#( * muse

[beomiracles]

Hello Serene! Congratulations on 500 followers, you’ve come a very long way haven’t you? This request is specifically for the 500 bash special and it’s for: Build your own dream

The plot revolves around the theme of IVE’s song “Hypnosis” where the reader (aka female y/n) is a renowned psychologist that specializes in hypnotherapy. One day, she is approached by Beomgyu who suffers from insomnia. Through advanced hypnosis techniques, beomgyu’s insomniac tendencies slowly dwindled down into dreams and as he began to heal, he starts to develop feelings for y/n. Y/n too does find herself increasingly attracted to beomgyu and from there on, their relationship starts to build outside of professional boundaries and in their private times, they would make out

For their make out session, you have free range to do whatever you want with it: smut, suggestive, etc.

🩵🫶🏼

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... I'm not 100% sure that I captured the idea correct and I got a lil carried away...! but I hope you'll still like it c: ─ I skimmed through it once, does it count as proofreading?

wc -> 2k

pairings beomgyu x hypnotherapist!reader (afab) warnings sensory deprivation, semi-public fingering, slight marking, tiny bit of degrading, tit sucking, no established relationships.

“Mr. Choi”, you mumble without looking up from your papers, “how are you today?” The sound of the door softly shutting behind him fills the quiet room as Beomgyu plops down on the sofa opposite you. “Oh c’mon, doc. You and I both know that we’re past such formalities”, his lips stretch into a grin as he leans back against the soft cushion; propping his arms behind his head, his legs spread in a way that was bound to catch your attention. 

You glance up from your papers, ignoring the heat that rushes to your cheeks as your eyes lock with his. “Right”, you say as you readjust yourself on your own sofa, “how are you today, Beomgyu?” His grin widens at the use of his first name, “well since you ask, I’m delightful.” Giving him a polite smile, you reach for your small notebook in which you kept track of his previous session – and there had been many. You bite your lip as you note how your scribbles had grown sparser with each session; an evident sign to your lack of concentration.

Clearing your throat, you buy yourself some time by keeping your eyes on the few sentences on your current page. “We talked about your dreams last time. Have you been experiencing any more since then?” Beomgyu remains silent for a moment, one of the hands behind his head moves to fiddle with a loose thread of his jeans. Your gaze follows the movement before traveling up his arm, noting that he was wearing a t-shirt that clung to his figure, leaving little to your already wild imagination – you swallow. 

“Yes and no”, he slowly begins as he snaps your attention back to where it should have remained. Internally cursing yourself for your lack of professionalism, you give him an encouraging smile, trying to brush over your small slip up “How so?” you ask as you ready your pencil in order to take notes. Beomgyu gives a small shrug of his shoulders as his eyes remain on the strand of his jeans. “They’re still lucid”, he states and you nod. 

“I can feel everything, hear, and see…I can also touch things, touch people.” He slowly drawls, his gaze unwavering as his fingers twist the small thread. The last part makes you frown as you look up from your notes, “you didn’t mention there being anyone else in your previous session.” The corner of his lip twitches, “that’s right.” – You scribble down the small change before continuing. “So you’re saying that these people started appearing recently?” 

Beomgyu slowly nods. “Do these people hold any significance?” You wonder as you study his unblinking expression, noting the small smirk presented on his lips. “Very much so.” He muses as he looks up from his jeans, immediately his dark eyes find yours and your heart skips a beat. Swallowing a gulp, your gaze quickly drops to the notebook in your lap; your hand moves across the paper as you write down pure nonsense in order to distract yourself. “And are the contents of your dreams the same?” You ask as you recall him telling you about his previous dreams; packed with grief and misery. 

“Certainly not, doc.” He says, his voice lingering with mischief; as if waiting for your next question. – A question he knew you would ask. With a light clearing of your throat, your eyes flit back up to his, “then what have they been about recently?” You watch as Beomgyu’s eyes glint, his lips curling further above his shiny teeth, “you.” 

His answer catches you off guard as you blink at him dumbfoundedly. You? He was dreaming about you? “Alright…” you slowly begin as you shift uncomfortably on the sofa, “and the others..” – Beomgyu shakes his head, “there are no others. Only you, doc.” He smiles, as if his statement had been the most obvious thing he’d revealed to you during all your sessions thus far. 

“I see”, you mumble as you readjust the glasses resting on the bridge of your nose. “Do you still feel comfortable sharing these dreams with me? I can redirect you to one of my colleagues if that feels better..” You propose, silently begging for him to take the bait, to back down from what could become a situation in which your professionalism was jeopardized. – Not that it wasn’t already. 

“Oh I don’t mind at all”, he says as he cradles his face with both hands; resting his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. You let out a small sigh before nodding, accepting the inevitable task at hand. “Alright then, whenever you’re comfortable”, you agree as you flip a page in your notebook. 

“I was thinking…” Beomgyu slowly drawls as he gauges your expression closely, “that it would be better if I showed you.” The frown that had etched its way to your face was quickly replaced by a look of surprise as he pats the space on the sofa next to him. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea..” – “Oh come on, doc. Don’t act coy with me now, we’ve been closer I reckon.” The smirk that he flashes you is enough for you to realize exactly why you shouldn’t be doing this. – Yet as if your feet moved on their own, you rise from your couch and walk over to him. 

You deliberately take a seat as far away from him as possible in an attempt to keep things at least a bit professional. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to mind your hesitance as he openly ogles the way your skirt glides up your thighs; his gaze only snapping up when your hands pull the flimsy material down once more. You clear your throat as you wait for him to start talking, the brief silence seemed to go on forever. 

“The dream starts off in a dark room”, he says as he holds your gaze. “Close your eyes.” – “What?” The exclamation slips past your lips in sheer surprise at his command, but Beomgyu remains persistent. “You heard me.” Upon noticing your hesitant look he adds, “it will only make sense if you close your eyes.” 

You knew that this was a bad idea, an unprofessional and a terrible idea; yet you do as he says. Your hands placed nervously in your lap, you await his next move. You felt vulnerable like this, stripped of your sight. Beomgyu’s hand on your forearm startles you, and you curse yourself for slightly flinching at the light touch. 

“I always start here”, he murmurs, his thumb gently massages your tense muscles before creeping up your arm. “Your skin is always soft, and warm.” His voice is low as he speaks, fingertips dancing across your shoulder, dangerously close to where your shirt exposed your collarbone and it takes everything in you not to shudder under his touch. 

“Then I do this..” – His hand brushes along your exposed neck, and you involuntarily shiver at the action. His hand against your skin felt hot, burning even, and without your ability to see, your senses become hyper aware of the way his fingers brushed along your cleavage. “You shiver like this in my dreams too.” He mumbles, almost fascinated with the reactions he was drawing from you. 

You know that it is wrong, you know that you should push his hand away, tell him off; but you don’t. – Instead you let it happen, because part of you wants this just as bad as he does, if not more. Suddenly the hand against your chest disappears and you can no longer feel him on you. 

When Beomgyu speaks again, his voice sounds hoarse, strained even. “You never say anything in my dreams.” He sounds dejected as he states said fact, though you barely have time to take note of the change in his voice as his burning hand returns, this time it caresses your exposed knee. A noise of surprise escapes your sealed lips and you can hear his intake of breath at the sound. “It’s a shame. You sound so pretty.” 

You swallow a gulp, already knowing where this was heading – yet not doing anything to stop it. You knew that you had to, if not you would end up where you had a week prior. But his hand, slowly creeping up your inner thigh, brought back memories you had tried so desperately to bury. 

Without opening your eyes, you wrap your fingers around his wrist. “We can’t.” Is all you say as you hold your breath. Afraid that even the smallest of move from your part might break the little self restraint you had left. “Why not?” Beomgyu’s breath is suddenly mere inches from your lips. “Do not tell me that you didn’t enjoy last time.” 

You shake your head, eyes still screwed shut. “Last time was a mistake, Beomgyu.” You whisper as you lean away from him. The grip on your thigh increases as he grows frustrated with your response, “but you have been thinking of it.” His nose bumps against yours, “tell me to stop and I will.” His lips hover above your own, the hand on your thigh slowly creeping higher. 

Drawing in a short breath, you meekly nod, and in a split second Beomgyu has shoved his mouth against yours. You do not dare open your eyes, afraid that if you did, it would all become real, too real. Instead your hands move to his hair, silently begging him for what you couldn’t utter out loud. Beomgyu quickly catches on as his hand seathes itself between your legs; a satisfied groan emitting from him at the feel of your soaked panties. 

“Fuck, doc. You always this wet during our sessions?” 

You don’t answer as you moan against his lips. Beomgyu’s fingers quickly slips past the drenched fabric of your underwear; fuck, he breathes as your wet cunt drenches said fingers. His thumb against your clit sends your mind into a clouded haze as your fingers tighten on his hair. 

“I dream about you every night”, he whines into your mouth as he pushes two of his fingers deep inside your throbbing core; relishing in the way you clench around him. “You don’t even know half the shit you do to me.” – “Yeah?” you breathe out as your hips buck against his hand. 

“Yeah.” He repeats as his head dips down to the juncture of your neck, leaving sloppy and wet kisses along your skin. The way his fingers curled inside of you made your back arch off the sofa, your chest pressing against his face as Beomgyu’s kisses traveled to your breasts. “W-wait, wait-” you gasp as his fingers rip the buttons of your shirt open, “not in here.” – Beomgyu’s free hand makes quick work of freeing your breasts from the confinements of your bra as his lips wrap around your now exposed nipple. 

“Don’t fucking tell me to wait when I’ve been depriving myself of you for an entire week.” He groans against your skin and all your protests are swallowed by the moans of pleasure he draws from you. “F-fuck”, you whimper as you feel your orgasm approaching. – Beomgyu smirks against your chest, “you gonna cum all over this couch? Explain the mess to your next patients?” 

Your cheeks flush at the comment and you bite your lip as your thighs squeeze together. “Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He taunts as his fingers quicken their pace. Desperately you nod as your fingers twist in his hair. “Dirty fucking bitch.” Beomgyu huffs as his lips return to your breasts, his fingers working you toward your desired orgasm. 

With a small cry, you release all over his hand, your fluids dripping onto the cushion beneath you as you rocked your hips against his fingers. Beomgyu hums contently against your chest before releasing your nipple from his mouth to lean back and admire his work. – From your clouded expression to your abused chest – wet from his kisses, down to your leaking cunt, messing up the sofa. 

He throws a quick glance toward the clock on the wall. – “I still have fifteen minutes left of my session”, he smirks as he unzips his jeans. 

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[moonchildstyles]

First time sex with rosemary 🌿

wordcount: 9k

—————

Wiping her floured hands on her apron, (Y/N) brushed her hair out of her face with her wrist before reaching towards her back pocket for her vibrating phone. Her lips curled into a soft smile seeing Harry's name on her screen, his contact featuring a photo of him sleepy-eyed next to his kitten in her bed had her smile stretching wider. Taking a quick glance at the time, she was sure he'd just made it back to his apartment after finishing up at the grocery store. 

Quickly, she peeled her gloves from her hands and peeked out into the storefront of the bakery. Just as she had left it a handful of minutes before, there weren't any patrons now that the morning rush had passed, leaving Sabrina tucked behind the desk with her book folded open. 

"Hey, I'm going to take my fifteen really quick. Is that okay?" As soon as Sabrina gave her the go ahead with a wave of her hand with her eyes still stuck to her book, (Y/N) was answering the call with a tap of her thumb. "Harry?" she greeted, stepping out back of the bakery for a bit of privacy in the mid-morning air. 

"Hi, peach," he murmured through the receiver, voice drooping and soft, "Is it alright that I called you? I know you're still working, so." 

"Your timing was perfect, actually," she told him, knowing he was probably more worried than he was letting on for fear of having ruined her day, "Everything just cleared out from this morning, and I needed a break." 

"Yeah? Long shift already?" he pressed, the sound of sheets shuffling on the other side with a petite meow chirping through. 

"A little bit, yeah," she sighed, wishing she was wrapped up in warm sheets with Harry and Rosemary, "Just one of those Sunday morning shifts, you know. How was your night, though? Work was okay?" 

"Yeah," he said, the syllable floating out on a long suffering sigh, "Theo and Brett were still annoying, but I think Fawn is going to cover one of my shifts this week." 

(Y/N) immediately perked up at the new information. She'd been urging him to take some time off this past month; he didn't have to work himself to the bone anymore, not now that his issues from back home had been resolved. It was unhealthy, she'd told him more than once—he would make himself sick with more than just exhaustion if he wasn't careful. 

"Really? What day?" she bubbled off, ready and willing to shift her own schedule around if he wanted. 

"Thursday." 

She could hear the smile in his voice as he uttered the words. He knew what reaction he was going to get. 

"Are you serious?" she beamed, bouncing on the soles of her feet, "You have the whole weekend off then?" 

"I do, yeah. So do you." 

"Harry," she bleated, "I'm so excited! We haven't had any time together I feel like, and now we get a whole weekend! Thank you!" 

"That's what I was thinking when I made my request; barely seen you this past week. 'S not fair." 

"It's not," she affirmed, "You haven't even been able to sleep over since Friday. I'm not used to that." 

"Me neither, peach," he murmured, his tone decidedly more somber than just a moment before though she understood where he was coming from. 

Ever since their impromptu road trip, they tended to have as many sleepovers as their schedules would allow. Besides the comfort that came along with being at each other's side—especially in the case of Harry's frequent nightmares—, it was hard to forget how much they liked sharing a bed and sitting down for meals together. 

"Did you want to do anything special?" she prompted, already racking her brain for anything that Harry would enjoy leaving the house for. 

"I've got to go to the library at some point," he mused, another chirping meow sounding from the background prompting a huff of laughter to leave his lips, "But, other than that, I was hoping I could catch up on m'sleep." 

"We can do that," (Y/N) decided, shifting her view of the days off to turn into cozy sheets and breakfasts in bed, "A weekend long sleepover. We'll make a thing of it." 

"Yeah?" Harry asked, a smile audible in his tone—a vision that had (Y/N)'s chest warming. "How are we gonna do that?" 

She hummed, sifting through her ideas before landing on a few to share, "Probably movies if we have the attention span for it—if not, we can read together or something. We can do face masks too—Ooh, or I'll get another of that hair mask you like. Let me think, but I have some ideas." 

"'M sure y'do, peach," he murmured, his voice decidedly lower and slower than before, sleep vining around the edges of his words, "Whatever y'want, we'll do. I trust you." 

"I'll make sure we make a thing of it, H," she told him, reluctant to say her next words but knowing he needed to get as much sleep as he could manage, "I've got to get back to the ovens, but I'll text you when I'm off." 

"Yeah?" he mumbled, "Tell me when y'get home?" 

"You've got it," she smiled, feeling the winter sun warm on her cheeks, "Goodnight, H."

"Goodnight, peach." 

With that, (Y/N) ended the call. Hopefully, he would be able to sleep through the rest of her shift at least. He just needed to get through the next few days, then he'd have some time off to spend at her gingerbread house. 

The thought had that soft curl on her lips feeling permanent. She would have to remind him how proud she was that he was taking a couple of days off, the time well-deserved. 

Just like she said, she would make a thing of it, she only had to figure out what a thing for Harry looked like. 

—————

With Rosemary wriggling in his arms, Harry nearly fumbled his keys to the ground while on (Y/N)'s stoop. She was a calm little thing nearly any other time of the day, but as soon as they were at (Y/N)'s door, Rosie couldn't settle. 

Keeping his hold on her tight, he was able to finally stumble through the door before letting her spill out of his arms. Her feet pattered over the hardwood, beelining for the kitchen just as he knew she would. Harry could only shake his head as he kicked off his shoes by the door, setting them next to (Y/N)'s under the foyer table. He couldn't stay mad, though, especially not when he heard the familiar cooing of his peach filtering down the hall. 

"Where's your daddy, Rosie?" (Y/N) crooned, voice a soft murmur through the house, "We've got to talk to him about how hungry you are when you come over. Is he not giving you enough treats?"

Following the sound of her voice, Harry's lips curled instinctively into a soft smile when he spotted (Y/N) crouched next to his kitten, fingers massaging through her fur. There was a part of him that wanted to peer out the small window above her sink, ensuring no one was watching in—a part of him that he forcefully tamped down in favor of reveling in the sight of his stitched family. 

"You know I feed her," he drawled, leaning against the threshold of the entrance, "I don't know why she acts like this when we come over." 

It was the way (Y/N)'s features seemingly bloomed when she looked up at him. Her hand absently continued petting Rosemary, but it was clear all of her attention was splashed upon him. It was when her eyes were on him with nothing but adoration that had Harry happily anchored to the moment, warm and comfortable in his skin. He hoped he was able to make her feel that way when he looked at her. 

"Hey, H," she smiled, giving one last stroke to Rosie before she was standing to her feet and crossing the kitchen towards him, "I was going to ask you how work was, but you're on vacation." 

"I am, aren't I?" he mused, collecting her into his arms.

(Y/N) looped her arms around his neck while he hugged her around her middle, face cradled into the crook of her neck. His eyes fell closed reflexively, his chest expanding as he pulled in a deep breath. The sugary scent of her skin filled his lungs, her hair tickling his nose. 

"Are you excited?" she asked, trailing her fingers up and into his hair as she drew away. 

Matching her eyes, her question drifted away in favor of tipping forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. A giggled out his name against his mouth, muttering something about answering her, though Harry didn't pay it any mind. He focused on the give of her lips under his, the seam parting when she eventually melted into him. Her hands in his hair was a warming tether, keeping him from drifting out of her pastel kitchen. 

It was her that pulled away first, cutting off his indulgences earlier than he liked. He attempted to chase after her, craning his neck with puckered lips, though that only granted him a peal of her laughter fluttering between them. 

"Not in front of Rosie, H," she teased, unwrapping from his arms to move towards the stove where a warm oven and bubbling pan had gone unnoticed before. 

Harry stood back, watching as she stirred and tasted and adjusted, clicking on the light in her oven to take a peek inside. No matter how many times he'd offered to make dinner, take care of her meals—told her that he liked cooking, even—she had insisted that she wanted to take care of him, take one worry off of his plate. When she put it that way, he didn't feel like fighting with her. 

"She's seen worse, peach," he countered, leaning over the peninsula counter with his forearms flat on the surface. He had a perfect view into the domestic dream that was his (Y/N), complete with a bow in her hair despite the mess of a bun on the top of her head. 

A small laugh fell from her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him, "Maybe, but we shouldn't encourage it. Dinner's almost ready anyway, so we don't need to be distracted." 

"Yeah? What'd y'make?" He could see just the edges of something creamy in the pot she was stirring.

"Sabrina's family is visiting, and her dad gave me this recipe for stuffed shells with all this cheese and, like, spinach and stuff. I thought we'd try it out." She gave him a beaming smile when she finished whatever she was stirring, taking it off of the burner with the timer on the oven ticking down to less than two minutes. 

"That sounds really nice, love. Thank you. I've got dishes tonight." 

"Harry." A small scold—as expected.

"(Y/N)," he responded in the same arguing tone as she, "You're letting me—and my cat—stay here all weekend, 'm not letting us leave a mess here for you too. 'S alright." 

