expression doesn’t change. You can't help but marvel at the sight.

You momentarily hope that he doesn't sense the ugly feeling other than fear simmering in your system after being entranced in his eyes like that.

“Drop it.” “What?” “The towel.”

You hesitate. But he doesn’t lower the gun.

Your fingers loosen, the towel falls in a soft heap by your feet. You stand there, completely bare under his gaze.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You swallow hard and obey.

Behind you, the silence stretches—then breaks.

You hear the rustling of clothes. Heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. Something heavy hits the floor as goosebumps crawl through your skin.

You hear footsteps again—bare this time. He comes closer.

The cold press of the barrel nudges the small of your back.

“Move.”

You step forward, slowly, heart racing, body burning with both dread and something else.

He deliberately walks behind you, still holding the gun to the small of your back while nearing the tub. You hesitantly dip yourself back in the bubbling water and hear him follow suit.

The soft click of metal resounds in the bathroom as he sets the gun down on the ledge. Then, you hear something unfamiliar—an electric hum, faint and low. A red current crawls up your limbs before you can react.

You gasp.

Your wrists are yanked back behind you—locked in place. Your ankles drawn together, suspended in a precise tension as your body floats slightly above the water’s surface.

“What—what is this—?” “It's my evol, miss.” he murmurs, voice low and unreadable.

You struggle, but his Evol holds firm.

Then suddenly—he’s behind you.

You feel him.

The weight of his chest just barely grazing your back, his breath curling against your ear, and lower still—the unmistakable, thick heat resting against the dip of your ass, barely sheathed by the water. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t truly touched you, but your body reacts anyway—muscles twitching, skin hypersensitive, breath stuttering.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, and this time, his hand grips your jaw, tilting your head just enough to expose your throat. “Let me ask again—why are you here?”

“I—I didn’t know—Kieran said—”

The second his name leaves your lips, the man scoffs.

“Kieran.” His voice dips, a bitter curl at the edge. “Of course.”

The tension in the air shifts—something sharper than suspicion settling between you.

He clicks his tongue, almost amused. His hand leaves your jaw, his breath brushing your neck as he trails his lips along your skin—just barely grazing, barely touching. Then, he parts his lips and nips.

A sharp little bite just beneath your ear.

You gasp, your hips twitching again despite how sensitive you already are.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He breaths,“Why you’re shaking.”

Another nip—this time lower, right at the curve of your throat, then down along your collarbone. Each bite is purposeful, not deep enough to bruise but firm enough to sting just slightly, a wicked contrast to the warm water sloshing around your body.

His hands slide up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over your nipples before he skirts around to let his mouth follow. His teeth scrape one, then he sucks it into his mouth with slow, deliberate pressure.

You arch into him with a choked whimper, the mix of pain and heat making your thighs tense under the surface.

“Why you’re so fucking wet.”

Heat sears through you, your body betraying you with another twitch. Your lips part to deny it, but he’s already moved.

His tongue circles your nipple again, slow and wet, before he switches to the other. His Evol tugs your arms tighter behind your back, just enough to make your chest arch out toward him—putting everything on display, just how he wants it.

“Look at you,” he purrs, mouth trailing back up to your throat. “Bound, dripping, squirming…All from a little teasing.”

Another sharp bite at the side of your neck makes you moan, your head falling against his shoulder. He moves back to the spot behind you as he repositions your body to not sink further into the tub. He chuckles low in his chest, the water rippling as his hand disappears beneath the surface, his fingers ghosting over your folds—barely a touch, but enough to make you squirm.

One slow stroke.

Another.

You gasp, your knees buckling in the water, but the Evol keeps you suspended, helpless.

“Sensitive,” he notes, fingers teasing your bud. “How convenient.”

You barely register the meaning before his fingers press more firmly against you, slipping between your folds. You jolt. Your Evol-bound wrists twitch, but the restraints hold firm. His thumb brushes your clit, expertly timed with another push—your body jerking as sparks shoot up your spine. You cry out, unable to contain the sound this time, trembling violently in his grip.

“Interesting,” he muses, stroking once. Twice. A slow, torturous pace. “You’re not denying it.”

A humiliated moan leaves your throat, and he chuckles—a deep, quiet sound that makes your stomach twist.

“Too easy,” he murmurs. “Is that all it takes?”

