#AG Writes things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawbattyshortcake · 1 year ago

Text

Breathing Down my Neck

Read on AO3 Awful Glad We Met Chapter 2/3

Words: 8330

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Harken close and beware the Vampyr. Beware its cold beauty. Beware its charm. Beware its curse. Above all, beware the pale noble, for the Vampyr cannot bear to be of the common folk….

Let no stranger into your home. If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan? See you any mark upon their neck?

Astarion cares for the gods exactly as much as they’ve ever cared for him— which is to say not at all— but evidently they have a sick sense of humour, and it figures. He snaps the book shut with as much disdain as he can muster for an inanimate object.

First chance he gets, it’s going in the fucking Chionthar.

As of right now, it lives in disgrace, shoved beneath a stack of worthier volumes, lest the drow catch him trying to drown it, or burn it, or whatever suitably ignoble fate he can devise for the damned thing.

If his heart beat, it would have stopped when she showed it to him, some sick game before she produced a stake— but no. No, her big silver eyes were guileless, trusting, and if it was a cruel joke as he suspects, it was being done through her.

Astarion had kept his composure, more or less, and with quick thinking, he had at once gotten the book away from her before it could describe him any more perfectly, and won points with Triel’dra in the process. She was certainly the person whose favour he most needed, and even with a bit of a hiccup initially— mind flayers are creatures of the underdark, there was a drow skulking around on the ship, he’d made some assumptions— he’d say he was doing rather well for himself on that front.

It’s a brilliant stroke of luck that Astarion had full day to ingratiate himself to their fearless leader (“I do not understand how that happened,” she’d admitted when he’d first called her that to her face) before they’d stumbled across Gale and then Wyll. With only Shadowheart and Lae’zel around, winning her over had been child’s play. But these two…

He sees the way the wizard looks at her.

Fortunately for Astarion, Triel’dra does not.

Gale had been much, much too friendly from the moment Triel had dragged him from his own faulty portal, and all too happy to launch into a nauseating list of his many, many self-reported accomplishments; however, to Gale’s disappointment and Astarion’s immense satisfaction, Triel’dra’s only follow up questions were about the cat.

“Would you like to be a housecat, Erelae?” she’d asked the raven on her shoulder. Evidently it did, because the familiar was now trotting after her as a sleek silver tabby.

The warlock, though… Wyll Ravengard had swashbuckled his way across their path mid-battle, leaping in to defend a gaggle of cowering idiots who had led a pack of goblins right to the gates of their settlement. Astarion hadn’t worried, not at first, about this newcomer getting between him and his quarry but that was before they’d gotten inside the tiefling encampment and it had immediately become apparent that Triel’dra was also exactly the kind of incorrigible do-gooder who would stop and risk her neck for anyone with a sob story.

When he had decided to charm a drow woman for protection, too compassionate was not a problem he had anticipated.

The day before had been all hiking and looting and the odd reanimated skeleton, so he supposes he hadn’t had the chance to really observe her. She was difficult to read, in a way he’d taken to calling ‘resting murder face,’ a quiet stoicism and soft voice that gave little away, save perhaps a twitchy kind of wariness— when the worm in her head wasn’t interfering, anyway— and when beset by goblins and bugbears, had dispatched them with a promising, ruthless efficiency.

And then they’d walked into a settlement full of frightened little tiefling children and she’d melted on the spot.

She’d been visibly unsettled as soon as they’d crossed the gate, murmuring something about her conversation with what he presumed to be the tiefling leader, and had only become more distressed as they took in the chaos, white brows knit, those eerie pale eyes wide and troubled.

Triel’dra was hesitant with people, but she’d make time for anyone who asked— and her greatest weakness was for the little ones.

The first time Astarion had actually seen her lose her calm was after stepping away from the particularly unpleasant group of children with their miniature thieves’ guild.

“I do not understand,” she’d said, horrified as soon as she was sure there weren’t any more tiny little devils lurking around to hear. “Why is no one watching them? Where are their parents?”

Shadowheart had raised an incredulous eyebrow. “They’re orphans, obviously. They don’t have parents.”

Triel had floundered for a moment, the way she does when she gets stuck translating whatever is in her head from Drow to Elvish to Common and just gestured in helpless outrage to the adults milling about, panicking and arguing and running about like headless chickens. “No one’s child is everyone’s child.”

She had looked about ready to flatten the druids who tried to keep her out of the grove, once she heard they were keeping a girl captive, and he’d had little choice but to follow after her, ready to bolt if she was suddenly beset by angry bears.

It had been a rather impressive bit of hostage negotiation, if he’s being honest. Especially considering how much of it she had spent talking to a snake.

But now she was fully preoccupied with the druid’s predicament and could not be diverted.

Thus, the argument.

“We do not have time for any of this!” Lae’zel hisses. “The gaith tadpole in your skull grows by the hour. We do not have the luxury of running errands for every being we encounter!”

They’d returned to spend one more night at their campsite before moving on, either forward as Lae’zel wants towards wherever she thinks her Creche might be, or after these goblin cultists who have, more likely than not, already killed this Halsin person. Here they could rest, and argue without the subjects of the argument weighing in or making puppy-dog eyes.

“I understand,” Triel’dra was considerably calmer than Lae’zel. It’s the measured response of someone who already knows what they’re going to do, arguments be damned. “But I cannot leave them. If we find the Archdruid, the circle will cease their ritual, the tieflings will be safe. Otherwise, they die.”

“She’lak! Their fate is not our concern.”

Astarion is inclined to agree with her. Triel’dra is an adult elf, at least one hundred, more than old enough to know the world is cruel, let alone nature, and her behaviour is in stark contrast to the whispers he’s heard about drow societies. He’s wondering if he shouldn’t look elsewhere for protection…but he’d also seen her shoot down a bugbear in the time it took the rest of them to draw weapons.

Not to mention that one, brief glimpse of bloody murder he’d seen in her head.

Just for an instant, between flashes of her capture and her home, he’d seen, through streaming eyes and too-bright light, another drow woman pinned beneath her as she drove a dagger down with all the vicious force her small frame belied.

So for now, he’s retreated to his tent, thumbing through a book, keeping his thoughts to himself— and weighing his options.

Shadowheart is allied with Lae’zel, to everyone’s amazement, though she’s after a typical healer and not whatever in the hells a githyanki decontamination involves. She’s watching the confrontation warily, keeping her distance.

Gale is bent over a stewpot, hoping that if he stays very quiet and very, very still, he won’t be dragged into this.

“It’s fine, Lae’zel,” Triel asserts. “I do understand our situation; I will not ask you to delay, but I am staying. I will find Halsin myself and rejoin you afterwards, if I am able.”

“And me,” Wyll adds. He steps forward and gives the drow an approving nod. Triel smiles at him, gratefully. “The Blade of Frontiers does not abandon souls in need.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

When they’d first met, he’d been surprised to see so much of the surface in those brief glimpses into her mind. There’d been her capture, running through grey dawn forest as the nautiloid pursued, somehow tracking her beneath the canopy of the trees ahead, her only thoughts of leading it away from home. An ancient drow’s gnarled hands, revelry and prayer beneath a full moon, two figures wreathed in starfire. He knows enough to recognize worship.

Far fewer spiders and less ritual sacrifice than he had anticipated.

Astarion wouldn’t say he’s well-versed in drow customs or the politics of the underdark (enough to know that they’re brutal and depraved), just the bits and pieces he’s picked up in two centuries. Something something the Seldarine drove out the Spider Queen and she took her cursed followers with her into the darkness.

Triel’dra, it seems, is among those drow who came crawling back.

Judging by the way she shies from sunlight, they haven’t been forgiven.

But the gods had deigned to grant her something. It may be a mere taste of the kind of sacred power Shadowheart wields, but the silvery white fire Triel gathers in her hands had made the hair at the back of his undead neck stand up in terror all the same.

It’s a precarious position, a vampire hiding from vampires. The drow strikes the perfect balance of holy and grounded— able to protect him but without the kind of zealotry that might target him as well, on principle.

Astarion sighs, sets the book down carelessly, and steps from the safety of his tent awning and into the fray. “I’ll come along. The druids did say they would be very grateful if we found their missing leader…” The last thing he needs is Triel’dra going off on some heroic adventure with a fellow bleeding heart like Wyll. Where would that leave him?

Besides, she likes him already, and charming as he may be, winning over Shadowheart promises a challenge. She narrows her eyes at him now as he declares his allegiances.

“I am certain they would be willing to aid us if we return their leader. Perhaps in the form of healing?” Triel offers hopefully, and Shadowheart lets out a noisy breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Master Halsin has been studying these tadpoles for a long time, it seems.”

“You really should have led with that,” the cleric says, defeated. “Fine. Maybe the druids can help. Besides, you’ll all get killed without me.”

“Thank you,” the drow breathes as a relieved sigh, even as Lae’zel curses in Gith. “This is… this is important to me.” She falters, expectant eyes on her, and looks to Astarion. Not the way he’s used to being looked at. It’s never desire, never lingering or hungry, but if she’s looking to him for reassurance, that’s at least something. He looks curious, encouraging her to go on. “I… They are me? The Emerald Grove is…. It is very much like my home. If this happened to us, if our leader—” her voice fails her, and she shakes her head.

The place in her thoughts. The worshippers under the stars.

She’s reluctant to share more, but between the three of them they’re able to get a few details out of her en route to this goblin stronghold.

She calls their leader something that would translate like ‘Moonreader,’ a title passed from mother to daughter for generations: druids of great power who divine the will of Sehanine Moonbow through the stars.

“Drow druids,” Astarion remarks, eyebrows raised. “Drowids?”

“But you’re not a druid,” Shadowheart prompts, to which Triel nods and says nothing more.