This was one of those things he didn't allow much room for argument on. It was one of those things—fear of feeling like a burden—that had come with the years on the run while attempting to ensure his impact was never felt. He was working on it, sure, but the least he could do for all of (Y/N)'s kindness was taking care of the dishes. 

"Okay," she relented, eyes rounding out as she looked up at him, "Just not tonight, though. I have something special for you after dinner." 

He did recall her saying something about making this weekend a thing for him, he just didn't really know what exactly that meant. "And, what's that?" 

A sheepish look crossed her face, softening her features and lining her eyes. "It's kind of silly, but I got some fun bath things and, like, candles and stuff. I wanted to make everything a little special tonight since it's your first extra, real day off in a long time." 

The longer she went on explaining herself, Harry could feel his own lips curling into a small smile. "Really?" he asked when she finally took a breath. 

"Yeah," she started, dropping her eyes from his, "But, you don't have to use them or anything if you don't want to. I know it might not really be your thing, and all." 

"Love," he crooned, the petname falling from his lips just for her to hear, "Thank you. That sounds really nice actually—don't remember the last time I took a bath like that. 'M always too worried about the water running cold." 

(Y/N)'s expression brightened at his words. "I'm excited for you to see all the stuff I got for you, then. But only after dinner—and dessert."

"Dessert?" 

"Of course dessert," (Y/N) smiled, moving back to the oven on the brink of beeping, "But that's a surprise." 

It was the way she looked at him before she gave her attention to the oven and baking pasta, how bubbly she seemed over something as simple as a surprise sweet for him to have at the end of the meal. That was what had him all but melting into the countertop. She could have fed him garbage and left him to soak in an ice bath and he'd be just as happy—all he needed was for her to keep looking at him like that. 

—————

"Are y'sure y'don't want me to do the dishes tonight?" 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, pulling out of Harry's embrace to head towards the kitchen and the plates waiting by the sink. "Yes, I'm sure, H. I want you to relax this weekend, I don't mind doing a couple of plates." 

"But—" 

"No," (Y/N) cut him off, plugging the sink before beginning to fill the basin with soapy water, "As soon as I get this ready, we're going to my bathroom and I'm showing you all the stuff I got for you, and then you're going to not think about the kitchen again for the rest of the night." 

"I'm not?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her insistence. Sometimes it was fun to argue with her for no other reason than he liked to see her put her foot down with a smoke to her gaze. 

He thought it was cute.

"Nope. Not even for a second." Amusement covered her own features by the time she cut the tap and turned to face him. "C'mon." 

With that, she flitted out of the kitchen with socked feet padding over the flooring. She didn't have to look back to know Harry was following. 

Tailing her through the house with his gaze carefully landing on the round of her hips as they swayed with her steps, she took him to her bathroom. There, on the counter, was a brown paper bag with a white painted logo on the front. A gifting ribbon had the handles tied together on top,  a tag with his name dangling from the tendril. 

In presentation, (Y/N) stood off to the side of the counter, a beaming smile on her face as she flourished her hands out. "Happy free weekend." 

"What's this, hm?" he hummed, stepping over the tile with his gaze narrowed teasingly in her direction. 

"Your bath stuff," she said, practically bouncing in her spot as he began reluctantly untying the bow. He wanted to keep it perfect—he couldn't remember the last time he received a gift, especially one like this. 

Harry could feel his eyes on her as he began digging through the bag. Floating on top were two powdery spheres, striped in alternating colors with dried flowers stamped inside. He settled them gently on the counter, his hands coming away with remnants of the sweet smelling dust. 

"They're bath bombs," (Y/N) piped up, "They're those things that dissolve in the water and make it colorful with all these nice skin things in them. The purple one is lavender and sage, and the blue one is lotus and jasmine."

Smiling at her explanation, he reached back inside the bag. A glass bottle filled with sweet smelling oil was his next find, the wax seal corking it closed having dripped its way down to the label. He could smell the warm, floral notes from here, even with the contents sealed away. Looking at the simple label wrapped around the thick of the bottle, he looked up at her with raised brows. 

"Massage oil?" 

It was the way she hesitated that had his lips stretching into a smile. "Its—I—It doesn't have to be used for that. It can just be a nice body oil if you want, but I... I mean if you want a massage, I could use that, so." 

So far, this was his favorite gift from her reaction alone. He settled it with a clink next to the bath bombs. "I'll keep that in mind." 

Next in line was a candle, standing tall in a cold glass voice in the bag. Pulling it out, the four wicks were sealed away with the help of the suctioned lid, showing off the marbling of the wax tucked inside. It was a swirling jade color, complete with lapping white streaks to emulate the gemstone. Under the just right light, he could see bursts of glitter suspended inside. The label boasted a vanilla sage scent, surely meant to match the sage bath bomb he'd picked up earlier. 

"Peach," he smiled, looking at his gifts spread out on the counter for him, "These are so nice, than—" 

"There's more," she bubbled, unable to contain herself this time, "At the bottom." 

He raised a brow but dug inside like she suggested. At the bottom, his fingertips brushed something smooth and flat. Getting his fingers around it, Harry already had a good idea of what he was pulling out, a smile spreading over his features and denting his cheeks with dimples. 

It was a book—one of his favorites from the library. One he had loved enough that he wished he had his own copy to keep him company—something he had told (Y/N). The cover was the black and white with splashes of red, the artwork glossier than what he had borrowed from the library. The spine was uncracked, kept in pristine condition—just the way he liked it.

"I know you've already read it, but I thought you might want to read a little again while you take your bath," (Y/N) mused at his side, her hands in a fumbling bundle before her. 

"(Y/N)," Harry sighed, looking up from his new, personal edition, "This is all wonderful, really. Thank you, so much." 

With his book still in hand, he collected her in his arms, tucking her against his chest. While he wasn't one hundred percent sure what all of the things he had received were, it was more than warming to think about her perusing a shop with him in mind, plucking things up with the intention of sharing them only with him. 

"I know it's all kind of silly, but I'm happy you like it," she murmured into his shoulder, the curl of her smile felt against the cuff. 

"'S not silly," he told her, drawing back just enough to get a look in her eyes, "I can't remember the last time anyone has done anything like this for me. I really like all of it, (Y/N). Thank you." 

Tipping his chin, he pressed his lips to hers, hoping she felt his words as much as she heard them. He felt eased when her lips molded into a soft smile. 

"I'm happy I could change that," she cemented, beginning to untangle himself from his hold, "I'll leave you to it, then. Take as long as you want, I'm just going to clean up and we'll go to bed—" 

"You're not staying with me?" 

How was he supposed to enjoy all of these trinkets and things without her there? What was the point of a sage candle and glittery bath bomb if she wasn't going to be indulging with him? 

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks, one foot out of the bathroom. "Oh—um, no? I was going to go clean the kitchen and things, remember?" 

"Yeah, but," he started, watching to reach out and keep her on the tiled floor with him, "can y'do that later?" 

"Do you want me to?" was her simple response. 

Harry nodded. "Yeah." 

Her features were warm, taking a step back into the bathroom with him. "Then, I'll do it later." 

It didn't take long for their clothing to be shed, lying in a lumpy file on the floor with the tub filled to the brim with steaming water. Harry had chosen the lavender bomb to be placed in the water, (Y/N) all too excited to show him the magic of the fizzy powder. She had urged him to sink in first, her gaze following the lines of his body before she had gone after him. 

Harry wrapped his arms around her as she sunk into him, his chest to her back. The steaming water rippled around them, scenting the air with crisp lavender and warming sage. Every deep breath he took had the bunching in his muscles lessening and lessening until he was lax with (Y/N) in his hold. He could feel her every breath, the expanding of her chest that pressed back into him, the brush of her hair drifting through the surface of the water and tickling his skin, the careful way she had her hands laying atop his own where they were threaded over the soft of her stomach. It was easy for his eyes to shutter closed with his head tipping back against the rim of the tub. 

It was almost enough to keep him from acknowledging the curve of her body pressed against his cock.

Now wasn't the time though, he starkly reminded himself, taking in a deep breath of the calming lavender. She had wanted to relax with him, not get felt up with a dick pressing against her ass. 

"Do you like it?" 

The sound of (Y/N)'s crooned words had him blinking his eyes open. He wasn't even hard yet, how could she know that he was already talking himself down? 

"What?"

"The bath bomb," she laughed, oblivious, "You said you've never used one before, right?" 

"Oh," he sounded, exhaling finally, "Yeah. 'S nice—it smells really nice. I could fall asleep in here.”

Twisting in his arms, (Y/N) shot him a beaming smile over her shoulder. "I have before—I don't recommend." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, much more willing to focus on this anecdote than on the way the shifting of her body hit points on him he would have rather ignored for the time being. 

"Oh yeah," she cemented, shaking her head, "I only woke up when I felt water going up my nose 'cause I started slipping." 

Though she laughed off the remark, a frown settled on Harry's lips. "Y'almost drowned? (Y/N)..."

Her name came out as a scold, one that had her letting out another peal of laughter. "No, I didn't drown, H—" 

"You almost did," he pointed out. 

There were parts of him, traits that he gained during his years protecting his mother and sister, that were now woven into the fabric of his personality. Hearing (Y/N)'s story had that protective gene flaring up in him, urging him to hold her tighter, keep her at his side. He wouldn't let his mind wander to another version of events where she hadn't spasmed awake when the warm water touched her nose. 

His limbs became a warming cradle around her form, caging her to him lest the bathtub somehow raise tsunami waves and try to pull them apart. He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder, speaking against the skin, "I don't like that." 

(Y/N) wiggled her hands underneath his, turning her palms up to match his own with her fingers threading between. "It's just a funny story, H. I'm fine—you know I don't take baths, like, ever, anyway." 

His brows pinched into a furrow. Sure, maybe he did know that. "Still," he grumbled.

Harry's petulance only served to draw another breath of laughter from her chest. 

She wriggled in his hold some, melting into him as she slid deeper into the water. The milky shaded water ripped around her, Harry keeping her close as she settled with her head resting against his shoulder. 

"I'm fine, Harry," she cemented, peeking up at him with an adoring smile on her features, "But, you're cute for worrying." 

Taking in a deep breath, he did nothing more than dropping another kiss to the cuff of her shoulder. He wasn't trying to be cute—he was protective. It was a part of his nature. 

Shuttering his eyes, Harry indulged himself and allowed his kissing to continue down her shoulder, only stopping when the lapping line of the water halted him. With his fingers laced between hers, he pulled her arm out of the pastel bath. He dotted his lips down the line of her limb, nose skimming her skin in his wake and raising goosebumps. A plume of laughter left his peach, the sound enough to have his own smile taking place as he fought to smear his lips over her skin. 

It wasn't until he was headed towards her wrist, landing on the soft underside of her arm that he slowed when he, through cracked eyes, spotted a slash that had made a home in her skin. It was small, though it looked only partially healed—still a warm red and slightly raised.

"What happened here?" he murmured, a pinch furrowing his brow. 

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed dazedly, shuffling in his hold before spotting what had made him stop in the first place, "Oh, Rosie scratched me by accident." 

It was something so minor, completely mundane and curable. The scratch wouldn't even scar, and yet Harry still felt his shoulders deflate. He would have to remind Rosemary to be gentle with her mother—she was entirely too special, no need to have claws out when being held by her. 

He apologized for his cat with a small press of his lips to the cut. 

Under the cover of the pastel water, (Y/N) untangled her hand from his that was still laid against her stomach. He was left to feel the give of her plush skin under the pads of his fingertips while she carded her own through his hair. Though he attempted to continue the dotted affection of his kiss over her skin, he didn't stand much of a chance as he reveled under her touch. 

Maybe it was the brush of her nails against his scalp, or the slight give of her body under his hand, or just the fact that he could feel every line of her body against his own, but Harry felt his stomach tense then. It was minute and fleeting, but something he felt under the blocking muscles of his abdomen. 

He attempted to keep a lid on whatever that feeling could lead to by taking a deep breath, but that only reminded him of (Y/N)'s skin right under his nose and the fact that she had been the one to run him this bath and that was why she was naked, and warm, and wet, and pressed right against him, and that was why his hands were on her and—

"H?" 

Blinking his eyes open and drawing away from her, Harry looked up to match her wide eyes. "Hm?" 

There was something teasing on her expression, lighthearted in her eyes with a small tug edging on the corner of her mouth. "Are you okay? You weren't breathing for a second." 

"Oh," he sounded, mouth dry, "Sorry." 

She shook her head, murmuring something about him being funny or cute or something, but, admittedly, Harry didn't have an ear to lend at that moment as (Y/N) started moving around him. Wriggling out of his hold, Harry stayed still in the water as she maneuvered around until she deposited herself in his lap. Her thighs were spread to cushion his hips, her bottom settled on the thick of his thighs while her chest was flush against his. Only trickles of the lavender water were able to make their way between her breasts and the curves of her body, leaving her shimmering with the scented oil on her skin and suddenly warmer than the steaming water. 

Looking up at her, Harry took his time tracing the lines of her piled hair with the wet ends sticking to her skin, warm cheeks glowy and dewy, the soft light reflecting in her eyes from the candle she had lit and stationed behind their cuddled bodies. He felt breathless—reverent. 

It was never far from his mind just how deeply (Y/N) had impacted him. Without her, he never would have been knocked out of the daze that was his life—the cycle of never-ending loneliness and purposeless decisions. She had changed him in ways he was scared of, the ways that he had avoided for years because it was easier to stay the same. He didn't enjoy thinking of who he would be without her, where he would be. 

It was with that knowledge and the sight before him, that Harry wanted nothing more than to worship her and show her the purple that he had been given now that she was in his life. Religion wasn't anything that ever consoled him during his years on the run, but if the temples and altars had looked like her, the gods held her kind eyes and warming touch, he may have reconsidered. 

"You can touch me, you know." 

Dropping back to earth with a flutter of his eyes, he realized his hands were lax at his sides, careful to keep a distance from her skin. She had been the one to tie her arms around his neck, to keep their bodies close, while he had basked in the sight of her alone. 

"Sorry," he murmured, placing his palms on the full curve of her thighs. 

He skated them over her form, taking in the rounded edges of her body and warm skin. He'd touched her before, enough times to have mapped out every crook and groove, and yet, it still felt like the first time when he allowed him to feel. It would never get old knowing that he had someone like her that loved him enough to allow his hands to land on her. 

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, ducking her head until she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I just don't want you to feel like you can't touch me—I'm yours, H, remember?" 

There was that stirring again in his stomach, that tensing in his muscles that felt much deeper and lower than he would have liked during a relaxing cuddle with his girlfriend. It was just the reminder, that declaration that got to him just like it always did. 

(It was a bit embarrassing, in Harry's opinion. Would it always be this easy to work him up? Would (Y/N) always be able to say a handful of words, let his hands wander to her hips, and then he would be done for?) 

"You're mine," he sighed, sinking deeper into the water. 

It was (Y/N)'s turn then to trail her lips over his skin, the pillows of her lips never fully lifting from his skin before she was planting another kiss. She went on with the tip of her nose smushing against the line of his jaw as she worked down to the column of his throat. He could feel himself growing harder and harder with every kiss, every brush of his hands over her body, until he was sure (Y/N) was well aware as well. Though she made it abundantly clear she didn't mind when she rocked her hips against his, his cock pressed against his stomach and the soft core between her thighs. 

A shuddering exhale caved his chest. 

"I'm yours," she crooned, the heat of her words fanning over his heated skin.

Her own arms wrapped around his neck began to drift, leaving only one tangled in the waves of his hair with the blunt of her nails tracing his scalp. Her touch skated down the length of his chest, her eyes settling into a daze as they followed the journey of her hand until it disappeared under the water. His abdomen jumped under her hand the lower she went until the heel of her palm grazed the plumped head of his cock.

He couldn't help the way he tossed his head back, leaning into the palm of her hand. His voice came out in a breath, "I want you so bad, peach, I'm so sorry." 

(Y/N) drew away just enough to match his eyes, her wandering hand settling against the middle of his chest. "Why are you sorry?" she asked with amusement in her eyes, a soft smile on her lips as she shook her head, "You don't have to be sorry." 

"Jus'" he started, focusing on the sight of her as opposed to the weight of her form and warmth of her skin against him, "I don't... Don't want to ruin tonight since you're already doing so much, and you're only trying to relax and 'm reacting like this and—" 

She cut him off with her lips pressing against his, the edges of her mouth unable to fall in line with her kiss as she fought back a smile. "Do you think I don't want you, too, right now? If I didn't, I wouldn't be climbing all over you, H—or trying to get you to take me back to my room." 

Shifting on his lap once more, (Y/N) emphasized her point with a small roll of her hips against him, her warmth grazing over his length. 

His hands on her waist tensed, denting into her flesh with stern fingertips. Was she asking for what he hoped—what he'd been wanting but was too fearful to ask for in worry of pushing her?

His mouth felt dry as he took in her features, watching as something heated lingered in her irises. "A-Are y'sure?" he mumbled, unwilling to misread the conversation. (Y/N) loved taking care of him, he never wanted her to think he was intending to take advantage of that. 

Carding her fingers through his hair, the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips to run along the seam. "I've really missed you, H. It's not always enough just to call you before I fall asleep, you know. It's not the same as actually having you." 

A spark pinged in his chest at her words, the memories they dredged up. A couple of times over the last week with his busy schedule, they'd spent some extra time on the phone before (Y/N) fell asleep for the night and Harry worked through an especially long shift. He knew exactly what she meant: now that he knew what it was like to be touched by her, his own hand, his own fantasies paled so starkly in comparison it was almost embarrassing. 

"I can take care of you, peach. 'M sorry I haven't been doing m'job, but I'll make it up to you," he crooned, tipping his head in hopes of pulling her in for a kiss, "Y'want m'mouth or m'fingers, love?" 

It was only when she shook her head that he paused. That hand trapped between their bodies made a deliberate graze down his body until she skated her fingertips over his length, the ruddy head twitching over her touch. "I want you," she corrected, "Don't you want to fuck me?" 

Maybe it was the fact she rarely cursed, or just how intensely she was meeting his eyes, or the feel of her grabbing his cock, but Harry could have blown it all right then. His throat felt thick as he attempted to swallow down the moan building in his chest. His eyes were hooded, a vignette forming around his view of her. 

It would be so easy to sink inside her, split open her walls and make a home between them. All he needed was to shift his hips just right, and then he would be taking advantage of her spread legs and the slick around them. But, his worry of disappointing her—leaving her unsatisfied—held him back. 

His mouth felt dry by the time he found his voice. "I—um—(Y/N)," he started, unsure of how exactly to divulge the information in him, "'S been a while since I've—..." 

He wasn't sure what he was expecting her reaction to be, but he gladly took the small kiss she offered him, sealing his lips to hers. "How long?" 

"Since before everything," he sighed, allowing himself to sink into her kiss and the brush of her mouth against his, "I don't want to... leave y'unsatisfied if 'm not... good." 

That had her lips curling against his, a cluster of small kisses being pressed to the full of his lips before she pulled away. "It's going to be good before it's you, H. I'm not worried—I love you, remember?" 

Was it normal for him to feel his cock pulse at her declaration? Or was he really that easy? 