A slow drag of his fingers up and down. Dipping inside, teasing at your entrance but not pushing in anymore. His thumb brushes your clit in the lightest touch, barely a graze, but it still sends a violent tremor through you.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan.

“Don’t be shy now.” His free hand grips your chin, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I want to hear you.”

He presses his thumb down fully this time, circling once—slow, precise, devastating. You scream, hips jerking into his touch, body desperate for friction.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, dragging his lips against the shell of your ear. “So desperate. Maybe I should just leave you like this. Struggling. Needy.”

The thought makes you whine. Your fingers flex uselessly, your ankles twitching against the unrelenting grip of his Evol.

“Or maybe,” he breathes, “I should push you a little further.”

You barely have time to process the words before he thrusts two fingers inside you.

A cry rips from your throat, your body clenching down instinctively around the sudden stretch.

He hums. “Tight.” Another stroke, deeper this time, his fingers curling just right. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You shake your head desperately. “N-no—”

“Liar.”

A sharp thrust. Another. His pace is still measured, still controlled, but every movement is meant to unravel you, to keep you right at the edge.

And it’s working.

Your thighs tremble, the pressure in your core winding tight, pleasure building so fast it’s nearly unbearable. Your breathing turns ragged, broken moans slipping past your lips.

“You gonna cum already?” he taunts, his fingers pressing deep, thumb rolling slow, teasing circles against your clit. “So quick. Is that all it takes?”

You shake your head again, but your body betrays you—the telltale tension coiling impossibly tight.

“Come for me.” His voice drops to a whisper, dark and commanding.

“Now.”

And you do.

Your body jerks violently against the restraints, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you convulse around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging every aftershock, pushing you straight into overstimulation. Your legs shake, another cry spilling from your lips.

"S-sir, 's too much. Pleas—"

“Too much?” he purrs, amused. “You sure?”

He finally withdraws his fingers—only to drag them up, pressing them against your lips.

“Open.”

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for refusal. You part your lips, your own taste spreading over your tongue as he pushes his fingers in.

“Good girl.”

Then—he shifts.

The water moves as he steps even closer, his Evol releasing your legs just enough for you to feel him lining up against you. You choke back a sob, realization dawning through the pleasure-drunk haze.

“You already took my fingers so well,” he breathes, his cock pressing against your entrance now, thick and hard. “Let’s see how much more you can handle."

When he finally presses himself against you again—thick, hard, ready—you’re already dripping around nothing.

“You’re going to take every inch,” he says lowly. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

He pushes in slowly, deliberately. You dig your nails into your palms as you struggle to accomodate his girth, each inch more unbearable than the last. You moan, helpless under the flood of sensation.

Your entire body arches—mouth falling open in a silent scream as your walls stretch around him, the sudden intrusion overwhelming. He’s thick, hard, relentless from the first stroke, and your Evol-bound body can do nothing but take it.

Then he begins to move.

“Fuck—” His voice finally drops from its usual cool tone, his grip tightening on your waist. “So fucking tight.” he growls into your shoulder. “You’re taking me so well for someone who wasn’t expecting company.”

Slow at first—just enough for you to feel every ridge, every pulse. Then faster, deeper, brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air again, water splashing around your bodies. Your voice is a blur of moans and gasps, lost in the sound of him fucking you like he owns you. Every thrust is deep, purposeful—like he’s trying to brand his shape inside you.

“That’s it,” he growls, hips snapping against yours. “Take it.”

Your mind is blank, fogged with the blinding edge of overstimulation. Pleasure coils violently in your belly—shame and ecstasy twined too tightly to separate. Your climax crashes over you before you can stop it, hips jerking in the water as you sob through it, Evol still locking you in place.

But he doesn’t stop.

If anything, he thrusts harder, riding out your orgasm only to build another. His hands grip your hips now, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he pistons into you, his pace brutal and fast.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let go. Come for me again."

Your body locks around him, shaking with every thrust as he fucks you hard, water splashing around both of you as the pace builds again. Each slap of skin sends sparks through your body, and your climax slams into you harder than the first—violent, uncontrollable, teeth letting go of your lip as you scream.

But the man doesn’t let go. Not yet.

His grip is bruising on your waist as he thrusts through your orgasm, chasing his own release, panting now—low, guttural noises ripping from his throat until finally he drives into you one last time and groans, spilling into you, body tight with tension.

Your Evol restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, boneless and shaking. He catches you, pulls you against him, your bodies still half-submerged in the water.