The day is strange and eventful. Something about Triel just cows everyone they come across from this Cult of the Absolute, and one look at the drow is enough to convince most that she’s with them already. It’s remarkably easy to creep through their territory, looking through the ruins of an abandoned village for anywhere they might be holding the druid captive.

Triel’dra is forever preoccupied with fresh water, and can’t pass a source without checking on it. She wanders off to investigate a well, and calls them over urgently a moment later. By the time they reach her, she’s already disappeared over the edge.

Astarion darts to the well and peers down. It’s dry, the bottom seemingly dark stone, and Triel is looking up at him, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. “There is much down here,” she calls to him. Her voice is soft but it carries up the empty stone chute of the well. She’s used to this sort of setting.

Astarion smiles lazily at her from above. “Well, well, well… What do we have here?”

Triel smiles; Shadowheart threatens to shove him in.

The well opens into a dark cavern, festooned with massive cobwebs— studded with silk-swathed figures, distinctly person-shaped.

“Hopefully not our druid,” Astarion notes dryly.

“No,” Triel treads forward carefully, placing each step with deliberate care as she studies the webs across the floor. “No, these are old. Some of these webs are new, so it is difficult to say if it’s been disturbed recently, but the bodies have been here for a while.”

“Phase spiders,” Wyll assesses, and the drow nods her assent. “And lots of them. Watch your steps down here.” He takes a moment to obliterate a clutch of hideous eggs with a blast from his palm. “This doesn’t seem to be part of the goblin camp.”

“We’re already down here,” Astarion sighs, glancing to the others for their assent. “Might as well take a look. Someone hid an entrance to this place; there must be something worthwhile.”

There are, unsurprisingly, spiders. Many, many, massive, fuckoff huge spiders, and little else. He’s not sure which of them it was who stepped into the webbing and sent the things pouring in (he’s inclined to blame Wyll. Even with his expertise, and though Triel conjured some softly glowing wisps to light his way, he’s still a human with one eye) but in an instant they’re overrun.

Fire and distance both seem like worthwhile friends in this fight, and he sends a firebolt sizzling into a chittering beast.

Triel’dra is nearest to him, and after getting off a few shots, she tries to hide her cat. She shoos her familiar away, but the movement catches the nearest creature’s attention and it lashes out, the cat disappearing with an indignant chirp in a wisp of grey smoke.

Triel cries out. It’s in drow, but the distress and intonation are clearly cursing. The offending spider is too close to shoot, and she darts after it, short sword drawn, a dagger at the ready in her other hand. She’s deft with them, darting in close to slash and then out of its reach. But then it lunges forward, blinking out of existence to close an unnatural distance, and she isn’t quick enough as she throws herself out of the way.

The spider lets out a shrill wail as its fangs graze her skin. It’s trying to sink in, pump venom into her flesh, but only manages to graze at her with the sharp points as she retreats. The fang slashes through her sleeve as she jerks back, a spray of blood sent through the air by the sharp movement.

Astarion is caught in its path and the world stops.

Droplets of drow blood, hot and sweet, are splattered across his face, in his hair, and there is nothing else. He can smell it. He can taste it and all at once he knows why Cazador kept this all to himself.

He’s stunned long enough for the others to notice. A flash of that bright, hateful light that makes his cursed skin crawl snaps him out of his daze as Triel blasts the spider in its horrid face with a handful of holy fire, scrambling out from beneath it. He’s not sure how she got there.

“Astarion! Are you alright?” Triel’dra rushes over to him, close enough to feel the warmth of a healing spell already forming in her hand as she does a quick battlefield once-over. Close enough to hear her heart pounding, to smell the blood coursing through her veins just beneath her skin, still soaking the torn fabric of her tunic.

Astarion’s mouth is watering. He swallows hard and drags his attention, kicking and screaming, from the lavender skin of her throat not protected by her leather armour. He does what he does best and forces a smile, raises his hand, and a firebolt strikesd the spider coming up behind. It collapses with a shriek, oozing venomous ichor. “Of course, darling, never better. But do watch your back, won't you?”

Clearing out the phase spiders is a long, exhausting slog. Shadowheart gets too tangled in webs to move and has to be cut free… twice.

“Let's see you do this in heavy plate, Astarion!”

Finally, the creatures stop coming, the cavern free of echoing chitters and the clack of chitinous legs, nothing but the cold empty nothing and the rush of flowing water somewhere deeper inside. And Triel, being a drow dowsing rod— drowsing rod— of course, has to go find it.

A stream trickles over an outcropping to form a deep pool of dark water, and Triel kneels to examine it, then cups her hands and brings it to her lips. “It’s good,” she tells them and sets to refilling waterskins and scrubbing the dirt and blood from her face.

“I’m not sure I trust dank cave water.” Shadowheart notes as she lowers herself to sit beside the pool, and starts the slow process of removing her armour.

“I wouldn’t mind the rest, location aside,” Wyll adds with a weary sigh, worrying at a spider bite. He smiles at the drow, who is gleefully shaking off the cold water like a pigeon in a bird bath. “Though, perhaps ‘welcoming’ is a matter of perspective.”

“This is the most at home I have felt in days,” Triel admits, standing, stretching, still battered and bruised despite the refreshing interlude.

No one wants to delay, but it’s been a long day of hiking and spiders and they decide to make camp for the night. Shadowheart’s magic is exhausted, as is the ranger’s.

“No, wait,” she says, and with a word of incantation, calls back her familiar. To everyone’s dismay, she’s chosen its form as a spider the size of a small dog. She beams at it, lovingly. “Now I am out of magic.”

Astarion takes his time, keeps his distance, as the others wash and settle, making a fire, passing around the satchel with their food, taking turns washing up in the pool.

He’s been holding his breath. He doesn’t need to breathe, it’s just a habit, just something he needs to speak— and to smell. If he doesn’t breathe he can pretend there aren’t still droplets of Triel’dra’s blood across his face. That he’s thought of anything else since it happened.

Finally, once he’s sure no one will disturb him, he makes his way to the water. It’s icy and dark, that telltale nothing looking up at him from its surface, and after a moment of hesitation he works up the will to scrub it away. There are eyes on him.

The evening wears on. It's impossible to keep track of time in the cavern, but his companions sit and chat and eat and he tries to do as much as needed to keep up appearances. Astarion excuses himself to his tent, picks up a book, and stares at it, unable to take in the words.

Gods, one whiff of drow blood and he’s become the world’s most obnoxious sommelier. Full-bodied red, rich and sweet with notes of mountain spring water, night air, and blackberry.

He needs to hunt, deluding himself that he can sate this hunger with quantity. Does anything in this damnable cavern even have blood? He can get back out into the night, into the forest, he has to find something, something with… with more thin, useless animal blood.

There are goblins outside— that’s something— and now he’s fixated on how to be sure he gets one on its own, not be swarmed by a pack of the little bastards. And after all this, he knows, it still won’t hold a candle to Triel’s.

There are two other living bodies here, of course, but he’s like a bloodhound and he’s picked up her scent. Transfixed, single minded.

He tries to divert himself, but there is nothing but the hunger, nothing but the pulse pounding in Triel’dra’s throat and the gnawing weakness, the need.

But Astarion has been starving for two hundred years. He can last another night.

He can.

He has to. Triel is sitting with the others, trying to shield her eyes from the fire and nibbling on a hunk of bread as Wyll regales them with tales of monsters he’s slain. Even relaxed, there’s a dagger at her side, not to mention that sacred fire she conjures. She may barely know what a vampire is, but she certainly knows how to kill one.

Above all else, she’s an elf. She trances; Triel’s guard is never down. Even if he wanted to, it would be suicide, and he takes great comfort in the knowledge that no matter how hungry he gets, he’d never be stupid enough to try.

But as the fire is dying down and the others begin to drag themselves to their beds, Triel’dra approaches his tent, cautiously, like she would knock on the canvas if she could. “Astarion?”

He smiles, bites down the screaming in his head. “Ah, hello. What can I do for you?”

The look she gives him in return is nervous, hopeful. “I think… I think that I will try to sleep tonight.”

His cold, still heart plummets.

The other two have noted this exchange, but they can’t understand what it means, not really. How vulnerable Triel’dra is choosing to make herself.

He laughs, before he can stop himself. A nervous giggle, just for an instant, near hysterics. The gods all hate him. “Really? Sleep, here? Are you…. Are you certain that’s wise?”

She pulls something from her shirt, a round set of stacked pieces on a silver chain he’s seen her fiddle with. “The Lady of Dreams sometimes blesses her followers with visions, in their sleep.” She shrugs, weakly. “I… I do not think it will amount to anything, but it seems the time to try. We say: when the tunnel collapses, pray as you dig.”

A genuine smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. “So, have the same outcome either way, but if it’s good it’s because of them and if it’s poor it’s on you?”

He regrets it, the slip, but she’s not offended. She laughs a little, the scar across her face twitching as her nose crinkles. “I see it as: do all you can for yourself, but it does not hurt to ask.”

Oh, but it does. It aches, to plead and beg and pray with no answer.

His smile tightens.

“Anyway… wake me when it is my turn to keep watch.”

This is their habit. It’s what they’ve done each night. He has no reason to do differently now. “Of course.”

With a grateful smile, she bids him a good night, and turns back towards her tent.

The others lay down to sleep, and Astarion is left alone with dying embers and his hunger.

He should leave now, find something to eat, but… Triel isn't trancing tonight. There’s no elf aware enough to rouse if something were to disturb the camp while he’s stepped away. He can’t— or is that just the excuse he’s made?

He creeps closer without meaning to, from his tent to the fireside to the edge of the pool and oh, that’s taken him right to Triel’dra’s tent, hasn’t it? How funny.

Triel’s is the smallest of the shelters they’ve thrown together, made of dark fabric and suffocatingly small. She’s sacrificed surface area for coverage, devoting as much of the canvas as she can to blocking out the light. She’s tiny, a stunted little thing hiding surprising strength, and even she has to curl to fit comfortably, her bedroll poking out from beneath the flap.