"I love you, too," he slurred before taking her mouth against his once more. It was messy and heavy, clumsy and unsure, but he didn't care. "I want to fuck you so bad, peach. Can I?" 

All it took was a soft nod of her head before he had his arms lacing underneath the thick of her thighs with the water splashing around the tub. He held her tight, grip stern as he stood tall in the pastel water. (Y/N) let out a bubbling laugh, clinging to him with a gasp as if he would ever drop her. 

With her pressed tightly to his chest, his cock was now fit snugly between the planes of his abdomen and the soft folds between her legs. Water sluiced down his form, a chill befalling his skin now that they'd left the steaming pool behind, though that had no effect on just how hard he was for his peach. 

"We didn't have to right away," (Y/N) laughed, fingers denting the broad of his shoulders, "If you weren't done—" 

"'M done," he cemented, dropping her onto the bounce of her mattress with only a small amount of guilt at getting so much water on her sheets. He'd change them for her later. "You're m'favorite way to relax, peach—don't need all the rest." 

Laid on the center of her bed with her skin gleaming and warm, scented so sweetly from their bath, Harry had a new level of respect for his self-control. But, that was in the past now, left in the bathroom along with the droplets of water on the floor and the candle he would have to remember to blow out before they fell asleep. 

Crawling on the mattress with his cock heavy between his legs, he fit his body between her spread legs, reveling in the plush of her thighs on either side of his hips. (Y/N) reached for him on instinct, looping her arms around his neck with the curls on the back of his neck dampening against her skin. 

"Hi, you," she murmured, a bubbly smile on her lips as if she hadn't just asked him to fuck her a moment ago. 

He could only shake his head, dropping a kiss to the bridge of her nose as he situated himself above him with his forearms stationed on either side of her head. "Hi, peach. What are you up to, hm?" 

"Nothing much," she laughed, hitching a thigh over his lip in a languid move to thrust him forwards. "You?" 

Harry's voice was stilted in his throat, feeling her slick folds give around his cock when his length split through. He could feel the minute pulsing of her clit against his base. "Jus' worried 'm not gonna last very long at all, nothing important," he attempted to joke, if only to feel of plume of her laughter fill the air. 

Instead, he garnered a smearing of (Y/N)'s lips against his own, her affection tender and lingering. "Don't worry about that," she urged him, "I don't care—I just want you to feel good." 

A furrow pinched his brow, his heart rattling when she rocked her hips underneath him as if it wasn't already hard enough to concentrate. "But, I want y'to feel good too, and—" 

"I will as long as you do," she reiterated, amusement sparking in her blown pupils, "I don't care if you finish early, just finish in me, that's all I ask." 

Harry couldn't contain the moan in his throat, the rumbling falling from his throat as he rested his forehead against hers with shuttered eyes. He could feel a bead of warm precum blurting from his tip, dripping to land on the soft of (Y/N)'s stomach with a pulse. 

"You're going to kill me," he murmured, not sure if he was speaking for her to hear, "D-Do y'need me to do anything f—" 

Cutting him off with a kiss, (Y/N) slipped her tongue between his lips only to offer a quick taste before she was pulling away once more. "You can feel how wet I am, right?" 

As if he could forget with the way she was pressed against the underside of his cock, the ridge of his head tight between their stomachs. He answered with a small nod. 

"Y-You're sure, then?" he murmured, attempting to tap into that self control he had back in the tub. 

"I want you, H," she assured, nothing teasing or urgent in her voice, only sincerity, "As long as you're ready, I am, too. It's just me—you don't have to worry." 

His only response came in the form of a small kiss and a declaration: "I love you, (Y/N)." 

"I love you too," she smiled into his kiss, a small roll of her hips turning his brain to mush. 

His breathing was strained as he reached between their bodies, his fist wrapping around his shaft. Looking down, he watched as she spread her thighs that much wider as he swiped his cock between her folds. She was sticky and wet, clinging to the width of him as he split her open enough for his head to kiss her clit. He could see the jump of her muscles, the small whine that chirped from her lips, but he couldn't seem to stop himself—especially when a thread of her slick stuck to him, only bowing and breaking when he reached his cock towards his stomach, too far for the string to extend. 

"Harry, please," she quietly pleaded with him.

The sound of her voice was just enough to knock him back into the universe. It was enough to remind him that this wasn't the main event, there was even more warmth and wetness to be explored. 

Pressing the tip of his cock to her opening, he held himself steady as he pressed his hips forward. It was a tight squeeze, a feeling that took his breath away. As much as he wanted to catch (Y/N)'s expressions, see exactly what she looked like as he sunk inside her for the first time, he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from the sight of his cock fitting inside her core. With every stretch of his length pushing through, less and less coherent thought filtered through his head. 

Instead, all he could think about was the snug fit of her walls around him, the pulsing with every heartbeat, just how wet she was, the warmth that enveloped him and welcomed him deeper and deeper. By the time he bottomed out, his mouth had fallen into a gape and his arm propping him up was now shaky. His only anchor was the grip he moved to have on her hip, his palm slick and sticky from fisting his cock though he didn't have it in him to care. 

He really, really hoped (Y/N) meant it when she said she wouldn't mind if he blew it fast; he doubted he had much longer left, and he'd only just sunk inside. 

"Y'alright, peach?" he breathed, his words fanning across her skin when he finally looked up to reach her eyes. 

Looking at him with hooded eyes, the pupils wide, (Y/N) gave him her confirmation in the form of a jerky nod. "I'm okay," she mumbled, "Are you?" 

"'M good," he said, feeling drunk despite not a single drop of alcohol even being present in (Y/N)'s home, "'M so good, peach. 'M scared 'm too good." 

"It's okay," she smiled at him, if only a bit dazed when she threaded her fingers through his damp curls, "Just do whatever makes you feel good—that's enough for me." 

He wished he could have told her how much her affection meant to him, how he couldn't believe she loved him the way she did, how there was no one who had such an effect on him, but there was no way his tongue was going to follow any kind of command let alone any train of thought to actually form. Instead, he settled for a searing kiss against her already swollen lips. 

Though he doubted he would have any chance at composure, he still attempted to catch his breath and his brain before he reared his hips back for the first time. Pulling out of her warm channel was enough to add some form of clarity to his mind, though it didn't last long before he pushed forward in a shallow thrust. Her walls welcomed him in once more, warm and snug with every ridge forming around him in a pulse. (Y/N)'s thighs tensed around his hips, a slight tremor to her muscles though she managed to let out a sigh of pleasure against his kiss. 

"Fuck, peach," he murmured when he bottomed out once more, the crown of his length tapping her furthest walls. 

A furrow had his brows pinched though his eyes remained closed, even when he couldn't manage to kiss her anymore, his lips simply resting against her own parted ones. He shared panted breaths with her, his forehead resting on her own with (Y/N)'s fingers curling in his hair. 

Though the pace was slow, he was able to curate a rhythm that kept him from finishing right away. He didn't feel too far from the edge, but this was as good of a chance as he was going to get when she felt as good as she did. 

"H-Harry," she whined, her voice breathy and airy, "You're so big." 

His hips stuttered at her words, the previously shallow thrust he was working on turning into a harsh grind against her core. The jolt had another moan rumbling her chest with a curse falling from Harry's lips. 

"Y'can't say that, peach," he murmured, unable to keep his pacing, "You're gonna make me cum and we've barely started." 

Every stroke was indulgent, lingering when he wanted, harsh and deep when he changed his mind, anything and everything to his taste. His only chance was in moving his hand from her hip and shaky positioning it between his punishing hips and her forgiving core. At the apex of her folds, her clit pearled. Though his hand was shaky, he still managed to smear the pad of his thumb against the bud, feeling the budding pulse that matched the hammering of her heart. 

Suddenly coming to light, (Y/N) managed to bring him in for a kiss. It was sloppy and clumsy, leaving their lips swollen and teeth glancing off one another, but there wasn't any room for perfection. 

Harry needed her, that was all he knew. His stomach tightened with every thrust, his balls shining with her slick with every slap against her ass. (Y/N)'s thighs were warm and tight on either side of his pelvis, unwilling to let him venture too far before accepting him back inside. 

"(Y/N)," he panted, shaking his head, "P-Peach, 'm so sorry." 

"Don't be sorry, do—shit—don't be sorry, H. I want you to cum, okay? Cum in me, please." 

How was he supposed to deny her? What kind of boyfriend would he be if he said no to such pretty words?

Keeping his thumb running circles around her swollen clit, Harry couldn't stop himself before harshly thrusting inside her and pausing when he felt the first spasm wrack through his abdomen. There was a bunch to his muscles he hadn't even realized until the thread keeping them together snapped. 

Ropes of his cum spurted out, decorating and flooding her walls with every pulse. She grew impossibly wet around him, his thumb barely keeping track as he tried to tend to her clit even through the tremors. He ground his hips against hers, unwilling to draw away even an inch out of her warmth as he came.

The world slowly came back into focus as he pulled in puffs of air, (Y/N) delicately kissing his bottom lip. He felt so hot, sticky despite the bath he'd just soaked in. 

Was sex always like this? He couldn't recall ever coming this hard, but had it been too long for him to remember? Or was this another (Y/N)-only thing? He could readily believe that highs like this only came from being in her arms. 

"Still with me?" his peach murmured, a wanton edge to her voice that reminded him that there were much more important things than his own pleasure. 

He nodded, finally reciprocating her kiss. "'M here, peach. I've got you."

Despite the oversensitivity beginning to leak into his system, he managed to grind into her just enough to match the swirling of his thumb against her clit. She gasped into his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue past her lips and sweep over her own. He got a taste of her pleasured moans, reveling in the feel until it seemingly became too much for her. 

In a way he was now familiar with, (Y/N) let out a chirping moan, delicate and shaky into his mouth. That was the first sign before her fingers in his hair began to tug at the roots in a stinging pull, and toes curled. Her pussy clung to the shape of his cock, his cum overflowing around himself and dripping down to the bed under her ass as she gushed around him. His oversensitivity had him crying out a call of her name, her pulsing walls almost too hot to handle as she came around him. 

He could have done this all night, Harry decided. He could have pet his fingers over her clit and pressed into her walls for hours if not for the fact that they were both beginning to see the less than favorable side of sensitivity. 

"'M gonna pull out, okay?" he panted, blinking his eyes open to find his (Y/N)'s still shuttered. She answered in a quiet nod, her lips parted as she breathed. 

Though it was a bit reluctant, he drew his hips back in a slow glide. His softening cock slipped out with a wet sound as (Y/N) unfurled her legs from around him. A small whine left her lips, but she didn't stop him, only clinging to him.

Settling in bed beside her, reaching for one of the pillows stationed at the head of the bed, Harry fixed it under their heads. (Y/N) instinctively rolled to face him, sharing the cushion with him. He gave her time as she came down, brushing his fingers through her hair and over the planes of her features until she managed to crack her eyes open. 

"Hi, you," he smiled, repeating her small tease from earlier. 

A plume of laughter fell from her lips, a slight smile forming on her kiss-swollen lips. "Hi. What are you up to?" 

"Nothing. Jus' looking at you." 

"Nothing important then, I see," she laughed, snuggling closer to him until Harry was collecting her into his arms with her head tucked into his neck.

"Very important, actually," he corrected, amusement draining from his tone, "Thank you, peach. Really." 

"You don't have to thank me, H," she countered, "I obviously got my own benefits out of this, so don't think I just did this for you." 

He knew she was trying to play with him, get him to loosen up, but he wasn't in the mood for that just yet. He was a touch too sentimental at the moment. 

"You know what I mean," he murmured, planting a kiss to the top of her head, "I jus' love you, and... always means a lot when y'trust me, and let me be with you. Thank you." 

"I love you, too, Harry," she reciprocated, her own arms giving him a pulsing hug, "It's easy to trust you, really. I wouldn't want to have these kinds of moments with anyone else—you're the best thing that ever happened to me, honey." 

Though he knew they needed to change her bedding, and blow out the candle in the bathroom, get (Y/N) cleaned up, and mop up the bathroom, Harry couldn't find any good reason to extract himself from her arms. 

There would never be a good enough reason that came above being with her like this. 

—————

ahhhhh! thank u sm for reading and to whoever requested this! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own please send them in!! if you want to read more, you can check my patreon page:)

[verbenaa]

so that i may dream tonight

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

It was a special torture to be unable to touch him, you decide. You want nothing more than to brush your fingers through his curls as you come, to caress the delicate point at the top of his ears, feel the smoothness of his skin on your fingertips.

It feels absolutely filthy, to be tied up like this, your pleasure left to Astarion’s will as you are powerless to simply lay in wait for whatever he has in store.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life!

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 9.1k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, massage, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, light bdsm, vampire bites, discussion of safe words, vaginal sex, vampire sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, soft dom astarion, TAILOR ASTARION

𝑎/𝑛: I'm back with round 2 baby and somehow its 2k words longer lol. ANYWAYS, this is incredibly indulgent and warm and sexy and INTIMATE. I'm literally screaming. I truly don't know how this ended up so long but oH WELL. anyway, I hope you enjoy reading! below is the a03 link too if you'd prefer to read over there!

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

The water is warm against your skin as you lean back against the edge of the wooden tub, hair arranged in a loose pile barely contained with haphazardly placed gold pins as you recline, your eyes wandering up to greet the carved beams of the ceiling that sit resolutely above you. 

It had been a decidedly long day, working deep within the walls of the city beside Wyll, who it had been altogether wonderful to see again after such an extended period. You still weren’t entirely sure why the two of you had been summoned together to help manage Guild politics of all things, but you suppose that this was simply the nature of your semi-recent and highly publicized acts of heroism.

The tension had built up in your body throughout it all, leaving you more ready for the respite of your home than usual. It had been quite some time since you had spent so many hours in the daylight, the warmth of the sun on your skin never unwelcome, but a rarity you were no longer so familiar with. The deep, velvety blue that marked the night sky had long since become associated with your waking hours, the twinkling stars a welcome companion from their place high above your head.

Your mind wanders aimlessly through a myriad of thoughts, barely focusing on one before jumping quickly to the next faster than you can keep up with. With a deep sigh, you attempt to center yourself, though anything that even closely resembled the act of meditation wasn’t your strong suit. You manage to keep it up for a minute before giving up with a roll of your eyes as you instead move to stare blandly at a botanical tapestry hanging on the wall across from you, the calming greens of woven plants blending into one another.

You lose yourself to your musings once again, going over your day and what was to come, trying to make sense of it all, mind drifting from thought to thought as you luxuriate in the lavender scented water Astarion had so kindly readied for you.

Time passes, though you aren’t quite sure how long, the water losing its steam and the soothing heat finally subsiding, drawing you away from your imaginings and you reluctantly find yourself back in the present with a long-suffering sigh. Your head raises from its resting place on the side of the tub, the stretch of your spine drawing an appreciate groan from you as you sit upright.

“All that work for a hot bath and you’re already done?” You turn to glance over your shoulder at Astarion from where he rests indolently on the bed, clad only in a pair of loose silk pants and book held aloft in an elegant hand, looking for all the world a king presiding over an invisible court as the sheer canopy that surrounds the bed blows lightly in a breeze from the open window.

“Apologies to any sore muscles hurt in the act of carrying buckets of water.” You flash him a wink as you roll your head from side to side, stiff muscles protesting the motions.

“Shall I try a more…aggressive approach towards reheating, love?” He holds a hand up, ready to set spark with the inherent elven magic that runs through his veins, a incredibly familiar devious smile on his lips. It was terribly easy to forget he had such skills sometimes, when those hands seemed so much more well-suited for tasks of a more cunning nature.

“I’d rather you not accidentally turn our only tub to cinders, if you don’t mind.” Your raise a brow and fix a look back at him, daring him to try such an act.

“Suit yourself, darling.” He sends a smirk your direction as you turn back to face forward in the bath, his eyes never straying from your form as he watches stray droplets of water make trails down the exposed skin of your neck.

In a last ditch effort to prolong your bath, you push your body under the water until only your head remains above, intent to grasp at the last vestiges of warmth the water will offer before you move to stand.

The water sluices off your form as you emerge, dripping over the fullness of your breasts and rushing down your belly in smooth rivulets that fall back into the swirling bath below. Steam rolls off your limbs as your body meets the coolness of the air, skin still tender from the heat as you make to step out of the tub and onto a small stool, grabbing at a folded towel left nearby. Limb by limb, you make to gently pat at the wetness clinging to you, the tiny beads of water like little crystals decorating your skin, before settling the towel to rest over the top of the partition screen. 

You make your way over herringbone floors on raised toes, trying to avoid any stray drops from falling onto the wood beneath your feet. Only a moment passes before you finally feel the soft weave of a rug against your feet as you find yourself at your destination.

The shared dressing table sits in front of the bed, wood worn with years of use as a collection of multicolored jars and vials of oils rest on a painted tray strategically placed to hide the worst of the wear. A silver hairbrush rests beside the tray, carefully maintained with no sign of tarnish on the intricate design of the handle, clearly well loved through the years.

The air is refreshing against the your warmed skin as you reach for a small glass vial at random, the viscous amber of the oil inside swishing from side to side as you bring it to your hand. You uncork it with familiar motions and pour the scented oil into the palm of your hand, careful not to spill any onto the patterned rug beneath your feet.

With small, sweeping motions you rub the oil into your skin, mindful to try to reach every inch you can, the scent of bergamot and jasmine (one of Astarion’s curations, surely) filling the room with an easy and familiar warmth. You pay no mind to anything other than your self-care, allowing your focus to settle wholly on the act and nothing more.

Astarion is near silent as he rises from the bed behind you, moving with ethereal grace towards your naked form. You don’t take notice of his presence until he is upon you, the feeling of his cool, muscular arms wrapping around your waist from behind causing a noise of surprise to tumble from your lips. 

The feeling of his cool skin against the warmth of your own makes you jump, nipples hardening and gooseflesh rising on your arms as his hands brush against your belly in affection. His angular jaw comes to rest on your shoulder, nose skimming the elegant column of your neck as he presses in close.

“Need any help, darling?” The words brush against the shell of your ear, his lips touching your skin with every word uttered as the hands wrapped around your waist tighten to bring you even closer to his own form.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no?” You relax into the embrace of your lover, his hands sweeping up and down the flesh of your stomach before finding their way to your tense shoulders.

His hands are a balm on your skin as he rubs the remaining oil into your skin in soothing circles, fingers lightly massaging at your sore muscles. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as your eyes close at the sensation of his hands on you, reveling in his attentions with a contented hum.

“Why such a bad day, dearest?” Astarion’s question is genuine as he glances up from your skin to glimpse your expression as he waits for your reply. 

“Hm, not quite so bad as long. I think I’m out of practice at this whole hero thing.” Your words are a sigh as his hands work at the muscles of your shoulders, thumbs digging in to release the tension sitting heavily there. 

“I don’t blame you. A day with Wyll’s tireless chivalry would push me to my limits as well.” You snort in response at his supposed honestly, though frankly you are inclined to think he might actually like Wyll for his eternal kindness, but you know he’d never admit such a thing out loud.