But he’s not done.

You barely register movement until he lifts you—just enough to sit you on the edge of the tub, legs spread, dripping, glistening in the soft steam-lit glow.

“Don’t move.”

His tone is lower now, huskier. Almost reverent.

He kneels in the water between your thighs, hands parting you again, spreading you wide for him. You flinch from the contact, still sensitive—but that only makes him smirk.

“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers stroking your swollen folds before his tongue finally presses flat against you.

Your head drops back with a cry, the sudden rush of wet heat too much, too sharp. He licks slow, dragging the flat of his tongue up and over your clit in lazy, deliberate strokes.

You buck against him, fingers digging into the tiled edge of the tub, helpless to the fire blooming again in your core.

“Still sweet,” he mutters between licks. “Still twitching for me.”

His tongue circles your clit again, over and over, switching between soft teases and sudden hard flicks that make your thighs jerk and close around his head—until his Evol restrains you again, keeping your legs spread wide open for him.

He moans into you at the same time he presses two fingers back inside, tongue working in perfect rhythm, dragging you toward the edge again.

“Come on,” he growls against you. “Give it to me. Again.”

You don’t stand a chance.

You cum again, thighs shaking violently, your cries echoing in the steamy air, body collapsing into shudders as he licks you through every aftershock—until you’re a wrecked, panting mess above him, still twitching from the overstimulation.

Your body gives out the moment it’s over.

Every last drop of strength drains from your limbs—your mission fatigue, the emotional whiplash of being interrogated at gunpoint, the overwhelming pleasure wrung out of you in waves—it all crashes down at once.

You collapse into his arms.

His hands shift under your legs and behind your back, lifting you gently from the tub. You hear water dripping off you both as he carries you across the marble floor, steps unhurried, expression unreadable—but his hold is firm. Protective. Possessive.

He sets you down on a soft surface, kneeling beside you. He begins to wipe you down with a patience that doesn’t quite match his earlier ruthlessness. You flinch once, still sensitive, and his touch instantly softens.

He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes linger on every part of you he touches, watching the way your body reacts—memorizing you all over again, even now.

When he’s done, he scoops you up again, walks you into the bedroom, and lowers you onto his bed.

His sheets smell like him—amber, leather, gunmetal.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as he dresses you in one of his button-downs, sleeves swallowing your arms. He tucks the hem under your thighs and smooths it out over your belly. It’s oversized, but warm. Familiar.

He pulls the covers over you and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering a moment.

He then leaves the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

In the living room, Sylus towels off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a loose black shirt. His fingers run through his wet hair before he picks up his phone and dials.

The line rings once.

“What?” Kieran’s voice comes through groggy and irritable. “It’s late, man.”

“You didn’t think to tell me you've already met my Beloved?” Sylus says flatly.

There’s a pause. Then an incredulous laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sylus’ jaw clenches.

“The woman you’ve been letting use the penthouse. The one you’ve been hiding from me.”

“What? I wasn’t hiding—wait.” There’s a beat of silence. “You met her?”

“I did more than just meet her.”

“Sylus,” Kieran says, voice rising with panic. “What did you do?”

Sylus groans and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“What didn’t we do?”

There’s a choked sound on the other end of the line.

“Are you fucking serious?! You better not have hurt her or els—”

“Calm down,” Sylus cuts in, voice cool again. “If anyone’s ass needs to get handed back to them, it's yours—for letting strangers use my property without telling me.”

“She’s not a stranger,” Kieran snaps. “She’s the only one I’ve let use it. You’re lucky it was her and not, I don’t know, someone actually dangerous.”

“Hmph.” A rare hint of amusement glints in Sylus’ tone. “Then you’ve made your one good decision today.”

“Sylus—seriously, just…Be gentle with her, okay?”

“I always am,” he replies smoothly, ending the call before Kieran can protest further.

He returns to the bedroom quietly.

The lights are dim now, your breathing soft and even beneath the covers. He slips in behind you, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

His nose brushes your slightly damp hair. He inhales deeply—like he’s grounding himself in the scent of you, the warmth of you in his bed.

You shift in your sleep, instinctively curling toward him. He smiles against your temple and presses a soft kiss there.

“We’re finally reunited,” he whispers. “My Beloved Sorceress.”

And he holds you tighter—like he never intends to let you go again.

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