Astarion silently pulls it aside.

Triel’dra is sound asleep. He can tell by the way her breath falls, the way she flinches and mumbles to herself into her pillow, murmurs in Drow, but no sounds enough like Elvish. It’s an unpleasant dream.

As he moves closer he catches his foot on something— a less dexterous man would have face planted right into the pile of blankets stirring gently in the middle of the tent— but he rights himself and Triel’dra doesn’t wake.

She’s left her pack and all its provisions out for him again.

His mouth twitches, and he has to bite down hard on the bleak bubble of laughter threatening to slip free.

She’s always so worried about him going hungry.

With no sign of her familiar, he presses on. The fabric of the flap falls, sealing the tent behind him and at once he regrets it. Her scent is overwhelming in this close space, so tight he’s all but crouched over her, filled with her and her things— her blood, but more along with it. It’s woodsmoke and pine sap and the bar of soap she had from wherever she’d come from— night blooming jasmine and lilac, he knows his fragrances— and his mouth is watering.

The little drow is fast asleep, safe in the knowledge that her trusted ally is watching over the camp.

He can’t pretend anymore. He already knows what he’s going to do, knows why he’s in here, drawn irresistibly, a moth smart enough to realise what’s happening but too weak to stop itself as it’s drawn to the flame.

Astarion may be free of Cazador but he’s still a slave to his hunger.

He tells himself he won’t hurt her. He’ll be quick, take only what he needs, and she’s sound asleep. Just a taste, she’ll never know. Try as he might, the litany of excuses never completely drowns out the doubts.

What makes him think he can stop?

He’s breathing, desperate to draw in more of that delectable scent and it comes as ragged panting.

His teeth are so sharp. She won’t feel a thing.

He could so easily tear her throat out with his fangs.

She’s so strong.

She’s so small.

He’s been so hungry for so long and to have it here— fresh, living blood, helpless beneath him…

It’s as if someone else tugs gently on the blanket pulled over her head. She sleeps in a heap of them, curled into her pillow, as if even down here she’s afraid of sunlight sneaking in.

He swallows hard, holds his breath, tries to clear the haze of ravenous need driving him to lean in closer, closer….

He tenses, ready to spring back as she shifts beneath him. Triel’dra mumbles in her sleep and rolls over, brow furrowed and lips parted as whatever nightmare she’s having plays behind her eyelids.

She falls onto her back, her head dips to her far shoulder, baring her neck to him.

He could sob. When this is over, however it ends, Astarion is going to find a quiet place and laugh until he cries. He has no doubt now that the gods are looking on at their unhappy cosmic punchline.

Miserable of them, he thinks as he considers the sleeping drow, to use one of their own faithful as the set-up.

The last of his restraint gives way.

Astarion drops to his hands and knees as he inches closer, all too aware of the creeping, crawling thing he’s been reduced to. He doesn’t care. He’s too hungry for dignity, as if Cazador had left him with any to lose.

He can hear the frantic beating of her heart, sees, with some gruesome instinct, the place along her neck that would be best to sink his teeth. He lines himself up, fangs bared, shuts his eyes and—

A jolt passes through the figure beneath him as she wakes.

Oh, shit.

Astarion’s eyes fly open in time to meet hers, wide with panic and unfocused with sleep as in a a reflexive movement she draws a knife he’d been too distracted to see from beneath her pillow and a forceful kick to his midsection sends him sprawling backwards out of the tent.

This may well be the stupidest way he could die.

He manages to land on his feet, standing just in time to see her stop dead in the doorway, an attack abandoned as she wakes fully and takes in what she’s seeing. Triel’dra lowers the knife, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Astarion?”

He straightens against the ache promising a bruise in the shape of her foot, brushes himself off and tries to look as innocent as possible. “I can explain,” he says, and it sounds as weak as it feels.

At least no one else seems to have woken.

There’s a moment where he considers lying. That he was overcome by a different kind of hunger and meant to wake her to suggest a midnight tryst. But no. Triel has been unmoved by his flirtations and she’d woken with a face full of fangs. It’s too late.

She’s quick but if he turns and bolts he may be able to make it to the rope out of the well before she does. Maybe.

Triel’dra hasn't moved from before her tent, just lets the flap fall behind her, tucks her knife away, then raises her hand. He hadn’t noticed her familiar creeping from the top of the tent ready to lunge, but the spider halts at her instruction. Triel is eyeing him cautiously, that appraising stare he’s felt before. “You do not eat with us,” she says softly.

“No,” he says, his smile chagrined, defeated. “No, I don’t.”

“Blood-thief,” she breathes. “You…?”

He tries for casual, but the laugh that slips out is high and near-deranged, his eyes darting between the drow and the spider, trying to place the campfire behind him by the warmth against his back. Just how and when to bolt without tripping into it.

As much as Astarion loves a sharp knife, his wits have always been his first line of defence, but he finds himself disarmed beneath her steady gaze. Words bubble and spill, clumsy and panicked. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear it— I’ve never actually killed anyone— to feed, I mean, I’ve killed people; you’ve seen me kill people— but I’ve always fed off of animals. I’ve been hunting deer, boars, kobolds—”

She had, until this moment, been observing him silently, her expression unreadable. Triel’dra’s eyes widen and she starts towards him, a bewildered outrage on her face. “You!” She hisses, a sharp whisper that makes him reflexively look to the other tents for movement. She crosses the distance and gently prods an accusing finger into his chest. “You are the one who has been killing the boars!”

“Shh, shhh!” he shushes, pleading. “Yes. Yes, that’s been me; please keep it down.” There’s no sound or movement from the others, and for his initial concern, her voice has never raised above a hush, drowned out by the steady trickle of water from the stream. She pulls back her hand to rest her face in it, exasperated. This is… not the reaction he had been expecting.

She mutters something under her breath. Language doesn’t matter, Astarion can always tell when someone is cursing. “Such a waste of meat. A carcass that size attracts wolves, owlbears, scares off all the small game…”

That’s the part she cares about? “I couldn’t exactly bring it back to camp, could I? Here’s a dead boar I hunted, don’t mind it being fully exsanguinated!”

“That is why you bring it to me. Or better yet, bring me with you. I field dress the boar, no one can tell how it died.“

It takes a moment for the exchange to fully process. Astarion stares at her, baffled, as he finally convinces himself that he’d heard her properly. His surprise turns to suspicion. “You would do that?”

“Of course. I am doing all I can to keep everyone fed, and that boar would have helped immensely. You get the blood, we eat the meat, everyone is full and happy.”

Astarion studies the drow, looking for anything like disgust or anger and finds none. He motions away from the group, and to his further surprise she’s happy enough to follow him closer to the pool, where the rushing water can better obscure their conversation. Someone should probably warn her that it’s inadvisable to wander off with someone like him. But for now, he’s impossibly grateful she does. “You… you don’t mind that I’m a vampire.” He shouldn’t really be so shocked. She barely knew what one was, and besides, he supposes it may be rather difficult to rattle someone from the land of things-that-go-bump-in-the-forever-night.

It does give her pause. Triel is quiet a moment, and he can feel her gaze on him, his red eyes, his fangs, observing the things he tries to keep below anyone’s notice. It sends an uneasy prickle down his spine.

“I wish you had told me.” She says, finally.

“Yes, well.” Astarion’s mouth twitches into a nervous smile. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “The response is typically less… this, and more…” He sighs, mimes the stabbing motion she had made the day before.

“Oh.” Her brows knit. He shouldn’t be giving her ideas. “Thus, the secrecy?” She thinks for a moment, the freckles across her nose shifting as her mouth works at something she can’t figure out how to word. “If you have been drinking boar blood, and it is plentiful, why were you…?”

He’d rather hoped she’d somehow forgotten about that.

Astarion sighs. He feels pitiful, but maybe it’s best to lean into it. “Animal blood is… fine. It will keep me going, but I’m… I’m so weak. The blood of a thinking creature is far more potent, just a sip and I’d be so much sharper, stronger…” He doesn’t expect much, but looks at her hopefully all the same. She’ll refuse, he’ll be cheeky about it, smooth things over with his charms and they can both go back to their reverie and pretend this never happened.

Instead her face is deadly serious, her voice soft with pity that would turn his stomach if it weren’t so empty.

“You are hungry,” Triel’dra says.

The laugh slips out before he can stop it, bitter. “For two hundred years.”

Her unbroken stare doesn’t waver, studying him. “How much do you need?”

He has no idea, but if it’s as powerful as it smells, it shouldn’t take much. “A sip. Just a taste, really, I swear that was all I wanted.”

“Alright.”

“Pardon?”

“My blood. You may have some.”

Astarion blinks at her. The words make sense, he understands them all individually, but cannot believe what he’s hearing when he strings them together. “I…. you’re certain?” She nods again, resolute. “Well then,” he forces his most reassuring smile, trying to hide the glance he takes around the campsite to ensure no one else is listening, to capitalise on this offer before she comes to her senses. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable, darling? Somewhere away from prying eyes.”

She leads the way when he gestures to her tent. He has to wonder if she isn’t agreeing so she might lure him back to where she has a stake, but he’s too hungry to let that stop him.

She grabs her pack on the way past, pulling it into the tent behind her as she disappears behind the canvas flap. He has to stoop as he nudges his own way into the cramped space just as Triel sinks cross legged to her bedroll and indicates the space she’s left beside her.

He laughs to himself as he gets to his knees beside the bed instead. “You should lay down for this.”

“Why?” It comes out in a hurry and for the first time she seems nervous, well after he would have expected it.

“Blood pressure, my dear,” he eases. He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing but it makes sense. “Better to keep you from fainting on me.”

Triel considers this and hesitantly seems to concede. She’s uneasy as she lowers herself to the bedroll and settles back against the pillow, hands balled into fists and her eyes fixed on the dark canvas above her.