Astarion gathers more oil in the center of his palms before his hands continue, moving from your shoulders to your arms and onward, to the curve of your lower back and around the circle of your hips; careful to never press hard enough to cause pain but with enough pressure to relieve your tired body. His thumbs press into the muscles with precision, you body becoming more lax with every pass of his hands.

Astarion lowers to his knees behind you when he is satisfied with his progress, hands skating over your rear as they make their way down your legs, nothing less than reverence in the motions as he smooths his hands down and then back up the skin of your thighs and calves, intent to touch every inch of skin available to him. 

The movement of his hands on your legs, brushing high on your thighs brings a subtle heat alighting inside you, barely a flicker, but just enough for the feeling of arousal to start deep inside much to your slight embarrassment for hoping such innocent touches would turn into more.

There’s a sudden shift in his touches, you realize, Astarion’s motions transitioning from methodical to subtle teasing with every pass, daring to go a little higher on every turn up your thighs before darting back down again to more neutral territory. You shift slightly at the feeling, wishing for more but refusing to acknowledge the urge to push your thighs together to ease the slow growing ache.

Astarion must take notice, you think, so close to the warm center of your body, must be able to smell the soft embers marking the start of your arousal. His hands finally stop their ministrations, moving instead to grasp around the bones of your hips as he presses a single kiss to the base of your spine, before pressing another right above it. Slowly he begins to rise, kiss by kiss, as he follows the line of your spine from your hips upwards; lips moving to touch the back of your waist, the space between your shoulder blades, the base of your neck. 

His lips are as cold as winter air yet they feel like a brand with every press against the column of your spine, stoking the fire deep inside your core with startling ease. 

He raises back up to his full height, his hands draped around your waist once more as he leans in to press a kiss against your cheek, drawing hypnotic patterns against your lower belly knowingly. You lean back into his kiss, head tilting, and rest your body back against his own. As you put your weight into his safe embrace, you feel a familiar hardness pressing lightly against the bare skin of your ass, covered by the same luxurious silk as the pants he wears low on his hips.

Your lips curl, victorious at your discovery and you bring your hands to cover his own where they rest on your stomach before drawing one up along the sinew of his arm to instead press against to the solid expanse of his abs. 

Daringly, you move the hand lower, fingers dancing over the dip of his hips to brush against the subtle erection pressing against his silken pants. Astarion’s body bucks into your own at your touch, the hands around your waist suddenly gripping harder as you continue your exploration.

“If those hands of yours keep wandering, you’ll leave me no choice but to tie them up, darling.” His words are teasing, a gleam of affection in his claret eyes as his head moves low to nip playfully at your throat.

You quirk your brow at such a delicious idea, and with a purposeful motion your hand presses harder against him, finger tracing the curve of his cock with mock innocence. 

“If that’s supposed to be a threat, it’s a very poor one.” You lean your head to the side, giving more room for his lips to move against.

Astarion lets out a disappointed sigh, one hand sliding up from your stomach to palm at your breast, squeezing lightly as he runs a thumb over the nipple in response to your shameless disobedience. His other hand travels lower, fingers brushing past your stomach to reach between your legs and glide through the wetness he finds there as he lets out an audible tsk, the beginnings of your arousal decorating his fingers as a low moan escapes your lips.

“You just never learn, do you?” You gasp at glide of the oil on his fingers against your skin as Astarion weighs your breast in his palm with one hand, the other pressing lightly against your clit, your back arching at the sensation. Your pleasure lasts but a moment, Astarion’s hands moving back to hold at your waist once more, and you whimper at the loss.

He walks the few short steps backwards towards the bed, pulling you in tow until his knees meet the soft edge of the mattress and he lets himself fall backward, taking you with him.

Your bodies land to rest upon the blankets with a soft bounce, Astarion’s arms still around you as a small laugh bubbles up from your throat. It only takes a second for you to quickly turn in his arms, pressing your naked breasts against his bare chest as your eyes meet his own in mirth.

His hands never leave your waist, fingers dancing up the curve of your spine as your legs find their place on either side of his hips. You let your body melt into his own, quick to begin to press kisses into the expanse of his chest below you. Your lips make their way towards his neck as you push yourself up to straddle him, his hands falling to rest on your thighs where they bracket his hips.

The growing wet of your core presses against his lower stomach and the feeling of your arousal on his skin does not escape his notice. With a feline smile, the hands on your thighs make their way back to your waist and with the lightest of pressure, Astarion encourages you to move your hips. 

Your breath catches at the feeling as you move to work with him, his hands guiding you back and forth to grind yourself against his chiseled stomach as the hands on his chest steady your movements. Astarion’s eyes meet your own as he helps you along, each slow brush of your clit against his skin has your pleasure building, your lips falling open as your desire multiplies. 

Astarion moves a hand up your body as your hips find their cadence against him, only stopping when he reaches the curve of your breast, brushing a finger lightly along the full bottom of it as your hips undulate against him.

“You’re so very beautiful like this.” His eyes are molten with mounting desire as he watches you move back and forth on his body, your nipples pebbling under his touch and your wetness growing with every pass along him.  

“I could say the same to you,” You hips move with seductive grace, gliding across him. “It’s quite a treat to have such a beautiful man like yourself beneath me.”

Astarion brings his wandering hand back to your empty hip before drawing it farther down to press against the place where your slick glistens against his pale skin. He draws a finger through the dew he finds on his abdomen, gathering it on a fingertip before pressing it into his mouth to lick at your arousal. 

“Delicious, as always.” His eyes are the deepest of garnet, sensuous as they meet your own.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, empty core clenching with want as an idea forms in your mind, one that promises certain pleasure to you both. Swiftly, you lift yourself off his chest to slide lower, your dripping folds brushing against the silk covering his cock, darkening the fabric before you continue down until your knees touch the ground before the bed. Your sudden change of position has Astarion leaning up onto his elbows, watching you intently as your hands run up and down his covered thighs.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You meet his eyes, a coquettish smile on your lips as your hands move higher, brushing dangerously close to his hardness. You lean your head in and lick lightly against a slight dampness you see on the silk, eyes never leaving his as Astarion’s hips jump and a sigh breaks from his lips.

“Do you want me to?” Your question is genuine as you move your head away from his erection, giving him space to answer as your eyes gaze at his elegant features, waiting for his blessing.

“Do your worst, darling.” His lips take on their trademark roguish grin in response to the sly one now decorating your own. The sight of you on your knees before him is always a welcome one, and he would be remiss to deny such a gift of pleasure from you.

Astarion moves to sit, intent on not missing a single moment as he helps you free his hardened cock from the silk of his pants in a flurry of movement before they are discarded onto the floor, soon to be forgotten entirely.

“It would be my honor.” The words leave your lips moments before they press against his newly uncovered heat, searing kisses moving against the vein running from the crown to the base of him. You lick greedily at the precome leaking from the tip before laving your tongue along the head of his cock, a hand coming to brush lightly against the base before your fist closes around him.

You feel his hands in your hair, nimble fingers finding the golden pins barely holding your hair up before throwing them to the side with surprising accuracy, until they’ve all but disappeared under furniture never to be found again. Your hair falls in a messy curtain around your face, Astarion quick to brush through the errant locks as your mouth works him. 

Astarion lets you move at your own pace, basking in the feel of your soft lips and clever tongue working around his cock in fluid motions as the moans that fall from his lips spur you on, urging you to take him deeper, to love him harder. Your hand helps your actions, making sure to keep contact where your mouth cannot easily reach, eager to bring him to the brink.

You hollow your cheeks as you suck at his cock, his eyes closing in pleasure as the hands in your hair tighten in time with his moans. You break off his length with a pop, taking in a lungful of air before you lavish his erection with your tongue, the same hand still massaging him at the base. 

There were few things better than this, you can’t help but think as your tongue flicks at the head of his cock again, the feeling of bringing Astarion to the brink of pleasure with your mouth as he loses himself to the feeling nothing less than exhilarating.

You lips wrap around him once more, taking him as deep inside your mouth as you can manage, the tip of cock near the entrance to your throat as you gag slightly, eyes watering in response. Your head moves back and forth as you take him as deep as you can manage, intent on tasting his come, until you feel the hand in your hair moving. 

Fingers caress your cheek, brushing against the tears staining your skin as you hear Astarion speaking, your mouth slowing to a stop.

“Enough, darling,” his words are strained with effort, Astarion barely managing to hold back from coming on your tongue as he speaks them.

You break away from him the minute you hear the words, a string of saliva connecting your lips and his cock remaining as you bring your eyes to look up at him in question. Astarion groans at the sight, breathing heavily.

You feel his hand come to rest around your upper arm, curling around the lithe muscle there as he gently pulls you up to stand in front of his seated form. Astarion’s breathing is heavy as he looks you up and down before pulling you into his lap, your knees resting on either side of his own as his hands touch everywhere they can, your own coming up to cup his cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Your fingers brush against the planes of his face as it rests in your warm hands.

“Oh, I’ve never been better darling,” he leans into a palm, head tilting with the motion. “I’m just not ready to be done with you yet.”

His admission has heat surging in your belly with anticipation, a smile on your lips as you lean in to press them to his own. Astarion responds in kind, the hands on your body pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip in a bid of entry.

You open your mouth to him, his tongue caressing your own as your lips move against each other’s, the kiss passionate as you pour you love and desire into it. Astarion breaks the kiss first, hands squeezing at your hips as he gestures with his chin towards the plush pillows sitting at the head of the bed. 

“Up you go, my sweet.”

You are quick to react, getting out of his lap and moving your body up the bed as his eyes follow you, your oiled skin brushing against the linens as you make to lay your head upon a pillow resting there, the crochet trim tickling at your nape. You arrange yourself with ease, hoping to look as though you were the picture of obeisance as you wait for him to follow.

Astarion gets up from his place at the foot of the bed and pauses, his gaze running over your body as you lay there in wait for him, perfectly poised in the middle of your shared bed. Your skin glows with the leftover hint of oil still remaining, the shine of it reflecting in the moonlight that dances in through the intricately paneled windows, tracery-like shapes reflected onto the floor the same color silver as his hair.

With that thought Astarion moves away, footsteps taking him instead to his bedside table, pulling open the carved wood front to search for something within. You resist the urge to peek, content instead to wait for him to show you whatever it is he searches so intently for. Finally, Astarion seems to find the item of his fancy and he rises to his full height with the treasure in hand.

It’s a length of delicate pink satiny ribbon; clearly brought here from his studio,  perhaps the leftover from some long-finished project. But maybe, maybe, he had been waiting for a very specific opportunity to arise, and the idea that he had envisioned such a thing brings a fresh wave of heat to your center. You can only hope he is willing to make good on his earlier threat and use such a beautiful material.

“Do you trust me?” The thick ribbon dangles in curls from his elegant fingers, the candlelight illuminating the highlights of the satin a luminous hue.

“With my life.” Your response is quick, slipping from your lips with ease as you gaze at the figure he cuts, moonlight coming in the window in silvered beams illuminating the lines of his body.

Your move your arms up to rest around your head where it lays on the pillow, wrists delicately crossed above your hair like a halo as you follow Astarion’s form as he moves toward where you lay waiting.

The bed dips down where he kneels upon it as he swings a leg over you, his body hovering over your hips as he leans forward to grasp at your wrists. Astarion works quickly, clever fingers moving faster than you can follow. You don’t take your eyes off his face, intent to watch the thoughts as they cross his features. Within moments, he has finished as fast as he started, moving off of you to stand instead at the foot of the bed to watch as you test the bindings. There is give in the ribbon, naturally, you know Astarion would never bind you so tightly you couldn’t truly move or escape unless you were to ask for such a thing. The lack of motion, the ability to truly be unable to do much of anything with your hands or arms is a sensation that feels as strange as it does alluring.

Astarion looks down at you, examining his work as his eyes move to take in every inch of you, from the sight of your hands bound together with that demure pink satin tied in a neat, tidy bow and thoroughly secured to one of the carved freesias that decorate the wooden headboard to the way your body lays waiting for him in loving submission. You are a vision for his eyes only, the sheer image of you like this is sure to be burned into his mind for eternity, something he will see in his dreams for a millennia to come.

“Now, what ever am I to do with such a pretty, lovely thing like yourself?” The way Astarion’s eyes travel over your form makes your thighs rub together on instinct, his heated gaze ratcheting up your arousal as you force yourself to let your legs fall open for him to see the evidence of your anticipation.

He moves to kneel on the bed at your feet, eyes glued to the sight of the damp clinging to your center. Gingerly, you reach out a bare foot and rest it against the center of his chest, toes daintily pressing into the bare skin there, eager for any connection with him you can get. 

Astarion eyes move to glance at your offering and he wastes no time, a hand coming to grab at the foot resting on his sternum, fingers quick to trace the delicate arch with a light touch. He leans his head to press a kiss to the top of your foot before moving further up your leg, pressing kisses to your ankle, your calf, the space behind you knee. 

“You look terribly lovely like this, darling, all tied up and at my mercy.”

His kisses continue their exploration, light brushes of his lips touching your thigh, the gentle softness of your stomach, the valley between your breasts before ending their journey against your neck. Astarion’s body rests between your open thighs as his lips caress the skin of your neck, his cock hot against your lower stomach. Your arms shake against their bonds, aching for the ability to touch him where he lays against you.

“Did you come up with your word, darling?” His voice is a whisper against your neck, his tongue licking at the places where his fangs have left scars as you recall words from a prior conversation. An exchange of words, he had said, to let each other know our comfort level. 

You nod your head, wrists flexing slightly against the ribbons as you try to hide a teasing smile, unable to resist such an opportunity to fluster him with your answer despite the headiness you feel. “Blingdenstone Blush.”

Astarion scoffs at your choice, head coming up from your neck to shoot a look your way, noticing your poorly hidden smile with the raise of a brow. 

“Could you pick anything more terrible?”

“Well, initially I was going to go with Bullywug Trumpet but it doesn’t quite roll of the tongue, now does it?” Astarion rolls his eyes at this, mouth curling up with distaste as he mutters something along the lines of unbelievable or is normalcy truly so much to ask for? under his breath.

“I am very open to discussing other word choices though, if you so desire. After all, there are so many mushrooms we could choose from.” Your smile is sly as you raise your eyebrows in amusement.

“Is a discussion on mycological nomenclature really what you want to be talking about while I have you all trussed up and ready to be devoured, darling?” Astarion’s hips grind into your own, driving home his point with little delicacy.

“Fine, you make a fair argument. Please do continue your previous exploits, sir.” A brief look flits over Astarion’s face at your use of such a word, gone as fast as it comes. The slight twitch of his cock against your skin, however, is far more telling.

“Hmm? Sir? Should I be looking to expand my vocabulary or—“ You move against your bonds to roll your hips back against your own in response, though Astarion is quick to cut you off when his mouth lowers to your breast, tongue circling the nipple, silencing any further conversation from you.

“That’s enough out of that clever mouth of yours for now, sweetest.” He rests his head against your breast, nipple damp as his eyes find your own.

“Sunmelon,” The word is a sigh on your lips. “We can go with that.”

“Consider it sorted, my love,” He presses a light peck at the swell he lays his head on before continuing. “Now, forget about your day, darling, and let me make you feel good.” 

Astarion seals his words with a kiss to the space where your heart beats in your chest before moving to capture the nipple resting below, his tongue circling the peak with precision. 

The motion has your back arching, pressing closer into his waiting mouth, and Astarion does not relent as he alternates between flicks of his tongue and closing his lips around to suck. Your hips jump at the sensation, fresh heat rushing to fill the space between your thighs.

Astarion moves his attentions to your neglected breast, as thorough in his ministrations with it as he was its twin as a hand comes up to brush against the damp nipple recently abandoned. He is resolute in his actions, paying no mind to your rolling hips searching for stimulation.

The feeling of his cock resting against the skin of your stomach is maddening when you want its heat so badly to fill you, Astarion’s motions against your breasts driving you higher and higher with every pass of his tongue. His hands trace down the contours of your body reverently as his mouth continues its exploration at your chest, hands moving to wrap around your arched back to grab at the flesh of your rear. 

He aligns his hips with your own as his hand squeeze at your ass, his cock pressing against your folds as he grinds at your center, drawing a ragged moan from both your lips. The dual stimulation of his lips on your breasts and his hardness against your weeping cunt feels euphoric, breathy whimpers escaping with every brush of him.

With a pop, Astarion breaks away from your nipple, his lips making their way north towards to mouth at the column of your throat. He kisses everywhere he can, his lips tracing the red of the blood in your veins as his hips continue their slow roll. 

He licks a stripe up a vein to press his lips against your ear, tickling the lobe with his tongue, the eroticism of the touch bringing a shiver to your naked form. 

“You’re absolutely perfect.” Astarion’s words are reverent, lips pressing soft kisses to the spot behind your ear as you whimper at the sheer adoration in his voice. Your hands writhe against their bonds, aching to touch him, to run fingers across the lines of shoulders and to bury them in his silver curls. 

His hands leave the skin of your rear, fingertips pressing in as he drags them up the expanse of your back before settling them to rest on your hips as his tongue licks down your neck before changing course to press kisses down to your chest. 

Slowly, Astarion makes his way down your body, kissing as he goes, every touch alighting your body with fire. His lips trace the skin below your belly button as his hands move to spread your thighs apart, settling his body between your open legs.

Astarion mimics your earlier action, pillowing his head innocently on the plushness of your thigh as he glances up at you from his place between your spread legs, a finger running up and down the skin there absentmindedly as he takes in the sight of you from this new angle; your dewy folds, the softness and warmth of your body, the light pink of the ribbon wrapped around your wrists practically iridescent in the dim light.

“As pretty as a painting.” Astarion sighs, adoration spilling from his lips, as the finger drawing lines makes its way up to run through your wetness in a barely there caress, collecting the arousal on a fingertip before moving to press lightly against your entrance. His finger brushes light circles, tracing the ring of muscles before dipping inside your heat. The warmth of your body draws a hiss from Astarion as he pushes that finger deeper, meeting no resistance as it sinks in to the knuckle, your moans filling the room.

He watches, entranced, as his finger disappears inside you before he draws it back out, bringing a second finger to join as they plunge back in. Your entrance weeps with the movement of his fingers, the coolness of the skin against the heat of your body only serving to contrast the feeling more. Your legs fall open farther the deeper Astarion’s fingers go, the dive of them in and out driving you closer to your orgasm. 

Your moans are pure sin as they fall from your lips, the sight of Astarion between your legs, as he watches his fingers slowly disappear inside your body with such intent drive you higher towards your completion. 

It was a special torture to be unable to touch him, you decide. You want nothing more than to brush your fingers through his curls as you come, to caress the delicate point at the top of his ears, feel the smoothness of his skin on your fingertips.

It feels absolutely filthy, to be tied up like this, your pleasure left to Astarion’s will as you are powerless to simply lay in wait for whatever he has in store. The feeling is intoxicating, more than any wine could ever hope to be. You certainly never expected that being denied the ability to touch would put your other senses on high alert, the scent of your own arousal evident in the air of the room, the sound of your wetness loud to your ears with every movement of his fingers. 

Astarion’s eyes flash to yours in the same instant his fingers start move faster, beginning to piston in and out of you faster. With every plunge in, Astarion crooks his fingers just so, perfectly placed every time to brush against that sweet spot deep inside. Your cunt clenches around him, intent to draw him in, to keep him there, as your orgasm draws nearer and nearer. 

The precipice of your orgasm is right in front of you, the warmth coursing through your veins in its nearness and you begin to let yourself fall into the feeling of it, Astarion driving you closer and closer towards your high until you feel the sudden emptiness of his fingers leaving you, ripping away the pleasure that was so closely awaiting you and your orgasm disappearing into the ether. Your mouth falls open in a cry, head tilting up from its place on the pillow to look down upon him in utter surprise as he rests between your legs.

“You know, I never did repay you from the other day in the studio. Surely you remember denying me my orgasm, hm?” The words are sly, brimming with confidence as you whine at the loss of his ministrations.

Astarion’s fingers press into your waiting body once more when he is confident your orgasm has disappeared, your sensitive cunt still weeping, curling inside to press against your g-spot. His fingers don’t leave your body this time, instead staying seated firmly inside you where he can manipulate them to curl into the area over and over again. Your pleasure ratchets back up faster than you can follow, your head thrown back against the pillow in ecstasy, eyes closed as your lashes dust against your flushed cheeks. 

Astarion leans his head in towards your waiting core, pressing soft kisses to the area around your clit, careful to never touch it all the while he remains intent on  breaking you apart on his fingers. 

He never stops the motions deep inside, curling with ruthless efficacy to leave you hanging on the precipice as his lips begin to work their way back up your body until they meet your lips. 

Your eyes open as he presses his mouth to yours, blinking through the slow haze of pleasure building as his forehead comes to rest against your own. 

“Word, darling?” Astarion fingers never slow, but his eyes are clear as they gaze into your own.

“I’m alright, I promise.” Your words put him at ease as you raise your head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek, your hips rolling against his hand. Astarion returns the gesture, kissing at the high point of your face before moving down the softness of your cheek to your neck, finally stopping to rest his head against your collarbone. 

“Good, because I’m not done yet.” He punctuates his words by stopping his fingers, keeping them warm deep inside your body but no longer allowing them motion, cutting off the burning pleasure you were once again so close to. You keen at the loss, bucking your hips in an attempt to regain it, willing to fuck yourself on his fingers if that was what it took. Astarion doesn’t give you the chance, pulling his fingers from your body to press them against your clit instead.

Your breath comes in shaky moans, body desperate for the chance to finally come. Astarion doesn’t relent in his quest though as he brings you to the peak once more with his fingers moving against your clit, giving your poor core a break as his lips press against your bare skin anywhere they can. He licks at your nipples, nips at the dip of your waist with his fangs, kisses the juncture where hip meets thigh. Always so good, beyond good, but never enough to bring you careening over the edge as his fingers diligently press at the pearl between your thighs, Astarion careful to halt when he notices you moving too close to your orgasm.

Your breath comes in uneven moans, your mind delirious with pleasure, both given and denied, when at long last Astarion’s lips and hands leave your body, their absence stark.

With elegant movements, Astarion moves back from your body, intent to simply watch you from his place near your feet, his pale skin like carved marble as he settles back to rest on his heels against the soft plush mattress as he watches you, his gaze considering. 

Your skin is flushed, a light sheen of sweat setting your skin aglow along every dip and curve of your body with a beautiful softness only echoed by that rosy pink ribbon still lovingly tied around your wrists. Your body writhes under his observation, the way he takes in every inch of your form in its fucked-out state with the otherworldly crimson of his eyes making your breath catch in your lungs.

His cock bobs between his thighs, tip weeping with precome as his eyes continue their perusal. He brings the hand that had been inside you so many times now up to wrap around his shaft as he pumps himself, spreading the leaking wetness down his length as his fist works himself up and down in slow motions.

Your body shakes with pent-up pleasure, skin flushed with being brought to the brink but denied your release time and time again.

“Now, my dear, I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

Pink tinges your cheeks at having to say the words you know he wants to hear, your body writhing with incompletion as you rub your thighs together while you think of how to possibly voice your desires out loud.

“Use your words, darling.” Astarion urges you with a glance as his hands move to spread your legs once more, pushing them wide as he looks at the glistening mess between your thighs, poised like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. 

“I…I want you to make me come. Please.” You lick your lips and pull slightly against the ribbons around your wrists, breathing deep.

“You’ll have to give me more than that, sweet thing.” His smile is wicked as his thumbs rub circles on the skin of your thighs.

“I want you to lick my cunt. Fuck me with your fingers, a-and your cock. Drink from me.” Your words rush out on an exhale as you grant him the information he so dearly wants, the blood rushing through your body coloring the skin of your cheeks and chest even darker as the admission pours from your lips, hips rolling in a desperate bid for release.

Astarion’s hold on your thighs tightens at your words, more beads of precome decorating his cock as it bobs in response to your request.

“Good things come to those who ask for them.” And with those words, Astarion lowers his head towards your waiting body, licking a stripe from your aching core to your clit. 

His mouth laves at your folds, tongue running through from your entrance to your clit over and over again, never focusing on any particular place for long, your pleasure ticking up with every brush.

Your body is so sensitive like this, the prior denial of your pleasure making every movement of his mouth seem more intense than usual, the sheer touch of his tongue on your most intimate areas making your hips jump. He laps at your clit with broad stokes, tongue flattened against the small bead before moving down to lick around your entrance before dipping inside to taste. 

Astarion continues like this, pressing his tongue deep with practiced motions, whorling against your walls before exiting again to ring around the area, your moans spurring on his attentions.  

He moves up to work your clit with precise flicks of his tongue, never breaking his rhythm as he replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, sliding in with ease. Astarion pumps his fingers, once, twice, before curling them to press against your g-spot once more. You teeter on the edge, Astarion masterful as he conducts your pleasure with mouth and fingers.

Astarion’s tongue darts down from your clit to run against the place where his fingers enter you, the sensation of both his tongue and fingers on your entrance drawing a harsh cry from your lips as he laps eagerly. Your arms jerk against the ribbon as your thighs begin to shake, every lick and push of his fingers making up for any pleasure previously denied. 

“That’s it, darling. Come for me.” His words are adoring as he speaks them against your center before returning to lick, your eyes rolling back at the vibrations of his mouth against you as his words make you clench harder around him.

He separates his fingers inside of you as his tongue continues to lick, scissoring them wide, as he stretches the walls of your cunt as your eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy. The burn of the stretch is minute, any discomfort replaced by the addition of his tongue pushing in deep in the space made by his spread fingers. His tongue thrusts in time with his fingers, and you are powerless but to follow your body as you finally crest over the edge, his words ringing in your ears as you come on his fingers and tongue. 

Your orgasm washes over you with a rarely felt intensity, your body spasming with pleasure as Astarion works you through it, not relenting in his mission. White-hot heat rolls over you, body and mind, as you cry out, the pleasure denied to you coming back tenfold as you ride the wave of your orgasm.

Body shaking, you slowly come back to yourself, taking in lungfuls of air as your body finally relaxes, arms falling to rest on the pillow as your eyes open blearily. 

“Dear Gods, Astarion.” You breathe out the words on a laugh as you look down at Astarion between your legs, fingers still massaging inside you softly as his head moves to press kisses to the skin of your thigh.

“We still have a few more requests to cross off your list, darling.” He licks at the flesh of your inner thigh, nose nuzzling the spot as his eyes meet your own.

“By all means, please drink your fill.” Your let the tension leave your legs as you open them wider for Astarion as he searches for a place to feed. 

His fangs pierce the skin of your upper thigh, so close to the sensitive junction where your leg meets your hip. The pain is a familiar hot prick as his fangs enter your flesh, but the satisfaction you feel from the pull of his lips sucking erases any thoughts of pain that cross your mind. He drinks at your lifeblood, intent to get his fill and enjoy sating his hunger. 

He hums against your skin as he drinks, the sound setting you ablaze with need once more as you watch him from his place between your thighs, the red of the blood on the white of skin stark and beautiful. 

Astarion takes one last pull, dragging the last bit of blood into his mouth before he retracts his fangs, moving to lick at the bloody wounds left there on your leg. He swallows the remaining blood as it enters his mouth before propping himself up on his elbows to glance up at you, tongue moving to lick at a stray drop of your blood making its way down from his lip.

He is beyond beautiful, the sight of his tongue licking at the stripe of your blood on his face driving pleasure straight to your empty cunt and you feel tired of waiting for it to be filled once more. You roll your hips slightly at the thought.

“Will you fuck me? Please?” You lick at your lips, asking as kindly as you know how, pulling at the binds on your wrists.

Astarion doesn’t answer you, instead leaning in once to lick at your slit, gathering your leftover cum to blend with your blood on his tongue as you whimper, skin still sensitive. The taste is intoxicating, Astarion moaning into your cunt at the piquancy of your essences.

Astarion’s mouth leaves your center as he moves to sit, grabbing at your legs as you wrap them around his hips, drawing him closer. Taking his cock in hand, he lines himself up with your core before beginning to push in.

He teases at first, short thrusts that never bury anything more than the head of his cock in your entrance, your slick coating him. 

“Gods, you’re soaked.” He throws his head back as he finally relents to his desire, pushing the rest of his hardness inside your waiting body, moving further and further until he bottoms out, dragging moans from both of your lips at the feeling. He sits like this for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him before he rocks with slow, deep motions, the head of his cock brushing against your walls feels like bliss as you move your hips in a rhythm to match his own.

A hand on your hip makes its way down the skin of your thigh, Astarion lifting your leg to prop it up over his forearm as he begins to pump in and out of you with smooth thrusts, your thighs opening up to him. 

Your lower back lifts to accommodate the change of balance with your leg now being held, Astarion’s other hand anchoring itself to your other as it wraps around his hip. He moves to his knees, his thrusts speeding up as you are content to let him set the tempo.

Astarion moves fast and hard, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your moans mix together as they fill the room with their sweetness, the sound of your lovemaking only adding to the pleasure building inside both you as you move towards your mutual releases.  

“Astarion, please, I need to touch you,” the words are a desperate whine as they leave your lips and Astarion is quick to acquiesce to your request, arm letting your leg fall as he leans over your body to pull at the bow adorning your wrists to free them from their binding. Without wasting a second, your hands find their way around his neck and your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, his thrusts never stopping their cadence as you run your freed fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. Your hips move to meet his own in frenzied thrusts, trying to match his pace with every press of his cock deep inside you. 

Without warning he flips you both and you suddenly find yourself sitting on his cock, the new position drawing a surprised moan from you lips as Astarion lays beneath you, curls splayed against the plush quilt. 

“Are you sure, love?” You gasp out the words as his hands find your hips again and he begins dragging you up and down his cock in smooth movements. His cock is deep like this, hitting places inside you with an intensity that drags you both closer. It had been some time since you had the opportunity to ride his cock like this, to watch him laying below your hips as you work him from above.

“Yes, gods please,” Astarion begs, the words only serving to ratchet your pleasure higher at the fever of his words, willing to do practically anything for him when he asks like that. His hips piston up in you, faster now, as you move your own up and down, body easily matching his like this as you settle your hands on his chest to help you balance.

Astarion’s pupils are practically blown out, your own mirroring his as you ride his cock, the slap of skin on skin with each thrust absolutely sinful. His thrusts are fast, quick and hard, his rhythm difficult to follow as he loses himself in the feeling of your body, the sight of you on top of him, breasts bouncing with every thrust and your head thrown back with your hair cascading around you. 

His hands grasp at your hips, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise as his own orgasm approaches, your own not far behind as you both give yourself over to the feeling and let your bodies dictate their own pleasure. Every thrust has his cock driving cries from your lips, breathy moans falling from his own as you finally feel Astarion lose control beneath you, his cock pulsing as his eyes close, spilling his come deep inside your cunt. 

His frantic thrusts have him pressing against your spot relentlessly, and the sight of him as his orgasm washes over him, the feel of his come filling you sends you over the edge with him, grinding down on his cock as you ride the wave of your own completion, vision practically whiting out as a mixture of come leaks from where you are joined onto his skin. 

Astarion’s body slowly relaxes below yours, grip on your hips softening as he helps you ride him as you come. He watches you as you finish, and while he’s never been the religious sort, Astarion is certain the vision of you working his cock as you orgasm is nothing short of divinity at work. Finally, your hips slow their motions, your body practically collapsing against his own as you work on regaining your breath in between pressing kisses to his chest. 

“Well. That was quite the ride, wasn’t it?” His expression is open, contentment obvious on his features as his fingers draw up and down your sides. His cock softens inside you as you smile against his skin, pushing up slightly to roll off of his chest and settle into the cool skin of his side. Your combined spend leaks onto the linens below you but you pay it no mind as Astarion reaches for your wrists, checking for any possible injury before pressing kisses to the slightly reddened skin where the ribbon had lay.

“It’s certainly my favorite one, at the very least.” You relax into his touch at his chuckle, your head cushioned on a muscled shoulder as you let him pepper your wrists with kisses. The two of you delight in the moment, happily basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, neither making to leave the bed.

You’re the first to break the moment, sitting up beside Astarion as you stretch, pressing your shoulders back to stretch along your spine. You turn to look at him with a smile on your face, crossing your legs in front of you as your head tilts to the side, observing him.

“You know, if this is going to be the response I get every time I happen to have a ‘bad’ day, I will gladly arrange for more of them.” Your smile turns mischievous, reaching out to walk your fingers up his chest.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” Astarion gasps in mock shock, reaching to grab at the fingers on his chest, bringing them to his lips to nip at the tip of one.

“What can I say? I did learn from the best, after all.” You shrug, leaning forward as his tongue licks at your fingers, squirming slightly as he reaches out to grab you around the waist. Astarion pulls you back into his arms, rolling the two of you playfully as he kisses your lips, threads of your joined laughter echoing out into the night.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // Female Narrator

Part Four

After a blinding light eradicates mankind, you're left in a desolate and empty world. A year of solitude eliminates all belief that anyone else was left behind. Until a chance encounter on the side of the road. Jake is injured and fighting for his life, but his presence brings a renewed sense of hope. Touch starved and lonely, you need him. And undoubtedly, he needs you too.

"It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

Explicit sexual content Sex (penetrative & oral) /Foreplay /Blood / Injury / Hunting. / Intense emotions / Death.

Day 430 ~ Amelia

Gunshots echoed through the canopy. Birds cried out overhead, fleeing their nests. The sound of wings in desperate flight as they tried to escape an inevitable death. And I'd never particularly enjoyed it, to see their little bodies hit the ground and have to pluck their feathers and gut them like they'd never been living, breathing creatures of the earth we shared.

But I could no longer walk into a grocery store and pick one up all nice and neatly packaged. Plucked and skinned ready to be chopped or diced. I had to watch the life fade from their eyes.

"I think I got one." Jake said, lowering the rifle from his cheek bone. "I'm getting good at this."

He was a good shot. You couldn't deny him the satisfaction he took with each kill. Never more than birds or squirrels. Anything more would have been outside your realms as a hunter. You'd never been allowed to shoot anything bigger.

"Make sure it's a clean kill." You always said it, like there was a way to absolve yourself of having to take a life.

He was starting to grow a little line of hair above his lip and on the underside of his chin. I suspected he wasn't capable of garnishing his face with anything more, but it was starting to change the shape of his face. He looked a little more rugged. Like a man who had seen some things he dared not speak of. A man who had known suffering but could still smile despite it all.

"You don't have to do this anymore." He sighed, flinging his kill over his shoulder. "I can see how uncomfortable it makes you."

He would have done anything to give me comfort. He was gentle and kind and whimsical. He didn't belong on his own, he was a pack creature. He needed validation and love, but more than that he needed somewhere to belong.

"You want me to stay home and tend the house while you go out hunting? Like a tv wife?" I jested, balking at the sight of the dead bird he carried.

"Why not?" He shrugged with sincerity. "And then I can come home after a long day and kick my boots off and say honey, I'm home!"

It had never crossed my mind that Jake would take over some of the duties I'd been doing all by myself. That he would want to carry some of the burden of our survival. I'd hoped, perhaps, that he might integrate himself as somebody I could exist alongside of without too much of a struggle.

But in truth, I was falling in love with him.

"If only the apocalypse had been of the zombie variety." I said, rolling my eyes. "You'd have had all the opportunities in the world to shoot things."

I started back towards the cabin, following the muddy path back up from where we'd found ourselves down near the lake. All the birds liked to congregate near the water. To hunt game it was the best spot in the woods. A steep incline that was always an inconvenience on the way back up awaited us, and I was eager to get back inside before the light began to fade.

"The dead are still here, aren't they?" He mused, staying close behind but far enough away that the corpse on his shoulder didn't unnerve me too much. "Isn't that what you said? There's still time."

I couldn't help but giggle at his intimation. But I was still haunted by those vacant eyes on the slab. Telling me everything I needed to know without speaking a damn word.

"I think if the dead had any plans to rise they would have done it a long time ago." I replied, "And besides, we don't need another thing roaming around out there."

We heard them at night. Howling. All the dogs that had once been docile pets in the towns and cities, wild and free like their ancestors now. Those who had survived, at least. Those that had adapted. I pitied their struggle the most. Where once they'd known nothing but love, there was only the hunt to kill instinct.

And as I watched Jake take his prized kill home to eat, I did wonder how he had managed to retain all his softness.

Day 431 ~ Amelia

He didn't sleep in that bunk anymore. It had gone unslept in ever since the rain had stopped. Every night he'd asked me if I wanted him to go back to his room and every night I'd made a promise to myself that just one more wouldn't hurt.

And every single one of those promises felt as if I was making them to a faceless and nameless deity that held my life's destiny in their hands. Who was I making that promise to? Why did it matter? Would it be so terribly wrong to continue enjoying Jakes body next to mine?

I was never really certain who's voice it was speaking to me when I told myself that it was wrong to need him. That same voice screaming at me now telling me it was wrong to want him.

How could I not fall in love with him? He took his time with me. Spending hours whispering questions into my ear. Sweeping his hands over my body, asking me if I liked the way he touched me. If I needed him to do anything differently. Altering his pressure and speed to my preference. Reducing me to a quivering wreck without ever asking for anything in return.

Once I knew that it was inevitable, I couldn't stop the temptation anymore. Satisfying each other with our hands and our tongues, never stepping over the threshold of penetration. It was a risk I simply wasn't prepared to make.

"Amelia?"

I snapped my head up over the shelf of cereal that was slowly decaying away. Jake was standing on the other side, stuffing detergent and fabric softener into his back pack.

"Sorry, I was miles away."

He smiled at me.

The store was shrouded in darkness, daylight coming in from the entrance at the other side. The fresh food had long since perished or been eaten by scavenging dogs and what was left was either long past usable or too heavy for me to load into my Grandpa's truck.

"I said I need to head over to home depot." He repeated, "Gonna fix that door on the chicken coop."

The incessant rapping of it blowing in the wind had kept him awake. He was adamant that he could fix it, despite confessing to having little to no experience with joinery. Something else that really didn't seem to matter. He would try, regardless.

"I've got a few things I need to do before we head back." I replied, hoping he wouldn't venture into it any further.