Slipping into place over top of her is familiar enough, a well-practised movement from so many other nights, and Astarion lays a hand to either side of her to rest his weight. Triel’dra squeezes her eyes shut tight as he draws closer and gives him a side, turning her head— away from him— to offer the crook of her neck and left shoulder.

Astarion pauses, studying her beneath him. Her whole body is clenched as tight as her eyes, breath stuttering, heart pounding… cheeks flushed.

Well, well. And here he had thought she wasn’t interested. Will wonders never cease? His vicious little gloomstalker is shy. An unusual surge of feelings pulse through him at the realisation. Relief and no small amount of amusement. He can work with this.

The aftertaste is disappointment.

He had thought she was different, but in the end, he knows exactly what he has to offer. All he’s ever had.

“Go on.” Triel swallows hard, he can hear it from where he’s paused, a whisper away from the heat of her skin.

“Relax, darling. You’re so tense I’d break my fangs if I bit you now. Deep breaths for me… There you are….” His smirk nearly brushes the hammering thud of her pulse as Triel doesn’t calm so much as force herself to go slack about the shoulder. She’s still gritting her teeth, breath hissed between them.

Her nerves have been an amusing diversion but his empty stomach clenches painfully. He has to breathe to speak and inhales a lungful of her scent, overpowering this close to her skin, to the veins calling to him beneath it. He’s salivating as he finally bares his fangs and surges forward.

Triel swallows a gasp and Astarion’s first taste of thinking blood hits his tongue.

He can’t really remember what it was to need air, but in that moment he thinks it must have been like this. How it was to gasp for something so desperately as he slips a hand beneath to cradle Triel’s head, holding her closer as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, losing himself in it.

Astarion moans. It slips free on it’s own, not a pretty sound, not the pitch-perfect playacted panting he’s perfected over the centuries, but something deep and animal and real that would be mortifying if he had the wherewithal to care, but his mind is empty of anything but taste and sensation and blessed relief.

He feels it. The strength that was always just out of his reach, the heat of her blood spreading through his body, her pulse against his tongue—

“Astarion—”

Her voice is so small, so far away when it finally reaches through the drunken haze of his thirst. How long had she been calling? Her hand is fisted in his shirt, the grip going slack.

No. No, it’s only been a moment, only a few seconds, he can’t have—

The heartbeat beneath his lips is slow, the skin cool against the unfamiliar stolen heat of his own.

She’s still breathing when he pulls back, but the lavender of her skin has gone grey. She blinks at him through heavy eyelids as he swallows curses under his breath and fumbles through his pockets for— ah, here it is. He hurries to press the handkerchief to the still bleeding wounds at her throat, dragging her to sit up. She sways, slumping against him.

The rats were too small to tell but feeding on the boars he had been sure: there’s something in his bite that keeps the blood flowing.

“There you are, darling, that’s it. Just… Hold this here, would you? It just needs a second…”

Triel’dra steadies, the weight slumped against him lessened as she props herself up to sit under her own power, numb fingers grasping at the thin square of cloth. She mumbles something, slurred Drow that stumbles into Elvish, something like ‘I’m fine.’ Her movements are slow and clumsy, and when she looks at him she’s reeling, silver eyes are unfocused, but she’s keeping upright under her own power and the handkerchief clutched to the wound well enough, so finally he’s free to retreat.

“Well,” Astarion sits back on his heels, getting what distance he can in the cramped tent. She’s fine. It’s fine. A little rest, and she’ll be good as new, he’s certain. “That…” He feels breathless, giddy. He licks his lips, catches a stray trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “That was… amazing.” An ache so deep he’d forgotten how it was to be without it is gone. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel…” It takes him a moment to find the word, so long since he’s needed it. Content. Satisfied. How had she put it? Full and… happy.

Astarion hears the need in his own voice, the heady desperation, and clears his throat. He smiles, polite, brisk, aiming for just the perfect combination of nonchalance and gratitude. What’s a pint between friends? Everything is fine. No need to panic, or call the cleric, or contemplate just how valuable this is to him. Not appreciative enough that it might be leveraged against him, but enough that she might agree to this again.

Gods, he can still taste her and already he’s angling for his next fix.

Triel just smiles a little, weakly, unsteady. Something about it makes him uneasy, a feeling that only intensifies as an eerie chittering sound from behind sends a shudder down his back. The flap stirs and her familiar creeps back into the tent, crawling along the ceiling and watching him warily with far too many eyes. Time to make an exit.

Astarion excuses himself to find something more filling he can feed on without restraint. “No boars,” he adds, forcing his most charming smile despite the disquiet still needling at him, “I promise.”

He can never just enjoy anything. A belly full of drow blood is more than he dared to dream of through his years of draining vermin, but the high is souring and he can’t put his finger on why. A mix of things, a potent cocktail of roiling troubles and he needs to leave before his facade slips.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Astarion can’t bring himself to look at her as he hesitates at the doorway, the image of her haunting him anyway: pale and trembling, big horrid spider curled in her lap like a housecat as the red staining the handkerchief clutched to her neck deepens and spreads.

A gift. As if there were such a thing.

That’s part of the disgust he feels. That she has something he needs, that she knows it, and that for all his talk of his improved usefulness, it’s something he owes her with no way to repay. A debt, just another thing weighing against him in the balance of his worth.

Well, at least Astarion knows what she wants from him, something he is all too able to provide, and the sooner he can tip the scales back in his favour, the better.

It’s as he stalks through the web-strewn cave that the other aspect makes itself clearer. It’is knowing, now, just what was being kept from him. Not just the taste, but the strength, the clarity, the relief. It’s not possible to hate Cazador more than he does already, but it brings the feeling back up to the surface, acrid and persistent.

Unfortunately, sharp as he is, the first thing he finds to stalk is an ettercap. It’s going to be one kind of spider or another down here, so he resigns himself to the thing with fewer legs, at least. He remembers from the earlier encounter to keep his distance, to hit it with fire.

Its blood is vile but abundant.

It doesn’t douse the heady craving for the drow’s blood as he had hoped. If anything it’s all the sweeter in his memory by comparison, the taste still lingering on his tongue.

He stalks back to camp, belly full, chest hollow.

Wyll and Shadowheart are asleep and he makes it back to his tent without waking them. It’s just as he’s about to turn in and try and get a decent stretch of reverie that a sound from the furthest tent catches his sensitive ears. The scent of blood is still heavy in the air and a stuttered, rasping sound just barely reaches him over the sound of the waterfall. Her familiar is meant to be keeping watch, but there’s no sign of the spider.

Astarion grits his teeth, the flap of his tent clenched in his hand, and with a roll of his eyes he lets it fall and creeps back to Triel’dra’s tent.

He’d left her sitting up. She’d been alert, mostly. She’d been fine.

When Astarion pokes his head into the tent, the drow is sprawled across her bedroll in a dead faint, the handkerchief loosely grasped in her hand drenched in blood. There’s a splatter of it across her pillow. She’s deathly pale, grey lips tinged blue, breath shallow and strained, and soon to stop.

Fuck.

He should leave. He should go back to his tent and trance, and be as shocked as everyone else in the morning. This cave is full of horrors, it’s no surprise someone died.

But no. Shit. Shit, they’ll find her with two perfect little punctures in her throat. All they need to do is look at his fucking teeth and he’s finished— and even if he gets away with it, he’s lost his best protection from Cazador.

Cursing under his breath, he darts inside, drawing the flap closed behind him. Turning he starts, finds himself face to face with the fey spider perched on the dying drow woman’s chest. It shouldn’t be possible, but he swears those many eyes are all glaring accusations.

The thing lunges for him when he moves towards her.

“Piss off; I’m trying to help!” he hisses through clenched fangs.

The spider only sort of…. Wiggles defensively in response, its first set of arms raised in a sad attempt at a threat display. It’s difficult to be intimidated by anything that fits under his boot but he still reflexively draws back.

“What do you care, anyway? You’re bound to her, aren’t you? If she dies, you’re free.” The fey spirit waggles its arms more emphatically.

Astarion sighs, surprised as he watches the creature by a sudden pang of pity. It probably can’t let her die even if it wants to, some clause in whatever fey pact familiars are bound by.

“Look,” Astarion raises his hands, placating, and it— Erelae, that’s what Triel’dra calls it at least— lowers its arms in turn. “I’m trying to help, alright? Here, see?” He reaches behind himself and feels for her pack, dragging it over to rifle through. There’s no way he’s explaining this to Shadowheart and no way she’s lasting until morning, which leaves him few options. His fingers close around the familiar shape of a potion bottle and he shows it to the spider for its approval.

Because that’s the kind of ridiculous his life has become.

Erelae relents. The spider backs up, crawling off of its mistress, all eight eyes still fixed carefully on Astarion as he uncorks the bottle with his teeth and gathers the limp form of the bloodless drow in his arms. Her head tips back against his shoulder, and he carefully drips the sweet-smelling liquid, an unnatural bright red, into her mouth. “There we are,” he says, more to reassure himself than anyone else. “All better… No harm done. Good as new.”

She’s still unconscious as the last of the potion trickles down her throat, but Triel’dra lets out a deep sigh, and her breathing seems to steady, the wounds on her neck fading. She’ll still feel like shit in the morning, but— in his amateur opinion, at least— she’ll live.

Astarion lays her back against her bloodied bedroll. He’s certainly had worse targets. Pleasant enough to spend time with, and she’s beautiful— if in a severe, rugged sort of way. This close, and without having to worry about being caught, he’s able to really study her. There’s the obvious, the freckles, the jagged scar that stretches across the bridge of her nose from her jaw to her forehead. There are more. Older, fainter scars. One across her eye, tendrils of lethal scar tissue that stretch across her throat, the other side than she’d offered to him. A lifetime of fighting, and more than one brush with death by the looks of her body— let alone what he’d seen in her memory.