Supply runs had always been something I'd endured more than enjoyed. There was something about built up areas that just soaked me in a fear that reminded me I was alone. And sometimes, I'd been afraid that perhaps there was a chance that I wasn't. Watching Jake grab things off the shelves and hum to himself as he scanned the ever dwindling aisles, I felt a sense of calm.

"Oh yeah, like what?" He questioned, cocking his head to the side as we met at the end of the cereal boxes.

"Meds supplies." I replied, pleased at the speed in which I'd come up with something that wasn't entirely a lie. "Used a lot of stock on you when you first got here."

His hunting rifle was tucked away under his pack straps. His hair tied back into a low bun, a serious darkness beneath his eyes where he hadn't slept making his gaze appear more sinister as he pulled me in.

"Meet you back at the truck in thirty minutes?" He whispered, sliding palms down the curve of my spine as he kissed the edge of my jaw.

"Thirty minutes." I agreed, letting him have a taste of a kiss before we went in separate directions.

The Roanoke planned parenthood was only a short walk from the depot, but far enough away that I knew he wouldn't find cause to follow me there. It was eerily void of life, as I'd expected. But I still had to step over the weather worn and ripped remains of pro-life flags that were strewn across the open entrance.

The irony was not lost upon me. How none of it mattered anymore and yet there I was, after the world had ended, responsible for ensuring I didn't get knocked up. I laughed a little, at the ridiculousness of it. Trying to keep my footsteps light as they echoed down empty clinic corridors.

It was far too close a reminder of those first days in the hospital. The shadows of others still lingering in the ether. But not anymore. The only thing that echoed was me and my choice not to bring life into a world that had purged itself of it.

Like everywhere else, it was dark. The windowless corridors winding down towards examination and consultation rooms that were equally void of natural light. It wasn't difficult to find where they kept the IUD's and implants, once I'd stumbled on the only cupboard that was locked.

I'd have to do it myself. Make the incision and implant the device into my flesh. It wasn't something they'd taught in medical school. Performing minor surgery on yourself in the event of the eradication of mankind. Yet, there I was. Scalpel in hand and a reluctance to watch as I made the incision. Blood dripped down my arm. Pain tore through me. I clenched my eyes shut as I clicked it into place beneath my skin.

I held my breath. Sent curses reverberating off the clinic walls. A massacre in my hand as I held the shaking blade up in disbelief that I had done it. I didn't even know if it would work. Everything had a use-by date. Even the medication I knew would one day become useless.

As I wrapped my arm up, careful not to apply too much pressure, I let my mind wander into a future that was so uncertain I didn't want to picture it. I could see a faceless child sitting on the porch steps, a sweet voice calling out to me in a dream like echo. But it wasn't my name they were calling, it was Mommy...

I shuddered. The dread spilling down my spine like a portent. I wouldn't. I couldn't. No child deserved to grow up alone. The fantasy that I could have spent my life never knowing how Jake felt inside me becoming a real possibility as I checked my watch.

Five minutes to get back to the truck before he would panic.

I was uninspired. Feeling the gravity of my choice and my blood. He would sit there with his cock in his hand. Hard and fierce. And I would know pain for this pleasure. The sacrifice entirely mine. For him? I would have cut myself a thousand times. Uninspired, but only because I hurt.

I felt the rush of adrenaline spike as I returned to the daylight. Kicking those flags to the side as I exited. No doubt in my mind that if by some terrible mistake we brought a child into this world it would be loved and cherished. But only by us. And that wasn't enough.

He was waiting by the truck as I approached. One knee bent against the wheel arch, eyes roving around in search of me.

"Sorry." I yelled across the empty street. "Got a little delayed."

There was palpable relief in his face as I greeted him, throwing my pack in the back along with whatever he'd thrown in there. I could see wood and tools and various other things we potentially didn't need, but he'd taken anyway.

"I realised something." He said, taking the liberty of moving my hair aside, making me pay attention to the seriousness of his tone.

I'd often wondered where he got this air of confidence from. It was as if there had never been any doubt in his mind of how he felt. How certain he was that I would never hurt him. I wanted to bottle it up and drink it.

"What?" I replied, letting him covet me.

"I missed you." He murmured, fingertips planing down my throat. "We haven't been apart, not really. I was walking through home depot and I was struck by this feeling that you should've been with me."

I could see the wistfulness in his deep brown eyes. He was picturing us sauntering through home depot together, talking about all the things we wanted to do to improve our home. Discussing measurements and which grain of wood would look best. Maybe he was imagining it before the world ended. Maybe there were other people doing the exact same thing and the exact same time in his little daydream.

I envied him of that dream. I wanted so badly to imagine the sweetness of it. But all I could feel was the throbbing ache in my arm.

"You're somewhere else." He mused, pulling me back as he realised I wasn't responding. "What's the matter?"

His hands came about my arms, trying to embrace me. I flinched, causing all the faraway beauty in his eyes to fade. Now there was only concern.

"Are you hurt?" He fussed.

"No, no. Nothing like that." I protested, shrugging out of his embrace so that I could lower my coat sleeve.

He could see the blood pooling beneath the bandage. I hadn't been careful enough with myself. But he seemed to understand. He traced a fingertip against the blood, looking to me to see if it hurt.

"I never would have asked this of you." He said stoically. "I'd have taken responsibility."

There was no doubt in my mind that he would have. The sweet gentleness of his discourse as he kissed me in the crisp late winter air was enough. Streams of breath converging as his mouth opened to welcome my tongue. The incessant throbbing that took home in my core beating a song that told me I had done the right thing. This was my choice. Regardless.

"We can't bring a child into this, Jake." I shook my head, steadying his mouth as it continued against mine with a hand to his cheek. "You understand that, don't you?"

He paused. As if the thought hadn't crossed his mind deeply enough to plague him. Such was the privilege of a man.

"I'd have been satisfied." He countered, "Haven't you been satisfied these last few weeks?"

To what end could we had rolled around in those sheets until we'd have become irrevocably connected? He was sweet to say it. But I'd seen enough of humanity to know their wants and needs.

"Jake..." I said matter-of-factly. "It's just a little cut. It will heal. It just means we don't have to be so careful now. Don't you want that?"

He closed his eyes slowly. Exhaling. As if the thought alone was a sinful repose of a dream that would be something he could truly have. I liked the way he thought about it. Making a low, gravelly sound as he pulled my coat my back up over my shoulders.

"If I ever wanted anything, it's that." He replied, pressing his lips to my forehead as he bundled me up and into the truck. "Now let's get home so that I can fuck you senseless."

I was about to explain about the seven days grace period for it to start working, but my eye was caught by movement down the street. I peeked over the edge of the passenger side door as I climbed in, taking note of the creatures that appeared at the intersection.

"Jake, look!" I whispered.

He was searching for the keys in his many pockets. Distracted. I grabbed his chin and forced his head up, causing him to still even his breathing.

Creeping steadily through the urban decay, they noticed us as we noticed them. A mountain lion mother and her cub. My heart was pounding in my chest. Round, black eyes met mine in a solemn gaze across the concrete keeping us apart. She understood that I meant her no harm. And she, in return, began to pad away from us in mutual respect for whatever life had been left behind.

"Get a lot of mountain lions around here?"

His voice was small. Riddled with fear. His hand reaching for the rifle on the back of his pack. I put my hand on his to steady him.

"No." I replied calmly, "Not for hundreds of years. Hunting grounds must be changing. She means us no harm."

The little cub took a curious look at us. Their whiskers snuffling into the air, no doubt catching our scent before following it's mother.

"For a world that doesn't seem to want life, it sure as fuck seems to have given precedence to other life forms." Jake huffed, "We're the only species who can control the outcome of sex."

"But for how long?" I sighed, "Life finds a way."

Maybe the portent was in this. As I watched the mother and cub disappear behind the building opposite, I was gripped with a sense that in reality I had no control whatsoever. Everything we were doing right now to prevent life was futile. Maybe it wasn't humanity that had been eradicated. Maybe it was just the humanity that we'd become.

Day 439 ~ Jake

The days were growing warmer and longer. I could feel the pull of spring in the trees. My lungs felt much fuller, now that I could draw breath without too much trouble.

The ground was drying up, it felt like the birds were starting to chirp in the morning more sweetly. What had been sleeping was starting to awaken. And it felt like I was, too.

Amelia was the sort of woman I didn't know that I needed. The sort of woman who craved to be taken care of but would ruthlessly abandon all requests for help. She didn't need me, I knew that I was surplus to requirements when she reluctantly allowed me to start hunting and chopping wood without her interference.

But I was under no illusion that she wanted me. She stood on the porch steps with a steaming cup, diligently watching me with the axe in my hand. Chopping wood was something I knew, something I'd always done. Something she hadn't needed to show me.

"Enjoying the show?" I teased, rounding off another harsh blow as the log beneath my strike split in two on the block.

She continued to sip on her drink, leaning against the rail. Wearing a t-shirt that I'd picked up during a supply run, grateful to be out of the clothes she'd given me to wear. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and nothing covering her legs, she looked like she'd only just rolled out of bed.

"You're putting on quite the performance." She giggled, sending my pulse into disarray.

It had been hours since I'd touched her. I knew it would be something I'd have to endure, knowing I was days away from being able to slide inside her and know what she felt like wrapped around my cock. I'd tortured myself with it. Ticking off mental hours as I'd laid in bed at her side.

I shook my head, strands of my hair falling out from the bun I'd lazily sculpted to keep it out of my face as I chopped. The heat of the exertion making me sweat beneath my flannel shirt.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch?" I asked, fighting the urge to stick my axe in the block and go over to her.

"Yes." She replied stubbornly.

I placed another log in the block. Rounding off to a resounding blow that caused the two halves to shoot off either side of the axe. I always felt more powerful when that happened, as if the singular blow was strong enough that I didn't need to pull it out and round off again to complete the split. It felt all the more satisfying knowing that she had seen it.

"Hmmm, you like to watch huh?" I threw the two halves into the pile I'd already made, throwing her an amused smile too.

Last night she'd been like putty in my hands. Her body stiff as I worked my way around her clit, her eyes closed and her moans stifled as I talked her through it. Telling her she was soft and warm, growing hard against her hip as she revelled in the way I spoke to her. The hemisphere of her lower body completely saturated, beholden to my whim.

I told her she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. That her pussy felt so good against my hand. Trailing a breeze of a touch over her swollen bud, making her buck upwards for a harder friction. I liked the way she begged me for more. Her little whimpering voice so submissive, so sweetly veiled in the question she wouldn't dare to ask for outside the realms of sex.

Weeks of foreplay building up to this.

"You know, it'll be warm enough to chop wood without your shirt on soon." She raised a playful eyebrow, mischief in her voice.

I stuck my axe in the block and wiped my brow with the back of my hand. Releasing a few more buttons until my chest met the cool air.

"You're nothing but a fan, aren't you? I'm really sorry to tell you that I don't fuck my fans." I shrugged, watching her wrap the cardigan around her waist as she appraised me.

"That is a shame." She replied sarcastically. "Because here I was coming to tell you that the seven days were up."

The blood flow to my cock immediate piqued. I could feel it begin to stir, throbbing at the underside and tip as it slowly grew.

She lost all her joviality as she stared at me. Her blue eyes striking me, as they always did, like she could see straight through me into the parts of me I couldn't hide.

"What are you waiting for?" I dared to ask, the two of us locked in a strange stand off.

She let the cardigan open. I could see her chest rising and falling, her breath deep and shallow. She let it fall to the ground. With violent intent she tore down the steps, pulling off the t-shirt over her head. Messing up her hair, ragged breaths escaping me as I found myself struggling to breathe once more.

I stepped away from the chopping block. Buttons flying open as I ripped my shirt off. My fingers not doing as I willed them as I tried to pull my belt buckle apart. The anticipation was making every nerve ending numb, like I couldn't formulate a string of thoughts that made any sense. Not even the ones required to pull my belt off.

She took it from me. Yanking it from my failing hands. Pulling my body into hers with it, striking a match I knew would never extinguish. She unclasped the buckle with ease. There was no difficulty for her, no stumble in her step as she pulled everything down in a desperate attempt to take what she wanted.

There was nothing more beautiful than her desire. It was far more dark than who she was in the cold light of day. And I was drawn to the darkness, I always had been. The fathomless prose of her eyes as she wasted no time in dragging our bodies to the ground.

I could smell the earth. The moss and the fern. The wood and the soil. I could feel it at my back, solid and soft all at the same time. And her above me, like the Goddess that she was. All knotted hair and freckles as she straddled over my erection.

There would be time enough for gentleness. Time enough to savour it. What had been building for all those nights which came before demanded to be slaked. She didn't even waste the time that it would take to rip her thong off, slipping the fabric at her crotch to the side in haste.

"Fuck..." She hissed, a symphony of unadulterated songs there in her voice as she sank onto my grateful cock.

I couldn't stop myself from digging my fingers into her hips. Guiding her up and down in blissful rhythm. She felt like a tight little ribbon had wrapped itself around me from base to tip, coveting my shaft in smooth silken wetness that threatened to unravel far sooner than I'd have liked.

It was the combination of how she felt inside and the look on her face that would ruin me. The way her tits bounced as she moved, the way she softly cursed at the way I rutted upwards to hit deeper. My own words reeling out like poetry of filth.

"You feel so good, fuck... stretching me so good Jakey...I swear..."

Who was this girl? This woman? All those soft mumbles as I'd edged her to oblivion with other parts of my body had stepped aside for this demon who worshipped my cock. The altar set, her devotion of it unrepentant.

She had bled for this. She'd cut for this. She would have it and that fact alone made me feel as if I wanted to cum inside her right there as I stared up at her pained expressions. Brow furrowed and lips parted, panting wildly as her breasts rubbed against my chest as she leaned into a kiss that was dominated by tongue and arousal.

"You like how my cock feels?" I breathed, clutching her ass in both palms, letting my finger tips reach around for where I could feel myself sliding in and out of her.

She bit down on her lower lip, nodding passionately as I parted her ass cheeks and manipulated a single fingertip towards her sweet spot. She gasped. An evil little smirk taking place of the shock once I began massaging, any hope of romance dashed.

"It's everything...everything..." She sang, bittersweet because no matter how many times I would fuck her this would always be the first time.

It wasn't how I'd imagined it. I'd been the hero of that day dream. The one who had taken her, pleased her and pounded her into the mattress for as long as it took to make her cum on my eager cock. I'd been the one to instigate it, guide her into an orgasm that would've lifted the lid on her immortal soul. This was not that. This was real. Gritty. Down in the mud and with a ferocity that was all hers.

"That's it, my beautiful girl, take it..."

This wasn't about me, although I felt as if my cock had never known such a welcome as she clenched around me. This was about her. Whatever she wanted from me, she had earned. She deserved. I took her thrusts and shot my own into the rhythm, holding her ass as I pounded upwards. Her corresponding moans a clear signal that she wanted it like that.

"Fuck me harder, Jake...I'm almost there..."

I could feel that ribbon start to fray at the edges. My resolve fading. The tingle that shot up my shaft like the resurrection of a feeling I'd not had in so long I'd almost forgotten it.

"You gonna cum all pretty for me?" I asked, seeing the flush in her cheeks and the desperation to finish in her eyes. "Such a fucking beautiful pussy, give it up to me...It's mine."

My claim had her screaming a siren call that disrupted the nesting birds. She arched her back and let me see those tremendous breasts and the heaving of her stomach against her ribs as she released. The trees rumbled as the birds took flight, and so did her orgasm. Mine flowing out through the tip of my cock, spurting inside her as I tried to hold it together. To let her have her moment.

Because that was all it was. A moment. Not hours of love making. Hours of brutal fucking. Just a moment that she had taken, and I had given freely. And it wasn't until we were done that I'd known quite how much I'd been pining for a sweet little pussy like hers to let me in. How much I'd disregarded how much I needed it.

It was like I wasn't in survival mode anymore. I was thriving.

Day 469 ~ Amelia

We passed the wreckage where I'd found him on our route towards the road. It felt like part of the forest now, vines and shrubs growing around it. Reclaiming it. Sometimes I regarded it and wondered what might have happened if our paths had never crossed.

And other times I paid it no attention at all. Passing it like I would any other tree. For some reason, on this particular day, Jake had felt the need to stop.

"Do you ever think about it?" He asked poignantly, running his hand over the smoked frame of what was once his car.

"Sometimes." I replied, letting him figure out whatever it was that was hanging on. "But I try not to. We found each other, didn't we?"

I was obsessed with him. The way he looked, the way he felt. The way he tasted after drinking wine and the way he smelled after a shower. The shape of his lips and the way his mouth pockets moved as he spoke. Even the dark circles that were ever present beneath his eyes were a reason to love him.

"It scares the fuck out of me to think I could have driven right past you and never known."

I took his hand away and put it in mine. Entwining our fingers.

"You can't think like that. There's a thousand what if's and none of them stand against what we've got." I comforted him, "If we truly are the only ones left, how lucky that it was you and I that were left behind."

He coiled those big hands around my waist.

"You always know what to say when I get like this." He crooned softly into my ear, "Why don't you let me be the big strong man you need for a while?"

Day light would fade in a few hours. I liked it when he needed to feel dominant, I relished in it. But the walk we needed to take was another hour south.

"I would, but you know I have a surprise for you." I sighed, letting him rail a hand down the curve of my breasts. "So you'll have to save all that big strong manliness for later."

He grunted into my neck and placed a solitary kiss there.

"I love you, my sweet Amelia."

He'd said before in his sleep. But never in waking hours. I tried to keep my heart from soaring. But he noticed the way I held my breath at the sound of those words. Taken aback by them, almost. Unexpected. And yet soulfully beautiful, here in this tiny little moment where he needed something to hold on to.

"And I love you, my darling Jake." I whispered back, "Now, come on. There's something I want to show you."

.

.

.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Now tell me why do I have the idea of Lena and Kara getting ready to leave her Penthouse for an event but as they’re about to leave Kara grabs Lena, pins her against the wall next to the door because she can’t take it anymore…she just has to have Lena right then and there, her desire for her doesn’t afford her the patience of waiting until they get home 😭😭

So . . . this just kind of . . . came out *ahem* I make no apologies.

As for the other dirty prompts in my inbox, I see you! I am but a subject to the muses. but hey, smut begets smut right?

Rated M for sMut

Also, fair warning, this turned out rather vanilla lol so I hope y'all still enjoy!

Reservations

"Leeennaaa." Kara calls out, letting her head flop against the back of the couch. "What is taking you so long? You look beautiful, I promise!"

There's the sound of shuffling in the bathroom before Lena's voice comes back through the closed door.

"Just a minute! I'm almost done!"

Kara whines, eyes drifting closed . "It's been fourty-five minutes. I've beaten like twelve levels on the match game on my phone."

"Not all of us have super speed, darling. Or perfectly coiffed curls, for that matter."

"You have a perfect everything." Kara counters. "Now can you please get your perfect self out here before I starve to death?" She takes off her glasses to squint at the smudges on the lenses.

"Is this your master plan as Luthor? Make me fall in love with you and then starve me to death while waiting on you to get ready for dinner? I can see the headlines now - 'Supergirl defeated by Lena Luthor, long term starvation plan executed perfectly by wife.'"

Lena's laugh is tinkling.

"First of all, the media doesn't know that I'm married to Supergirl; so the headline would be about Kara Danvers. Second of all,: I'm a better Luthor than my brother, darling, if I wanted you killed then you would be dead before you had time to put two and two together."

And Kara knows that Lena is joking.

Knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that her wife is teasing and would never hurt her - well not without a safe word. But the undeniable truth behind the honey sweet tone sends a shiver down Kara's spine.

Rao, why did everything this woman does have to turn her on?

Kara squirms in her seat as she reaches to untuck the corner of her shirt and uses it to wipe at her glasses.

"Well yes, but we can leave the 'you're evil, I'm Supergirl' role play for another day please? I'm really hungry."

She can hear Lena's long suffering sigh even without her super senses as she holds her glasses up to the light; frowning when she still sees smudges.

The unmistakable click of Lena's red bottom heels sounds on the hardwood floor behind her, as she tries once again to scrub at her glasses.

"Thank goodness, let's go, I've been dreaming about these appetizers ever since the last time we ate at Ralphio's."

The aforementioned heels come into Kara's peripheral vision, and she hurriedly pushes the glasses back on her face.

She blinks once through the streaks that her dress shirt has made on the lenses before she remembers that she doesn't actually need them to see the beauty in front of her and pulls them off.

"Fuck."

The expletive slips out unbidden, and Kara fully blames it on Lena's bad influence; because she lived with Alex for years and managed to keep her vocabulary clean, but now she apparently cusses like some sort of deviant.

To be fair, it's really not her fault.

No one should be held responsible for what they say when Lena Luthor-Danvers is standing in front of them dressed to the nines.

"What was that, darling?"

Kara slowly gets to her feet, letting her eyes trace a lazy path up from the floor so she can fully appreciate Lena.

The heels of course, showcasing perfectly flexed, creamy white calves all the way up to just below the knee; where a short but enticing slit slices it's way up Lena's thigh. The dress hugs Lena's curves in all the right places, guiding Karas eyes up the swell of her hips to the soft crescent of her abdomen.

Briefly, she worries about Lena's ability to breathe in the dress because of how snug it is around her ribs; but then the material cuts away to show off Lena's cleavage, the black lace trimming barely containing Lena's breasts where they threaten to spill over, and she's distracted again.

Her eyes trace the lace over perfect skin that she wishes was beneath her fingers - or god, her lips. She doesn't think she has a collar bone kink, but she definitely has a Lenal kink; so she lets her gaze meander slowly to Lena's exposed shoulders before darting to the column of her throat.

She can see the muscles of Lena's throat contract as she swallows, and sinful red lips are moving - saying something that Kara's distracted brain isn't processing.

"Darling."

Lena's holding back a laugh, and something tells Kara that this isn't the first time she's repeated herself.

Trying to break the spell, Kara shifts her attention to Lena's eyes; but - oh boy was that a mistake. Lena's applied her eye makeup a little darker than usual tonight, and her green eyes sparkle like a faraway planet in the night sky.

"I - I'm sorry?" Kara's mouth goes so dry that the back of her throat sticks together, and she coughs, embarrassed.

"Are you ready for dinner?"

"Dinner? I -uh -yes, dinner. Right." mentally, Kara kicks herself; forcing her body to do her bidding instead of lusting after Lena.

"Apres vous, Madame." She gestures to the door, and that's when her body's obedience ends. Lena's hair is swept up into a tight bun, and the back of her dress is cut just enough to tease.

Her fingers twitch, and before she can stop herself, her fingertips are ghosting along Lena's skin - trailing the path from the chain around her neck down to where he sleeve is hugging her shoulder.

She can see in Lena's posture when her breath hitches at Kara's touch, and it's then she loses her last remnants of self control.

All it takes is one long stride forward and she's caught up with Lena, her front ghosting Lena's backside and her lips lowering down to caress the same milky skin her fingers just left.

"Kara . . ." Lena's voice is shaky and she can see the tremble in the hand that reaches up to undo the chain lock on the door.

Grinning, Kara lowers her head once again to lave kisses against the taut skin of Lena's neck; her left hand following Lena's until she closes her palm against the back of Lena's hand. Kara gently pushes forward until Lena is pressed between the door and Kara's body with their left hands laced together.

Kara's right hand comes up to Lena's waist, and Lena's knocks against the door as she braces herself against the sudden force of Kara's grip.

"Kara . . . " Lena repeats in a strangled whisper.

"Yes, my love?" Kara barely pauses her kisses to mouth the words against Lena's skin.

"Dinner . . . " Lena shudders as Kara hits a particularly sensitive beneath her ear.

"Hmm?"

"We have reservations. . . "

"You have standing reservations at every fancy restaurant in National City." Kara corrects, before closing her teeth around the shell of Lena's ear.

Lena's fingers clench where Kara has them pressed against the wall.

"Do you want me to stop?" Kara offers thoughtfully, tugging Lena more flush against her, fingers grazing the underside of her bosom.

"I - . . ."

"Words, Love - mind reading isn't one of my super powers."

"Kara." Lena's voice quivers. "Fuck."

"Was that a request or a demand?" Kara smirks.

"Either, both, I don't know, just - "

"As you wish." Kara promises, using just a hint of super speed to spin Lena so that her back is against the door, their left hands remaining laced above Lena's head"

It Lena's turn to smirk.

"Are you quoting The Princess Bride to me?"

Kara's right index finger comes up to hook around her upper lip like a fake mustache.

"My name, is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father, prepare to die."

Lena laughs, a full on belly laugh that's a complete juxtaposition with the sexual tension in the air, but it somehow turns Kara on even more.

Grinning, she takes advantage of the way that Lena's head is thrown back against the door and bows her head to claim Lena's neck once again. This time, her lips quickly give way to teeth - grazing and nipping at the quivering skin.

She feels the sharp tug in her hair before she's even realized that Lena's free hand has moved, and she grunts into the freckle on Lena's neck. Her weak knees let the majority of her body weight fall into Lena and the door, and she feels their bodies meld somehow closer; Kara's knee slipping between Lena's legs and shifting her dress up her thighs.

"Kara." Lena's voice is a whispered prayer against her ear, and Kara can't help but chuckle as absolute want and need race in shivers down her spine.

She pulls away slightly, waiting until Lena's unfocused eyes have lost their glazed look and met hers, before brushing the lone strand of hair that's escaped from Lena's bun away from her face.

"You know, we could always send a driver to get takeout if you still want those appetizers." Lena pants out, even as her hips subtly grind down onto Kara's thigh.

"Mmmm, but you got all dressed up." even as she speaks the words, Kara uses both of her hands to pull Lena's hips into hers.

"I only got dressed up to look nice for you." Lena admits with a gasp as she steps out of her heels. The loss of height presses Kara's knee deeper into her center.

"I do like that one suit you have, in particular."

"I swear to god, if you say birthday suit -" Lena threatens.

Kara huffs a laugh, toeing out of her own shoes.

"I was going to say the purple Tom Ford, but I'm partial to the birthday suit as well."

"Don't get cheeky with me, Supergirl." The severe look on Lena's face might have worried others but Kara can see the smile pulling at her lips.

"Cheeky, huh?" Kara's hands drop to palm Lena's ass, squeezing suggestively.

Lena swats at her shoulder.

"Well if you're going to get violent Ms. Luthor." She ducks under Lena's grasp, using her handholds to hoist Lena over her shoulder.

"Hey!" Lena protests, fisting her hands in the back of Kara's shirt to try and maintain some semblance of control even as her legs kick helplessly in the air.

"That's Mrs. Luthor-Danvers to you!"

Kara's laugh echoes down the hall as she carries Lena to their bedroom.

"My apologies." She tosses Lena onto the bed, barely letting her settle from the bounce before crawling over her predatorily. "Mrs. Luthor-Danvers."

"Better." Lena breathlessly concedes before tugging Kara's lips down to hers.

Kara could spend hours kissing Lena - has spent hours kissing Lena - their mouths moving in a practiced dance that somehow leaves her satisfied and yet wanting more; tongues and lips bruised and tired.

But tonight, tonight she wants more.

Needs more.

And if Lena's moans and her nails digging into Kara's skin though her shirt are any indication, then Lena wants more too.

She buries her face in Lena's neck, reveling in the way her tongue and teeth draw out ragged gasps from the woman beneath her.

They both grind their hips, searching for friction, but Lena's dress is in the way. By some unspoken agreement, Lena lifts her hips and Kara balances on her knees and her mouth on Lena's shoulder - one hand pushing the dress up and out of the way and the other jerking Lena's panties down past her knees.

She has little time for a victory celebration though, because Lena uses her distraction at staying balanced to flip them over.

"Hey!" she half-heartedly protests, but it falls on deaf ears as Lena gives the seam of buttons on her dress shirt a sharp tug - sending buttons flying across the room.

Lena uses her hand on Kara's chest to balance as she leans back on her heels and as Kara takes in the scene; she would swear under oath that she'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Lena's fancy dress is rucked up and twisted; and breasts that were once merely teasing their presence are now playing a very indecent game of hide and seek with every ragged breath her chest heaves. Her once immaculate lip stick is smeared almost pornographically, and more of her jet black locks are framing her face than are left in her bun.

"You're beautiful." Kara breathes out reverently, fingertips tracing an indistinct pattern up Lena's thigh.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go put on that Tom Ford suit - "

"Don't you dare put on any more clothes." Kara lets some of her signature 'Supergirl' authoritative tone leech into her voice, but Lena only laughs.

"Or what?" she teases, even as Karas hand slides between her legs and her fingers swipe through her slick.

"Or I'll have to rip them off of you."

"Is that a threat?" Lena moans as Kara's fingers explore her heat. "Or a promise?"

Kara grins wickedly, two fingers sinking into Lena's cunt with practiced ease.

"Oh, that's definitely a promise."

It's something she's watched probably a hundred times, but there's just something about Lena riding her fingers that she can't tear her eyes away from.

Kara's name sounds like a prayer on Lena's lips, and she can't help but feel a rush of pride at the blush that's spreading across Lena's chest.

One of Lena's hands is behind her on Kara's knee for leverage and support, and the other is fisted in the remnants of Kara's shirt. The green pendant that Kara made her for their last anniversary bounces just above her breasts, drawing Kara's attention but then Lena moans her name again, and she's distracted - watching pearly white teeth sink into maroon lipstick stained lips.

It's a beautiful thing watching Lena come undone, feeling Lena come undone.

The way her body rocks and trembles as she reaches the edge of orgasm, as she clenches around Kara's fingers, as her eyes roll back and drift closed- senses too overwhelmed to keep them open.

It's almost as beautiful as the lazy smile that crosses Lena's face as the last rhythmic shocks fade. The way her body sags almost in relief to be released from the building tension.

Almost as beautiful as the way Lena's hand pushes hers away as the stimulation becomes too much. The way she collapses next to Kara on the bed, already moving into snuggle position before her body fully hits the mattress. The way she pants as she joins her hand with Kara's and brings them to her lips to give an almost innocent kiss the fingers that brought her to ruin.

"That's - I'm just - give me a second." Lena pleads, but Kara only laughs placing a kiss to their joined hands herself before easing off the bed and slipping back to the living room to grab her phone.

"Hey!" Lena's weak protest calls after her. "Where are you going?"

Before the words have even completely left her mouth, Kara is rounding the doorway to the bedroom; taking in Lena's disheveled state with a grin.

"Well, I figure if we order those appetizers now, they'll be here by the time we finish the next round."

[voxmortuus]

Vecna x female reader

Fluff to smut

Reader is as strong as he is and helps him pick his victims

Soulmate au

Sub reader

PAIRING: Vecna x Fem!Reader

UNIVERSE: Stranger Things

WORDS:

SUMMARY/PROMPT: See above <3

Trigger Warning(s): Mention of killing | Fingering | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…

NOTE: Sorry if this isn't what you expected, I'm hoping this finds you well love! I had a very hard time with this piece... I'm so sorry it's not my best quality and a little choppy and all over the place, but I did try.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS BLOG!

IMAGE CREDIT: Google I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF THESE IMAGES. If these are yours or you know who the creator(s) is please INBOX me and let me know. Thank you.

My Master Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist | Taglist

What were you to Vecna? What were you to yourself? Vecna saw you as his soulmate, the one to help him, the one he sought out to help him choose his victims, to choose those who felt the guilt deep enough to be turned into hollow husks of nothing. What was it you truly desired in life? Shit, you didn't even know because you weren't ready for what you thought you could handle. But at the end of the day, you found it easier to be with him and choose with him than you ever were able to do alone. 

When he brought you into the upsidedown you were lost, forever lost, but he helped you find your way, he helped lead you, he never wanted to kill you... he chose you. That's gotta mean something, right? All he wanted to was to show you that his world wasn't scary, it wasn't what others screamed about. He wanted you to know that his place was your home, and he was your master, and he would teach you the ways, and anything you needed to know. 

Vecna had no problems with you, you were cooperative and understanding, and you two got close, you bonded in a way he had never bonded with anyone else before. You were his soulmate and it was like everything bad in the world, it wasn't bad anymore. At least not in your eyes. You wanted to make him happy, and dare say even proud. You two started picking people, and eventually, he started having you pick for him. It worked out in this odd way that made everything come together at the end of the day. Bonding over making people suffer.

At times, you doubted yourself and questioned yourself, but he always made you feel like you had a purpose, and your purpose was to make him happy, and you did just that. When this all started, you were that one person in the living world that understood him and never judged him, and he cherished that. Though most wouldn't believe it. He hung onto things, he hung on to the way you made him feel. But you held this guilt about something you once did, and that was his way of bringing you here. He never intended to kill you. 

Today, today was a good day, but the aspect of finding someone to kill today was going to be hard, you had to focus, and though your focus was shaken, there was something there that spoke out. You focused harder, hearing that guilt pulse through those roots of the ground, hearing those whispers of things they wish they never had from what they had done. Hearing those murmurs you smirk, and look over at Vecna and you have this almost excited expression on your face. Walking to him you place your hand against his chest and smile. 

"I've found the next one love." you muse lightly.

"Good... very good. Shall we?" he asked. 

Nodding you follow closely behind him as he leads the way, picking up on where this person is, Vecna does what he does best. But this time, was a little different. This time he wanted you to do it with him, to help him, to show him that you were capable of doing anything. 

Your mind raced as you helped him kill the girl. Leaning in he kissed you against the side of your head and had taken your hand and led you to a deeper place where it was darker as his hand caressed the lips between your hips. Slowly he worked your bud, feeling the wetness as his fingers dipped a little lower as he slid them inside of you.

Your hips buckle a moment completely taken off guard, you let out a soft whimper as he picks up the pace. Your breathing begins to stagger as you move your hips against his palm as his fingers dive deeper into you, your bud rubbing against him as you let out a louder moan. 

He was prepping you, reading you for something more, something bigger, something better, but he pulled his hand away and looked over your face. 

"Show me one more victim, and I'll give you what you desire so much." 

"Yes, Sir." you whimper hating that he left you hanging, but you understood. 

[ofengineers]

MUSE SPECIFIC INNER THOUGHTS → @ignitedshield

He was there when Daddy died...

"I just met Clive and Jill, the two people who were with Daddy when he died. Sid Torgal was there, too. It feels so wrong that I wasn't there. I always knew it could come because he's reckless, but I wasn't ready. What's comforting me somehow is that I can see how sad they are, too. Daddy was surrounded by people who cared for him. Clive told me he will be there for me. I appreciate it, but I really don't know how he could do that. I'm still in Kanver most of the time, anyway."

He took his name...

"A part of me don't like when I hear other people calling Clive Cid because it was Daddy's name. On the other hand, it's so heartwarming that he chose to take his name to honor his legacy and to continue his mission. I'm sure he would have been happy to know that. I don't know if he can see him, but I'm sure he's proud. I will not call Clive Cid, though. Anyway, I'm close to him, and people who are close to him don't do that. But through him, Daddy is living again, and it means a lot to me."

He feels like the older brother I never had...

"I really like Clive. He's so kind and caring, and he seems to enjoy my jokes, which makes me very happy, of course! When I grew up in Waloed, I was the only child. And even once we left Waloed, it took a while before there were children around. I had time to become a teenager and eventually I left for Kanver. I never had someone who was like a brother or like a sister to me. But with Clive, I really feel like I have a brother. This bond is very dear to me... I hope he knows that because I'm bad at talking about my feelings."

He's happy for us...

"Clive thinks there's something going on between Joshua and I. And he's right. I didn't confirm anything because it's not official yet. But everyone sees how much time we spend together when he's at the Hideaway. Clive seems so happy for us, though. It means a lot to me because I know how much he cares for his brother. If he thinks I'm a good match for him, I'm truly honored. Maybe it even means we could have double dates with him and Jill later!"

I want to take care of him...

"Clive came back from the final battle against Ultima, but he's injured. He's suffering from the curse now. I hope it won't last, but it probably won't because magic disappeared from this world, anyway. I just want him to be safe and happy. He worked so hard for all of Valisthea; he deserves to live freely. And I want to be there for him and to support him. I won't let him down. I don't only see him as my brother when he's doing well!"

[mlobsters]

supernatural s8e15 man's best friend with benefits (w. brad buckner, eugenie ross-leming)

i enjoy a good play on words as much as the next person but combining dog and sex for your episode name is an interesting choice

well dang, indoor pool and sauna? i wanna go

DEAN 'Cause you did just gank a Hellhound, which is no slice of pie, and, uh, there is a mine field of who knows what crap ahead. Just want to make sure that you are okay. SAM I'm good. DEAN 'Cause, you know, we could find another devil dog. You could tag out. I could snuff the son of a bitch.

so i viewed this as him just trying to protect sam but now i see

i've never had such shifting opinions on a tv person's hair like i do sam's. at least half the time i actively dislike it. at most 5-10% of the time, i think damn it looks good! this shot in particular was one of the special few. his hair is beautiful, the styling/cut is what lets it down when it does

i sure hope he's not hallucinating again because that'd be a cruel trick. hmm, also in my musings adjacent to fuckup vs righteous man, i've thought about how they show sam's suffering onscreen a lot (mystery spot [lol i won't let it go], hallucifer, whatever the trials shit is gonna be) but dean we get the emotional suffering aftermath. sidenote, logistically made sense for a whole bucket of reasons of course, but (for me, personally) thank goodness dean's hell experience was offscreen almost entirely.

sounds like padalecki is sick

um. a doberman that transformed into a black woman. with the huge sparkly bright pink dog collar still on

and this white dude witch is her master?? wtffff. don't really care what backpedaling they do, that was a shitty choice

DEAN Well, I'm concerned. SAM Concerned about the, uh -- the witch-killing spell... or that I'm gonna mess these trials up? DEAN Look, we get too far down the road with this, we can't go back, and it'll be too late for me to jump in. SAM Who says that you're gonna have to? You know, maybe I'll actually pull this one off. DEAN I'm just saying. SAM I know what you're saying, Dean. You've said it. You know, I've been going over this and over this, asking myself "why doesn't he trust me?" And it occurred to me, finally. It's not that you don't trust me. It's that you can only trust you. DEAN Are you done? SAM Yeah, I'm done if you're done.

ugh 💔 and to be so forthright telling him how he keeps asking himself why dean doesn't trust him. and the super quick "i'm done if you're done" response has such a particular flavor of... well. something i'm very familiar with. the vulnerability of showing that he's hurt over not being trusted, that it isn't just anger, and dean basically ignoring it.. feeling of inside, shut that shit down asap and move on. don't know what he was going for particularly but it struck a chord obviously for me

phillippe LeChat. 🥴

????????

like, we can't have dean or sam fucking anyone at the moment so we're just gonna have these two do it. was there a sex scene quotient that needed to be filled?

episode title way more literal than i expected.