Exactly what he needs, if he can just keep her attention.

Astarion reaches down, her skin warm beneath his undead fingertips as he brushes silver hair, matted with blood, from her face, acknowledges the spider creeping back into its place on her chest, rising and falling with each slow breath, and skulks back to his tent to try and salvage what he can of this rest.

[Prev] [Next]

#Lol triel is all what a sweetheart and he's all god I hate everyone in this party #astarion x drow tav #astarion x tav #tavstarion #bg3 tav #ranger tav #AG Writes things #Awful Glad we met #Title is from Will Wood's Yes to err is human so don't be one #Ammy takes liberties with the bite scene #and dialogue #Triel'dra Helvimtor #Triel tav #Astar'dra #ok look look healing wounds with your tongue is sexy bUT #Vampires would have anticoagulant spit they just would #DEFENSIVE WIGGLES

4 notes · View notes

calumfmu · 1 year ago

Text

i heard you like magic

Steddie x AFAB!reader; 5.9k+ words

Eddie spoke often of Steve, mentioning how much he couldn't stand him, him stealing Dustin from him, being rude, so perfect in his perfect little house. You thought the feeling was mutual until you laid eyes on him, immediately understanding the tension was more than they both led on.

cw: riding, fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, p in v, threesome, blowjobs, Steve eating it from the back (gasp!), Eddie being (kinda) dominant, angst, hidden feelings, smut, smut, smut...

“So… this girl…” Steve began, mouth full as he stole a bag of chips off of Robin’s lap. “She’s like hot hot?”

Eddie stared at him, lip slightly curved up in a grimace as he watched crumbs come out of the younger man’s mouth. His affliction for him had grown during the last few weeks, but he still was wary of the man in general. Dustin’s urges to make them friends fell short most of the time, the two men bickering most days an attempt was made. Raising an eyebrow, he turned his body towards Steve, running his eyes over his stupid corduroy sweater.

“You jealous, Harrington?” He asked, grin growing as he saw Steve’s face redden with the accusation. A cough came out of his mouth as he choked a piece of the food down.

“Ladies love me, Munson,” he shot back, cutting a look to Robin as she cackled. A faux serious expression crossed her face as she pursed her lips, avoiding his gaze. “I couldn’t be jealous of someone who doesn’t exist.”

It was a running joke amongst the friend group. Even worse than the questionable presence of Suzie when Dustin first mentioned her, nobody believed it when Eddie mentioned the “hottest chick you’ll ever meet”. He fought for his life trying to convince the group that he did pull, he did have people his age interested in him who weren’t solely into DND.

“But you could be jealous of someone who’s gotten laid more recently than you,” Eddie quipped back, leaning his elbows on the arm of the chair to stare Steve down. Steve sat reclined in his seat on the couch, hand propped on the arm, legs crossed as he held the eye contact. Robin’s eyes darted in between the two of them, finger held in front of Dustin’s face who wanted to cut out the argument before it even began. A growing smile sat on her face, nearly shaking with excitement as the tension grew.

“Is that so?” Steve’s mouth formed an upside down smile, mockery hidden in his words. “Does her name happen to start with ‘Right’ and end in ‘Hand’ by any chance?”

The smirk dropped from Eddie’s face, tongue running over his front teeth between parted lips. Briefly glancing down at the movement, Steve rolled his eyes, shoving another chip into his mouth.

“Wish it was you, big boy?” Eddie sneered, leaning even further as his voice dropped low. Robin gasped around her smile, eyes fixated on Steve as his face turned up, irritation covering his gestures.

“Oh, shove i-”

“Children! Please!” Dustin’s voice cut through the air, hands coming up to wave between the older men. Reluctantly, all three turned their bodies to face the young teen, watching as he pinched his nose bridge. “I swear, somehow I end up watching you guys and your bullshit instead of the other way around.”

The tension dissipated, Eddie leaning back in his seat as Steve crossed his arms over his chest, turning his body dramatically the other direction. Robin sat content, back against the couch and her legs crossed in front of her, eyes fixated on the TV across the room.

“I was just saying,” Steve grumbled, waving a hand in their direction. “Must be hard entertaining your pillow all the god damn time.”

“You know wh-”

“You guys!” The curly headed boy’s voice cracked as he shouted, standing up to move between them. Turning to Steve, Dustin sighed. “Steve… we know.”

Steve smirked at Dustin, eyebrows raising as he felt triumphant. The younger boy shot a look at Eddie sitting there, hating the way Steve just looked so happy as he pushed that perfect curl of hair out of his eyes.

“And… Eddie, I’m sure she’s…” Dustin trailed off, ignoring the protest Eddie gave him as he moved to go sit down back next to Steve. The man gaped at him, eyes flitting between the two.

“Henderson, you don’t believe me either?” Eddie was pissed, standing up as he placed his hands on his hips out of frustration. The younger boy shrugged, avoiding eye contact as Robin’s interest piqued yet again.

“I don’t think anyone believes you,” she said, leaning an elbow to rest of Steve’s knee. Leaning her head in her hand, she raised an eyebrow, chewing at her bottom lip. “You said you met her at a … rock show? Come on, what girl willingly goes to that shit?”

“My girl,” his eyes were glued to the ceiling, his mouth running over rude phrases he didn’t dare utter, no matter how bad he wanted to.

“Eddie, it’s okay, I’ll believe it…” she continued, nodding as she mustered up a serious expression. Eddie’s shoulders sagged in relief, feeling content as he finally had someone on his side. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, the corner of her mouth quirking up slightly. “…When I see it.”

“You guys can rightfully fuck off.” And with that, he turned on his heel, storming out of the Henderson home. He ignored Dustin’s calls of his name and the intertwined laughter of the older teenagers, he didn’t have to deal with that shit.

His fingers fumbled with pulling keys out of his pocket, cursing as they fell to the floor before he could unlock the vehicle. Grabbing them, he threw open the driver’s side door, cringing at the squeaking of his weight settling in. She was going to be in town later, the first time he had seen her in a month and two weeks—not like he had been counting. He was going to prove to everyone that she was real, she was Eddie’s girlfriend, everything and more in which he had described.

Eddie’s head was thrown back against the van wall, hair sticking to his forehead with his eyes shut. His fingers left pale marks in your skin, hips flush to his own as he rutted up into you, the smell of sex filling the dense air.

Knees firmly planted on either side of his hips, your fingers were interlocked behind his head, laced in his hair as moans escaped your mouth around his name, bouncing up and down on his cock, hitting that deep, sensitive spot inside of you. You couldn’t get enough of him, the smell of his cologne, his shampoo filling your senses. It had been too long since he had filled you like this, that last weekend you had seen each other lingering in your mind.

Your panties had been pushed to the side, short leather skirt hiked up to your mid section, breasts pulled out of the top of your shirt in the haste of the moment. Eddie’s clothes were still on, cock pulled out of the top of his pants as he fucked into you, jean material dampening as you leaked around him.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, mouth open as he stared at you, his head hit the van wall with every rise and fall of your hips, grunts falling out of his mouth. “You feel so good, so—ah, fuck—fucking g-good, baby.”

“Need you to fuck me harder, baby,” you breathed, grinding your hips in circles as you slowed your pace. You needed him deep, wanted to feel him in places you hadn’t before, anticipation not yet being fulfilled in his previous absence.

His eyes rolled back at your words, the grip on your hips disappearing as he went to grab the globes of your ass. He pulled his feet up, anchoring himself as he began to thrust up hard into you, shaking your body with every harsh movement. His hips began to stutter, brows knitting together as you leaned to press your mouth into his, he was nearing his orgasm, prolonging it to sit in this ecstasy. It barely could classify as a kiss, just a mush of mouths together as you both breathed heavy into it, Eddie sticking his tongue out to brush against yours, groan sitting in the back of his throat.

You felt your hips tense up as you neared your own, slick began nearly dripping out of you, walls clenching around his thick cock. With a shout, you came around him, vision blurring as you clenched, fluttering. Slumping against him, you grinded down, moaning as one of his hands came up to grip at the back of your head.

His thrusts turned slow, deep as he reached his peak, one hand tangled in your hair as the other wrapped around your waist, torsos pressed against one another. You felt a warm rush of liquid as he came inside of you, stilling as he pressed his teeth to your neck, leaving a deep, red mark in the skin.

You caught your breath, legs quivering as you sat on top of him, feeling the dull thud of his heartbeat in his chest. He pulled away from your neck, pressing a quick kiss to the skin before placing another on your forehead, brushing the hair out of your face.

“I missed you, baby,” he whispered, smile lines showing as he looked up at you. You giggled, nodding as you shifted your hips, a low groan escaping his mouth as he remained inside of you.

“I could tell, babe,” you laughed, running your hands through his hair. He hoisted you off of him, tucking himself in before adjusting your clothing, pressing kisses to the skin with every adjustment he made. You let him take his time, giggling with each brush of his lips against your skin.

“You’re so perfect,” he muttered, leaning up to press a kiss to your mouth. You leaned into it, hand reaching up to tangle in his hair. Opening your mouth to him, you quickly nipped at his lip, whining when he pulled away. “You can’t—we’re never going to make it to my friends.”

“And what’s the harm in that?” A hand reached up to place on his chest, smile widening as he gripped your wrist, stopping it from sliding down further.

His face suddenly flushed, eyes leaving yours as he glanced around the van. Furrowing your brow, you placed that same hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze to you. He met your eyes, nerves written all over him.

“They don’t, uhhh,” he began, poking out his tongue as he thought of what to say. “They don’t think you’re real.”

Your eyes widened at his words, a moment of silence passing before you cackled at him. His blush deepened further.

“Well, that felt pretty real, didn’t it?” Your hand rubbed at his cheek, other one coming to rest on his thigh as you kneeled in front of him. You pushed a faux innocence on your features, lip jutting out. “I could show you again? Prove it?”

His shoulders tensed as his eyes fluttered shut, cursing as you began to inch your hand up his thigh.

“Babe, you’re going to fucking kill me,” he said, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I’m actually going to die. Death through dick.”

You pulled away, crouching as you stood in the bed of the van, not being able to reach your full stretch of height. You clambered over the passenger seat, sliding in as you buckled up, feet hitched up on the dash. Eddie raised an eyebrow to you, confused as he wasn’t sure what was happening.

You turned towards him, arm stretching around the back of the drivers seat as your body turned.

“You going to sit there and look pretty all night, or do you want to prove to your friends I’m here?” You asked, laughing as he stood up, following your movements. He slid in the drivers seat, pushing your arm away before starting the engine. As he pulled out of the empty parking lot, you kept your eyes trained on him, enjoying the way his hair whipped behind him as wind poured through the side window.

He drove through the streets of Hawkins, knee bouncing as his other pressed the pedals. He chewed on his thumbnail, nerves tugging at his heart. He didn’t mention anything through the drive, but you knew he had so many things on his mind. Why he was so nervous, you had no idea, choosing to remain silent as you leaned back into your seat.

The house he pulled up on was beautiful, two stories, gray panels surrounding red double doors and greenery drowning out the background of the house. There weren’t neighbors any close in sight, the faint blare of music coming from deep in the house.

You glanced towards Eddie, eyebrow raised at the sight.

“You have friends who live here?” From what you had seen of Eddie, he didn’t seem like he would have any association with this type of person from Hawkins. He lived in a trailer with his uncle, prided himself in the social isolation he maintained for most of his life, and enjoyed playing a board game with 14-year-olds, for Christs sake.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled before hopping out to car to run around the van, opening the door for you. You smiled at him, hand gripping his as you stepped out. He closed the door behind you, hand on the small of your back as you began walking up the drive way. “Harrington… Steve, that is. He’s more of a friend of a friend, you know, forced to hang around him.”

The name was familiar, hearing it multiple times over the phone during your late night phone calls. The two of you rounded the side of the house, Eddie reaching up to unlatch a side gate leading to the backyard. From your memory, he claimed to not like the younger man, frustration dripping from his voice as he claimed he “stole the Henderson” kid from him. You didn’t know either of them, laughing at his complaints through the crackling of his voice over the phone.

“Mmm… Steve,” you teased, eyebrows wiggling at him as he lightly pushed you through the gate, shaking his head. You took a few steps, poking his side as he swung the gate closed. Despite his claims of hating the guy, you wondered if there had been something more, Eddie’s character not exactly screaming straight.

“Stop it,” he laughed, hand coming up around your shoulders. The voices and music began louder, a small gathering of teenagers appearing in the distance.

“I’m just saying, babe,” you said, leaning into his side as the two of you made it around the side of the house. You looked up at him, reveling in the way he glanced down at you, cheeks flushed at your teasing. “If he’s cute, just say that.”

He sputtered, mouth dropping open as he looked down at you. “I don’t—that’s not—he’s not-”

A voice cut his words, a younger, curly headed boy shouting out to him. “Eddie!”

You felt the way your boyfriend’s hands tightened on your shoulder, pulling you into him before coming closer into view. The kid ran up to you two, the smile on his face dropping as he glanced over at you.

“Who are you?” He was confused, eyes flitting between you and Eddie and the hand on your shoulder. You laughed, stepping closer to hold out a hand. His gaze narrowed, reluctantly taking hold of it to shake.

You said your name, introduced yourself as “the mysterious girlfriend.” Dustin, as you learned, beamed at the title, laughing out loud before dragging you over to the other people.

“You guys, look at this shit!” He exclaimed, hands on your shoulders as he shook you. You laughed at the loud gesture, feeling slightly nervous as they all looked at you. You heard their disbelief, ‘No way’s’ and ‘Nice, Munson’s’ were thrown in your direction. You were surrounded by the young teenagers, their voices piling over each other as they hounded you with questions.

“How much did he pay you?”

“Lucas, shut up, I doubt he’s that smart.”

“You actually like the music he listens to?”

“You’re like with him, with him?”

It became overwhelming, Eddie’s hands finding your shoulders relaxing you as you didn’t know which one to focus on.

“Relax!” He said, voice loud as it shut them up. He pointed out their names, a blur that you would have to memorize better at a later time. He guided you to one of the lounge chairs, seated next to the older teenagers, a couple in one, leaning against each other, and another in the one across from you, distance between them as they eyed you.

Immediately, you recognized Steve, Eddie’s phone descriptions of him matching true. His chestnut hair perfectly styled, large brown eyes complimenting his features, moles dotted around his face. His gaze was intense on you, jaw clenched as he took you in.

You waved hello and fell into the introductions to the group before settling into Eddie, finding comfort in his broad shoulders. Small talk occurred between you all, Steve remaining silent as his stare lingered between you and Eddie. You didn’t know his deal, confused on how Eddie “hated” him so much when he didn’t match the rude description you had heard so many times.

They were like a little family, all of these people you had just met, mingling with each other perfectly, personalities complimenting each other despite being so different. Before you knew it, you found yourself relaxed among them, Eddie gone from your side as he stood with the younger group of teens.

“Steve, right?” You found your voice, small as a conversation carried on next to you. His eyes shot to yours, eyebrows raising in surprised. He glanced at Eddie briefly before realizing the older man was stuck in a conversation with Dustin, a few feet behind you guys.

“Uhh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me,” he dropped his eyes to the floor, turning his body so he wasn’t staring at you. Laughing under your breath, you recognized what he was doing, trying to ‘play it cool’.

“Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.” You didn’t think his eyes could get any wider as he looked towards you once again, breathing even as he pondered over your words. A light smile sat on your face, knees tucked in your chest as your arms crossed around them.

“You have?” His voice was a low rasp as his face turned up. A brief flash of color tinted his cheeks before he adjusted in his seat, chest huffing at the end of his question.

“Yeah, Eddie talks about you, like, all the time,” you glanced at the others, noticing how you and Steve seemed rapped up in your own world. Nobody paid attention to the two of you, stuck in the midst of their own conversations.

“He does—What does he say?” The look on Steve’s face turned up even more, and a glint in your eye appeared as you realized what was happening. The enemy story they had painted about each other wasn’t as true as it seemed.

“Oh you know, this and that,” you chose not to elaborate, giggling at the way he seemed more confused. You didn’t want to toy with your relationship with Eddie, but did want to test the waters to see how far you could push it.

He settled down into his chair, lips pulled to the side as he chewed on his bottom lip, eyes darting out as he didn’t focus on anything particular. He opened his mouth to ask something, instead, chose not to as he sat there, thinking hard.

Smug, you leaned back in your chair, humour on your face as you realized what fun this was going to be. Eddie’s voice was loud as he poked fun at Dustin, laughing as he held the other boy in a loose headlock. You shook your head, noticing the way that Steve spared a few glances towards the two, eyes lingering on your boyfriend, his long hair framing the exposure of his neck.

You found yourself in the bathroom, running your hands under the sink as you stared at yourself in the reflection. A small gasp escaped your mouth as you noticed a dark red mark at the base of your neck, half hidden by your shirt. It hadn’t been there earlier, the ticking of time deepening the wound.

The memory of Eddie’s teeth on your neck sent a rush of heat through your body as you brushed your fingers against your skin. A knock to the door had you sitting up right, pressing the back of your hand to it, cooling its heat.

“Sorry, I’ll be right out!” You called, adjusting your hair before turning to look at your outfit, making sure everything checked out. Moving to turn around and dry your hands on the rack behind you, you startled as the door swung open, Steve standing behind it.

“Oh uh—sorry,” he breathed, eyes quickly glancing over your body as he stood in the way of the door. Your hands had paused mid-movement, gripping the towel between your fingers. “I thought you’d be in the other one.”

“No, I’m in here.” Closing your eyes briefly, you laughed softly at the obvious statement before turning towards him. “Guess I better go.”

Steve nodded, but made no effort to move, instead standing there, hands stretched between the door frame. His eyes ran over one more time, a deep flush covering both of your faces.

“Eddie’s out there, you probably should,” he said, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. In this moment, you realized how handsome Steve really was, understanding Eddie’s frustration towards him because God, was it unfair.

A moment passed as you stared, maybe twenty, you didn’t really know. The awkward air disappeared, filling with a tension of another kind as your eyes held each other.

“Yn?” Eddie’s voice startled you, sending you and Steve into motion as you two ran into each other, you trying to step out of the bathroom and Steve attempting to go in at the same time. You stumbled back, almost losing your footing as his hand reached out to grab you, large fingers stretched across your hip.

Eddie stared down at the grip, expressionless as it slowly fell off of your body, fingertips brushing the curve of your ass as Steve stepped fully in. The door closed with a soft thud behind you, Eddie inspecting your face as his was void with emotion. The hallway was silent, save for the sound of the clinking of Eddie’s chains around his wrist.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice low as he blinking slowly at you standing there, hands clasped behind your back. The tone in his voice was accusatory, your head cocked to the side, pretending to not know what he was referencing.

“What d’you mean?” You batted your lashes at him, tongue slightly poking out between your smile.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he continued, crossing his arms to his chest. You dropped the look you were giving him, instead stepping to him to place a hand on his chest. Glancing back towards the door, you noticed the shadow of two feet below the crack, in which you could presumably imagine Steve standing there, ear pressed to the door. You looked up into your boyfriends eyes, a devious glint in your eye.

"I'm just making friendly conversation," you said, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. It was warm below your touch, the muscle twitching underneath your lips as he fought his smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into him as he placed his hands on your hips.