DEAN I got to ask. I-I can't help but wonder -- PORTIA Which came first, dog or girl? DEAN Yeah. Yeah, I mean, I'm just curious as to which one you consider yourself, mostly. PORTIA This have anything to do with what I told you about James and me last night? How you're imagining it? DEAN What? No, that's... yes.

dean said (sentient) dogfucker rights?

SAM Oh, by the way, got to hand it to you. It's been 15 hours since Portia mentioned her night with James, and not one bestiality joke outta ya.

not for us though

wonder how many times i miss that he's messing with the scar on his hand

okay.

geez i shouldn't have mentioned onscreen suffering. and using the clip of dean calling out for sam from hell on the hooks..... extra rude.

DEAN Well, it's possible I was wrong. SAM What, about James? Dude, we were both ready to gank the guy. DEAN No, that's not what I meant. Back there, when Spencer had us. He screwed with my head. I saw mom… When she died… And then some other crap. SAM Yeah. Me, too. DEAN You know, when I look back at what our family's been through, what everybody's been through, seeing all that pain… I realize that the only way we've made it through it all is by hanging together. I trust you, Sammy. With this deal, locking those sons of bitches up in the furnace once and for all, it's too important not to. So if you say you're good... then that's it. I'm with you 100%.

i'm all ♥️♥️♥️ and then immediately sam hides he's coughing up blood. okay.

that's the thing with this show, the bad plot writing whatever episodes will still have some mushy fucking brother conversations i wouldn't want to miss! like the reviled bugs episode, that had some high quality brother content

[fuckandfable]

okay. so you're an optimist with depressive tendencies.

Hello infinite nothingness. You look stunning. I look stunning. We all look stunning.

I have been thinking about him lately. I find myself convincing my heart that he does not care about me. It makes the pain easier to bear.

I wish I could be a true free spirit. I think a free spirit suffers no mental or emotional pain. Everyone has this skewed perception of what it means to be truly free spirited. Running a muck without attachment. Because I have so many unanswered thoughts I do not consider myself free just yet.

I go back and forth a lot. From hate to appreciation, this is how I know I am not ready. But when will I ever be ready?

I want to do things alone with myself. I want to create within my own self. I want to choose me. I want to up my wolf mentality while nurturing my heart shaped sheep. I cannot let the sheep in me die. I no longer wish for some type of salvation. I do not need saving.

I want a constructive kind of love, not destructive. Love can be destructive and I thought it was the will to die by its sword over and over again 🗡️ but I’m finding out it’s more like the will to live over and over again.

Love is learning how to let it be free.Im learning how to love without being loved. That will make my spirit truly free. In order for me to do that I need to love myself endlessly not selfishly.

last night I was a little sick of my urge to look at love in the light. I feel like I almost forced myself to write about the darkness of love. my mind wouldn't really let me. and it just reassured my belief in love and its light. Yes, I can look at all the shitty possibilities of love, but love is accepting those too. Love is not holding it against itself. love is total acceptance.

I always wanted to be a fierce woman. I wanted to be a dominate woman. I am in some aspects, I can be in some aspects. but I am built a soft woman, accepting that has been difficult in such a harsh world. I feel like I am protecting myself most days. I have been failed by the protection and guard of the male species to many times. I need to conjure my own protection and I personally dont think women were made to do that, so we turn into some evil demon. I am impressed with the way I have been protecting myself from my own rage. Rage is a tricky bitch. Rage is counterproductive, but it can feel so protecting at times. There is a fine line between our anger and how we choose to protect ourselves. There is no hierarchy among the female brain because we are aways at the top, and whenever we feel low, we allow that rage to carry us.

Accepting that I am simply not made to be a crude woman, helps diagnose what my true needs are. it helps me get to know me and grow into something fierce. Knowing the weaknesses of the sheep allow the rage to maneuver in a wolf like manner. I will not let my rage bring me down, I will allow it to protect me. I will not allow my rage to pity me, I will allow it to protect me. I will not allow my rage to consume me, I will allow it to protect me.

Rage can be damaging and now that I am more aware of the damage it can cause me specifically, I can almost always use it to constructively trigger my creative mind. Drawing, writing, thinking. yes, we need practice. yes, we need an outlet. Rage is only detrimental when you hold it inside and let it settle in your bones. You have to ignite your ability to create. It is a muse. Emotion is only a muse!

I love where my emotions are taking me. I love that they enhance my ability to think, create, and manifest. I am no longer feeling like I'm drowning in it all. I feel like I'm becoming something much deeper, like the abyss, where only I can breathe underwater.

I am learning how to create something positive out of a negative in hope to receive belief. The same certain belief that I feel I have in what is negative, or the things that I hate. Sometimes, I just hate to hate. Sometimes, I'm a mouthy bitch. Sometimes, when I trick it into thinking it has a voice, it stops wanting to talk. Hate does not like the spot light, it likes to linger in the background in hopes that our minds will entertain it into full blown thought and action. I laugh at my anger, and it leaves. I feed my negativity to the creative mind and I swallow it whole, spitting out literature and art. That is the power of the human mind. Our capabilities are endless and infinite. The only thing that is limited is our vessel, and even that can endure for quite sometime.

Do not wait until you feel the pain. the pain is only something we think we want until it is there. I am learning that only I am responsible for creating my own pain, no one else. By taking accountability for my own self sabotage I am able to progressively turn it into something I can understand and easily create it into love. PRACTICE. you need to practice maneuvering through your mind, You cannot avoid it. You can not ignore it. It's there and you aren't fucking brain dead.

I no longer wish for anyone to understand my ideology when I can't even understand it yet. That would be unfair, so I remain receptive and curious about the world, and gain the ability to conquer anything. And with my rage there to protect me, it reminds me that I am built to ask questions, and that one day I will wake up unafraid.

-x

[illicien]

“Nobody asked about my writing” meme

Ohhh thank you so much for the tag @amethyst-noir! Having read these questions already I can tell this is going to become a pain in the ass to answer, bless you and thank you for the suffering.

 1: what are you currently working on? 

Far too many things. My writing tab currently has open:

One-Time Thing (third part in progress, but I have all of the parts in the same doc)

HS / Mafia AU Outline (when this starts becoming a thing more effectively I hope every single one of you is ready for me to be the most whiny bitch on the timeline; when my wife said "oh that sounds like it'll be 300k" I was like lol I've never written anything that long! But this outline... this fucking outline...)

Captured (inspired by a whump prompt, whether this comes into existence is entirely dependent upon the whims of my muse and they are feeling incredibly tempestuous of late.)

Seeing Double (This remains my comfort fic to sit back in because writing Stephen occasionally manages to help reset my brain when I get stuck.)

WB Hanahaki (I completely blame a combination of @winterbonesthings @six-demon-bag and @bicycleonfire for the fact that this even started to happen.)

To The Victors (This is literally the fic I've had open and been casually poking at now and then since before I even started OTT and whether it will be finished is also dependent upon the whims of my muse.)

And that's all WinterBaron shit I just have that I'm casually flicking through depending on what is best meeting my interests at any given hour of the day.

2: summarize your current project 

Which one? I'm literally gonna randomize 1-6 and find out which project we're summarizing.

Well okay then. Seeing Double it is:

With the sudden splitting of timelines and opening of the multiverse, some of HYDRA's experiments in other worlds have created strange pathways to other worlds; while HYDRA has been mostly dealt with in their active timeline, the elimination of a specific base has left Sam, Bucky, and Zemo faced with an actively Winter Soldiered Bucky Barnes. Not quite sure how to handle their new situation, and mildly unnerved by the fact that this Winter Soldier has decided that obeying Zemo of all people is the best choice, Sam suggests taking him to Doctor Strange - because if anyone's going to be able to figure out sending him back to his own dimension, a sorcerer seems like the best option.

3: summarize your current project poorly 

(Same project? Different project? Different project.)

Zemo's fucking pissed to realize that he's in love with someone again; he'd ignore it, if it wasn't literally killing him.

4: describe your favorite character or characters

Tea sluts.

Oh, did you want a better description? Well you aren't getting one. They're tea sluts. You think they're perfectly put together, incredibly in control, and that's exactly what they like you to think as they casually sip their tea and pretend they're only the most sophisticated of people.

But it takes about two seconds to turn them from sophisticated and in control into whining little bitches. And I love that for them.

5: post a line from your current project without any context 

They'd taken time to collect - the remnants of Ultron scattered in a distinctive display, pieces welded together in a manner both grotesque and hauntingly beautiful.

6: how do you get through writers block?

Skip to a different project for a little bit. Sometimes it's less that I'm blocked in terms of writing, and more that I'm stuck on a specific scene or story, and moving on until I'm stuck on something else makes it easier for me to return to whatever I was initially stuck on.

7: would you want to live in the world of your current work? 

No. Not any of them. No thank you. Especially not anything MCU adjacent. I'll skip on that, thanks.

8: briefly discuss your outlining process, if you outline 

My outlining process only really exists for fics that I am well aware / intend to be more than one chapter. For example, there was no real outline for OTT, and it did get away from me because of that, in part. That's why OTT turned into a series rather than just being multichapter.

When I do outline, however, I have a very specific set-up that involves first jotting down several notes from my brainstorming session as I typically bounce the initial concept off of someone. Many bullet points exist. From there, it's a matter of grouping them into relevant areas, and then breaking things down into chapters from that point. I'll occasionally make specific notes about particular dialogue pieces as related to specific bullet points. Before I do a final dive into starting to write pieces, I'll go over chapter bulletpoints again to see if there are any specific things that could use to be arranged elsewhere.

If I write without an outline for a multichapter story, we get chaos like Collared and Embraced which are both currently still sitting unfinished, despite my best efforts.

9: what is the aesthetic of your current project?

Okay so I'm gonna return to To The Victors for this one, even though I mentioned it once already earlier, because of all of them this one has a very visual set up.

Piercing suspension; human food trays; an old castle hall draped with purple silk and velvet; the contrast of highly mechanical chrome bits and pieces against elegant fabrics and stone walls

10: what song sums up your current work the best?

Ooo this is hard, especially since I decided to save this one specifically for the OTT finale...

We'll go with:

Tagging

Sending this one over to @six-demon-bag @winterbonesthings and @winterytrash cuz I'm sure y'all are working on something at least. @bicycleonfire too if you've got anything ongoing you wanna share 😉

[vilecovet]

i'm here to babble about tsurya. my defeatist, self-hating, deeply traumatized, beautiful muse. he's special to me because he's the absolute opposite of characters i usually portrayed. instead of being unbreakably fierce and i'll kick your ass if you mess with me, he's been beaten into submission by his never-ending punishment.

tsurya has the mindset of someone who was enslaved for a long period of time. he's been reduced to such a state of critical helplessness that if someone freed him, he wouldn't move. why? because he's conditioned to believe that he is always in hell.

his time in jigoku was beyond any suffering anyone on earth can imagine. being flayed, assaulted, killed and revived, boiled alive, bones crushed. and it was endless. he did not get breaks. going through such horrific abuse for hundreds of years? how could it not show up in every interaction he has?

he is terrified of everything. terrified of feeling, of letting himself hope, of getting attached. he's constantly warning people don't rouse me. because he knows that he operates in a dormant, dissociated state of mind most of the time. he's never completely there. this is his brain's way of protecting him, it's a defense mechanism. because if someone forces him into feeling anything, he snaps.

and it is usually irrational and murderous and violent because he's like a cornered animal. all of his suppressed anger, grief, and fear explodes and he doesn't know how to regulate it because, again, it's centuries of repressed emotions rushing to the surface all at once. then the cycle of shame, and self-hatred starts again and he can't find his way out !!

tsurya is amazing to me because what about the characters who go through hell and don't come out stronger?

what about the characters who have been abused and stay in that victim mindset for the rest of their lives? they're not good, but they're not evil. they're powerful in theory, but in practice, they're weak and fragile. the characters who are just old, tired, and ready to die? but for some reason. . .they keep going?

a ghost of their former selves, broken beyond repair, and they're still able to love? they're still able to be kind? if that's not strength, if that's not lone warrior energy, then i don't know what is. and i find that so tragic, and so heartbreaking.

[sharpscion]

Julia walks through the med tent looking to see who she can help. After all, if she had the healing skills, it only made sense to help others during this time. She watches the various heads - all fighters in their own right - when a certain individual catches her eye. Black hair and those sharp eyes. It's Scathach.

"Hello, Scathach," Julia begins, "Might you need me to tend to your wounds?"

They had survived the war together and the scion was an ally. She hoped he was not too injured....Warriors always wanted to push themselves yet Julia hated seeing those she loved get hurt.

Sitting down, she offers him some juice. "It is important to regain your strength after a large battle!" She points her finger upwards, as if she has just made a profound point. Please, don't push yourself too hard.

"If there is anything else I can do, do not hesitate to let me know. I am here for you, Scathach." Her lips curl upwards into a gentle smile. She enjoyed his calm radiance.

scáthach sat idly in his given bed, deep in his mind while he waited for edain to release him from care. she had been very clear on what he was allowed to do while he was recovering from his first battle, which was... nothing. it was pleasant, at first, to be reminded that there was someone who cared for him like that. now though, he was becoming inpatient sitting around doing nothing when he was perfectly fine. no edain would ever know that he had suffered far worse, had done far more with much less... but that was besides the point. he had promised her he would wait.

he was taken out of his musings, however, when a familiar voice called out to him. their eyes meet and he was pleasantly surprised to match the voice he recognized with the face of his fellow scion, julia. he hadn't seen her since his departure to isaach, and then eventually, fodlan too. she finds a place by his bedside, already prepared to heal his wounds, much like in the past. "lady julia," he greeted, "no need to worry about my wounds, they've already been cared for."

her words were kind as always, he couldn't help but be reminded of edain as she scolded him. "thank you, i'll keep that in mind... i'm on forced bedrest until lady edain deems me ready to fight again, anyway." the edain he was familiar with now was proving to be just like the mother he had spent so much time with in his youth. it felt strange to be fussed over like this, not just by edain but julia as well. it wasn't all bad however, so he returned her smile in earnest. "i appreciate the thought, lady julia. i think all i could ask from you is your support in my next round. i'll try to do you all proud!"

[wardingprotector]

REPOST & SHARE 5 SONGS THAT REPRESENT YOUR MUSE.

I. give and take - poor man's poison

today's the day / revolution's on its way (our time is now) / hold the line, this is how we'll be defined (just stand your ground) / give and take / only works when both sides really / give and take / the revolution's on its way / look around, what do you know? / this whole damn place is about to blow /look around, what do you see? /i see the wolves at bay coming after me / woah, get ready for the war / they're comin' now / yeah, they're right outside the door

II. rooted - aisha badru

plant your feet upon the earth / know your value, know your worth / take a breath that's long and deep / you're carried by the ground beneath / feel the sunshine on your skin / a lotus flower blossoming / your journey is your offering / you are here for a reason

III. elysian fields - the mechanisms

elysian fields roll out before me / sunlight dapples through the leaves / and plays among the oak tree / as i wait for my release / lying here amongst the flowers / i can rest my weary bones / in the earth with my beloved / i will find my final home

IV. me and mine - brother's bright

i will burn your kingdom down / if you try to conquer me and mine / i will burn your kingdom down / if you try to conquer me and mine / gracious men are those who suffer / hope is our gravity / we blaze the trail and we'll never fail / because you will always be

V. king and lionheart - of monters and men

howling ghosts they reappear / in mountains that are stacked with fear / but you're a king and I'm a lionheart / and in the sea that's painted black / creatures lurk below the deck / but you're a king and I'm a lionheart / and as the world comes to an end / i'll be here to hold your hand / cause you're my king and i'm your lionheart

BORROWED FROM: @stagsworn

[cuckoo-among-beasts]

@battleguqin sent a caring for sick muse meme: ‘ you don’t look as bad as you did yesterday. ’

Huaisang had suffered from qi instabilities before, but it had never been this bad before. Thankfully, Sizhui had been close and Nie Shuchang had not hesitated to call for him when he noticed that this might be worse than 'usual'. Unfortunately this also meant that Sizhui had seen a side of Huaisang that Huaisang rather kept hidden. Worst of all, he had lashed out at his friend, though part of him wondered if Sizhui hadn't provoked him on purpose. Maybe it had been part of some healing plan? It's not like medicine is Huaisang's area of expertise.

Since his qi instabilities came from his sabre needing to 'feed', it had been necessary for him to go on a nighthunt. Something he preferred to do alone when in this state, not wanting anyone to see the more... savaged side of him. Of course, he had not been alone, which had been good in the end since once Luan had absorbed the resentment it could take, Huaisang had coughed up an alarming amount of blood and then passed out, like a maiden in need from one of the stories he enjoys reading.

Waking up in his own bed again, he assumes that Sizhui hauled his ass back to the Unclean Realm and tucked him into bed. Barely has he thought about his younger friend when the man himself appears. For once Huaisang isn't sure what to say. No jokes or sarcastic remarks finds its way out of his mouth, instead he avoids looking at Sizhui. "I... yes, I'm better. It's all good now. You... you don't need to stay." His qi is balanced again, but his core is drained and he is exhausted after days with little food and rest, not to mention him having fought more in a short time than he normally does in a year.

Taking a deep breath, he then puts on one of his regular smiles and finally looks at Sizhui. "The episode is all over. There's nothing for you to worry about, little Lan," he adds and then readies himself to get up, hiding how sore and tired he is, hoping that Sizhui for once will just listen to him.

[alwaysxtwinkling]

♒ - (From Tsuyu)

send ♒ for a starter where my muse is suffering a high fever but hasn’t told anyone.

Training had been worse than usual and by the time Aizawa gave them the go-ahead to head back to the dorms, Yuuga was ready to lie down and not move for the remainder of the week. His head was pounding, nausea was twisting his stomach into actual knots, and it was hard to keep his legs steady enough to carry him off the training grounds. He could only hope that none of his classmates paid him enough attention to see him stumble.

At least he could blame the hot and heavy flush on his face on exhaustion if anyone asked.

"Tomorrow's the weekend, right...?" The blond mumbled to himself, raising a faintly trembling hand to rub at his temple, eyes closing tiredly as he walked--

--straight into Tsuyu.

"Ah--" Yuuga nearly tripped over his own feet in his attempt to catch himself, and when he finally steadied, he offered his classmate a small, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry about that. Are you alright, Asui?"

[the-sutures-are-ready]

writing a fic about Elena? Did You Mean: peeling off the scabs of your own trauma with chronic illness and being genuinely surprised and saddened by what you find?