The truth was that Eddie knew what you were doing, you knew what you were doing. It wasn't the first time you had toyed with the idea of another person joining the fun that you had together, late night conversations shared over the phone as you explored the ideas of your sex life. You were sure though that Eddie had no idea you would find that person in the midst of his friend group, with someone he had claimed he couldn't stand being around.

"A friendly conversation?" He clarified, head nodding as he smiled down at you. His gaze was mocking as you smirked up at him, head tilted to the side. "With Steve?"

You reached behind you, moving his hand lower on your hip so he gripped the curve of your ass where it met your thigh. His tongue ran across his red lips, you pressing a quick kiss to the wetness it left behind.

"I get it now, Eddie," you breathed against his mouth, inches away from his face. His fingers lifted the bottom of your skirt, dipping closer to the heat between your thighs. "He's so pretty, it's no wonder why you can't get him out of your mind."

Eddie swallowed loudly, eyes widening at your brashness. He had never told you what he truly thought of the man, he just assumed that you believed his words.

"I figured we could have a little fun, the three of us," you whispered at him. "While I'm in town for the weekend."

A slow nod came from him, barely noticeable before he leaned into you, only to be stopped by your finger pressing to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the skin there instead, head leaning back as he realized you weren't finished with your offer.

"Would you like that, Eddie?"

The hand remaining at your waist slid up the expanse of your back, feeling the smooth skin underneath your shirt. You realized the two of you probably looked raunchy, a compromising position that was a little too inappropriate for the public setting of the hallway.

"Me pressed between the two of you?" Your voice was low, intimate between as it carried in the air, but loud enough to be heard on the other side of the bathroom door. You knew Steve was listening, unsure if Eddie was aware of the same fact.

He was growing hard beneath you, the taut fabric of his jeans pressing into you.

"Or if you'd like... imagine Steve pressed between us. I bet he makes the prettiest of noises."

A low groan escaped his throat as he gulped, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the image. You had him right where you wanted him to be, stuck in state of wanting for the situation, offer right at his fingertips.

"How do you know he wants to?" Eddie's voice was shaky as he asked you, brow furrowed. You gave him a look, a silent 'really?' exchanged. You thought he had picked up on the looks Steve had been throwing him, you didn't even need to be around the two all the time to pick up on their sexual tension.

The bathroom door swung open, Steve standing there, flushed in the face as he avoided eye contact with the two of you. Pulling away from Eddie, you didn't adjust your clothing, the bottom exposure of your ass still on display. The front of his clothes were rumbled slightly towards his groin, shirt partially tucked in as if he had just had his hand stuffed down there. You chose to stare at that part of his body, finger coming up to fit between your teeth as he shifted nervously in front of the two of you.

"I'm going to-" He pointed down the hall, quickly leaving the scene before turning around, realizing he was going the wrong direction. You laughed at his descent down the stairs, feet tripping over one another as he scurried away. Eddie stood there dumbfounded, eyebrows raised as he followed Steve's trail.

You pulled down your skirt, adjusting your clothes as you stared down your boyfriend. His eyes held the staircase for a moment before landing on you. You quirked an eyebrow at him, lips pursed together.

"Told you, babe."

You turned on your heel, following the direction that Steve had gone in to meet the group of teenagers at the bottom. You were giddy with emotion, excited to see where this weekend trip was going to take you.

The younger teenagers had left Steve's house about an hour ago, mentioning something about how boring you all were. Eddie complained at the rude comment, yelling at Dustin to watch his tone. While you enjoyed the company of the teenagers, you felt relieved for Eddie to step out of his 'dad mode' as you called it, wanting to see just how far he would be able to take it without their presence.

Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan had lingered behind, choosing to partake in the weed that Eddie had brought out once the kids disappeared. You stayed back, instead, wading in the pool on your lonesome.

Steve's jaw had dropped once you rid yourself of your clothing, a pink lace matching set beneath as you jumped into the pool. Robin was funny, you learned, she had picked up on the weird, yet obvious behavior he was giving you. She chose to tease him, enjoying the way he crumbled at each quip.

"Pick your jaw up, Steve," she laughed, reaching out to push his mouth closed. He swatted at her hand, blushing deeply as he looked at you to see if you had heard. You did.

The night continued between all of you, Jonathan coming out of his shell more as the drug took its effects, making Nancy cackle with laughter as he shared some story that had happened to him earlier that week. Steve sat at the edge of the pool this time, feet dipped in with his jeans pushed up to his mid-calf. Robin and Eddie sat together, once passing a joint between each other, but now long gone, instead leaning close in each other's personal space. Steve had even opened up, choosing to speak to you more openly than he did previously, a more flirtatious tone taking his words.

"Wanna come up here?" He asked, patting the ground next to him. Steam came off of the water, the heating of the pool being a direct contradiction to his next words. "I think it's much warmer next to me."

You laughed, splashing water in his direction as he blocked his face from the droplets. "I'm sure you'd love that."

"I'm just looking out for Eddie's girl," he said, voice low as he dropped his tone. You swam up to him, leaning your elbows up to the cold concrete. Your arm brushed against his thigh, a sharp sting running through the contact.

"And who's going to look out for you?" You brushed your wet hair from your face, tongue darting out to catch the droplets that crossed your lips. Steve's lip was chewed raw as his eyeline bore into you.

"I think you'd manage just fine," he said, your hand coming up to be placed on his knee. His leg widened slightly at the placement, your damp fingers darkening the material of his blue jeans. He became lost in the touch, mouth parted as he fixated on your fingers.

A curse escaped his lips as you pulled his leg, causing him to fall into the pool with a loud splash. The other teenagers laughed at him, watching the way he bobbed up out of the water, hair flying wildly around his face as he brushed it out of the way. His sweater was about six shades darker, falling heavily on his shoulders as it dripped.

"Fuck you," he laughed, pulling his sweater off of his body, tossing it onto the concrete where he previously sat. He pushed the water in your direction causing a huge splash of water to cover you. A small tussle in the water began, you begging him to stop through tears of laughter as he repeatedly threw water in your face. You tried getting him back, failing as his wingspan was much wider than your own.

Eddie stared at the two of you, smile tugging at his lips. He was more okay with this than he should be, his dick thinking before his brain, he figured. Your words earlier confused him, had him questioning if the strong emotion he had felt for Steve this entire time was really hate—or if it was something else.

Jonathan stood up, stretching as Nancy followed his lead, "Hey, man, I think we're going to head out. It's getting pretty late."

Eddie bid a goodbye, eyes lingering on the two of you as you messed around the pool, you on Steve's back before he stood up to his full height, sending you flying backwards into the water. The flash of your matching set had him hardening in his pants, the promise of what was going to come later on the tip of his tongue.

"Rob, you coming?" Nancy asked, now standing in front of the sliding glass door. Robin shrugged, leaning back on her elbows. Nancy stared at her as if she wanted to say something, while Jonathan stood there, yawning into his elbow.

"I think I might want to stay back, you know, hang out," she said, eyes fixated on the two of you messing around in the pool. Silence lingered between them, all three pairs of eyes on her for a moment before she noticed, glancing up at them. Her fingers stopped in their tracks, caught balled up as they rubbed against her eye.

Eddie's gaze was incredulous, a bored look crossing his face as the brunette sat there, confused for a moment. Nancy shifted where she stood, blinking rapidly as she tried to hint with her eyes towards the two of you in the pool.

Realization crossed her features as she finally looked over at the two of you, mouth dropping open. "Ohhh," she said, nodding slowly as she met Eddie's gaze. Her thumb pointed in the pool's direction, chipped black polish covering the nail. "You want to—with Steve—oohh, and your girl—"

With a shake of her head, she laughed out loud, clapping her hands together. Eddie blushed, hating the way that Robin was just so loud and bold with her statement. A smug look crossed her face as she stood up, smoothing out the back of her shorts with the palms of her hands. She smirked at Eddie, saying "Fucking finally." before walking in the direction of the couple at the door. Eddie laughed under his breath, disbelief in his mind as everyone seemed to have noticed before he had.

"What's going on?" He heard Jonathan whisper at Nancy before he was shoved inside by the girl, Robin's laugh echoing behind him as the door closed.

Focusing on the two of you in the pool, Eddie grew nervous at the situation becoming more real. The two of you had stopped play-fighting at this point, standing in front of each other—closer than you should've been—as you tread the water. Somewhere along the way, his pants had joined the discarded sweater, dripping on the concrete. It had been a struggle for him to get them off, him cursing at you as you laughed, watching him struggle with the wet denim.

Your voice was a low whisper as you spoke something to Steve, chin tilted down as you look at him through your lashes, wet as they clumped together. Eddie could recognize that look anywhere, knowing that it already had Steve crumbling inside. He watched as your hand came up to brush against the hair on his chest, finger running up to brush against the adam's apple, applying a little bit of pressure as Steve gulped beneath the touch.

You swam a bit closer to the man, aware that Eddie was watching from afar. Steve was nervous, you could tell by the way he remained silent and still in front of you. You placed your hands on his shoulders, invading his personal space as you made a show of biting your lip.

Coming even closer, you wrapped your arms around his neck, sighing in relief as his hands came up to your waist below the water. He gave you the green light, welcoming your touch as nervous fingers found their place on your hips. Warmth found you, filling your body in the coolness surrounding you. Pressing your chest to his, you parted your lips, stopping inches before his mouth.

For a moment, you stood there, none of you daring to make the first move as you both stared at each other, gazes interchanging between eye contact and staring at your mouths.

Steve leaned in first, capturing your lips into his as you moaned softly, tangling your hand in the wet mat of his hair. His mouth was soft and warm as he kissed you, hand sprawling over the small of your back as he brought you further into him. Your knee hitched up, hooking around the back of his leg as your lips moved together.

Suddenly, Steve pulled away, realization crossing his face as he turned toward Eddie, who stared at the two of you, mouth dropped open. His hands didn't leave your waist though, fingers digging into the skin as he felt lost in the moment. Feeling his hesitation, you held onto him tighter, leaning up to whisper in his ear as your eyes remained on your boyfriend.

"It's okay, Steve," you said, dropping a hand around his neck to trail down his chest. His breathing quickened as his gaze remained on the older man. Eddie looked like a predator watching its prey, hand lingering on top of his bulge, yet not moving. "Eddie wants you, just as much as you want him."

Steve let out a small moan at your fingers dipping below his boxers. Your fingers brushed the skin there, running across the thatch of hair that sat on his pubic bone.

"You want him, Steve?" He nodded dumbly at your words, eyes fluttering as you gripped him, fingers closing around his cock. You pressed a kiss to a spot beneath his ear. He groaned, hips thrusting up as you began to work him. "And I'm sure you want me too, right, Steve?"

He turned his head towards you, capturing your lips into his as your fingers ran over the length of his cock. He panted into your mouth, hips rutting up into your hand as you made out with him, tongues becoming nearly one as the kiss became dirtier. The feeling of him on you had your pussy fluttering, a throbbing between your legs as you imagined him pressing inside of you, stretching you out as you choked on Eddie's cock.

"Baby?" Eddie called out, pulling you away from the kiss. Steve moved to follow your lips, a trail of saliva connecting you two. Giggling, you pressed a hand to his cheek, stopping him as he chased you.

"Yeah?" Your voice was rough as Steve snuck a hand down, pushing your panties aside so he could run a finger along your slit. He pressed his lips to your neck, marking the skin right next to where Eddie had earlier. Another rush was sent to your core as you realized you were being claimed by the prettiest boys in Hawkins.

"Come out, I need to touch you," Eddie stood up, proudly adjusting the bulge in his pants as he stared down at you two. You pulled away from the man, not ignoring the way he whined at the separation. His hand slowly left your panties, dipping quickly at your clit before he completely removed himself.

You climbed out of the pool, sitting on the ledge before swinging your legs over, standing up to run over to your boyfriend. You wrapped your arms around his waist, laughing as his hand reached down to grab at your ass, a loud smack filling the air. He leaned down to kiss the taste of Steve off of your lips, taking his time in the embrace. Pulling away, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, eyes looking over your head to Steve.

He remained in the pool, eyes low as one of his hands was below the water, running over his own hardness in his pants.

Eddie turned towards the door, walking with you in his hands before turning towards Steve. "You coming, Harrington?" The two of you stepped inside, hearing the commotion behind you as you made your way towards the stairs. It was a splash of water and a loud curse as he clambered out of the pool, nearly planting his face into the concrete as he ran to catch up to you two.

You were pressed into the mattress, stomach flat on the bed as Steve hovered above you, hand on your neck to crane your head back to kiss him. The angle had your neck twisted, his cock digging into your ass as he lay above you. He ground his hips into you repeatedly, growing harder by each passing second as he moaned into your mouth.

Eddie's hands ran across your face as he sat in front of the two of you, legs splayed wide with his back pressed to the headboard. He lies almost completely naked, boxers pushed to his mid thigh as he ran his hand over his cock, working it to the sight of you and Steve making out above it.

It was the most compromising position you had found yourself in, heat flowing between your legs as all of your senses were filled with the men around you. Eddie groaned loudly as Steve's hand reached down between your legs to rub at your pussy, fingers dipping behind the lace of your underwear. Widening your legs with his own, he pushed a finger inside of you, smiling at the way you moaned into his mouth, saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth as you pushed your ass into his hips.

"Fuck," you moaned, working your hips to meet his pumps half way. Dropping your head down to rest on Eddie's thigh, you groaned at the feeling, your own hand reaching up to replace Eddie's. His head hit the back of the headboard, a bead of precum dripping out of the head.

Steve removed himself from you, the heat leaving you whining even as he pulled you up to your knees, pushing down the small of your back so you arched up into the air. You leaned on your elbows, briefly glancing behind you as Steve pulled down the lace panties, leaving them stretched between your knees.

Eddie's hand came up to lace in your head, tugging your towards his cock as you mewled at the feeling of Steve's tongue on you, lapping between your folds. It had you jumping, eyes fluttering closed before you wrapped your lips around the head of Eddie's cock. A groan in unison flew from all of your mouths as you pushed your hips back, grinding into Steve's face as you simultaneously pushed further down on Eddie.

Eddie's hand tangled into your hair to stop you from deep throating him, feeling his orgasm already building up in him as he looked at Steve licking into you. The man's eyes were shut as he dipped his tongue in and out of you, flattening his tongue to run up your slit, daring to flick his tongue over your hole, cheeks pulled apart to expose you completely. Eddie groaned as you hollowed your cheeks, hand moving to cup at his balls, bobbing your head over him. The two of you were so locked into the moment, it made his head spin.

"Fuck, Harrington," Eddie groaned, widening his legs as you jerked him, tongue running up his length from his balls to the tip. Spit and precum covered your lips as you sucked at the tip, staring up at him. "You look like you love that shit."

Steve hummed, eyes darting open to find Eddie staring at him, hands tangled in your hair as you choked on him. He smirked, nodding as he leaned down to suck at your clit. You moaned again, hips pressing back into his face.

"She tastes good," he muttered in between licks, tongue darting at your ass as he slipped two fingers inside. You fluttered around him, sticky white covering his fingers as they moved inside of you.

"You wanna fuck her next?" Eddie asked, pulling your hair out of your eyes as he began to slowly fuck your throat, enjoying the way you gagged around him when he pushed too far. You moaned at the conversation, both boys pretending like you weren't even there as they spoke about you.

Steve lifted his head, eyes focused on his fingers as they moved inside of you, other hand thumbing at your ass, watching the way he arched into the touch. Dipping his thumb inside, you moaned, another glob of slick falling around his fingers.

Looking up at Eddie, Steve nodded, cock pressed into the side of your ass from the angle he kneeled at. A third finger pressed into you and you pulled off of Eddie, your hand replacing your mouth as you whined into his hip.

"Fuck--I need something, baby," you moaned, pushing your hips back into Steve as he fingered you. Eddie nodded at your words, understanding the overstimulating emotion you felt. He sat up, fingers running through your hair as your mouth was drawn up in a silent sob, eyes squeezed shut.

"Move, Harrington," he said, squeezing the base of his cock as you panted into his thigh. His orgasm was on its verge, threatening to burst as Steve leaned down to shove his face even further into you than before, tongue moving rapidly as you rocked against his face.

Steve hummed a 'no', his fingers leaving you to rub at your clit, rubbing faster as you began to whine, hips twitching at his movements. It was almost too much for you, your orgasm flowing through you as you felt blinded, a scream caught in your throat. You buried your face into Eddie's thigh, fingers digging marks into his skin as you rode it out.

Eddie's fingers ran through your hair, irritation on his face as Steve slowly straightened up, smirk on his wet face. He licked your remnants off of him, hand shoved down the front of his boxers.

"You're such a brat, you know that, Harrington?" Eddie grumbles, maneuvering you so you lay on your back. You stared at the ceiling as you caught your breath, eyes fixated on Eddie as he crawled over to Steve.

His hand came up to grip his face, fingers digging into his cheeks as he forced him to look into his eyes. Steve's smirk was wide, eyes darting between Eddie's mouth and eyes.

"You're going to do something about it, then?" You moaned as Eddie crashed his lips into the younger man's, his clothed cock rubbing against Eddie's exposed one. The noises they made were pornographic, Steve running his hands over his hair, his back, his chest, anything he could touch. You could tell the moment had been building up for a while, their mouths moving over each other like they had been starved. Eddie pulled away first, reaching down to smack at Steve's ass.

"Go lay down."

Steve threw himself beside you, head tilted in your direction as he looked at you, chest heaving, breasts exposed. He reached up to grab one, fingers running slowly over the nipple as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Get up, I want you to ride him, baby."

Eddie's voice had you shivering, legs shaking as you stood up on shaky knees, palms pressed to Steve's chest. You grabbed his boxers, sliding them down his legs before tossing them to the side. You threw a leg over his waist, sitting on him, cock nudged in the cave of your pussy.

You moved your hips slowly, grinding against him as he moaned beneath you, head falling into the pillows as his hands found your hips, guiding your movements. Eddie kneeled behind you, boxers discarded now as his wet cock nudged into your back.

"Bend over, baby," He whispered into your ear, pressing a palm flat to your back as you leaned to press your chest into Steve. You kissed him, moving as you felt Eddie reach between you, guiding Steve into you. He was dripping wet, head pulsating as he pressed into you, slowly stretching you out.

The both of you moaned into each other's mouths, one of Eddie's hands running down the shaft of Steve's dick and the other pressing your hips down onto him. Once fully seated, you moaned, hips twitching as you felt him pressed in all the right places. Eddie's hands went to move you, raising slightly before stopping, your hands gripping at his waist as you tilted your hand to look back at him. He was fixated on where you two met, tongue poked out the corner of his mouth.

"Gimme a sec- I needa second-" You whined, not used to the width. Where Eddie lacked in girth, he made up in length, head often catching onto your cervix, having you whining, running from the brutal, yet blinding feeling most often. You felt Steve laugh slightly, the movement of his body having you drop your head to his chest, vibrations running through your body.

"I know, baby," Eddie whispered, moving your hips slowly as he guided the rise and fall of your hips. Steve stretched you out good, eyes squeezed shut as his moans carried in the air, arms wrapped around your torso. "Come here, baby."

You sat up, grimacing at the way you sank deeper. Eddie brought you to his chest, your head thrown back over his shoulder as his hand snaked down, rubbing circles over your sensitive clit, breathing deep into your ear. He guided you with his other hand, not slowing down as he bounced you, eyes on Steve as he fell apart below you.

Eddie's guidance was brutal, not allowing you to slow down as you and Steve neared closer to your breaking points. Every touch Steve tried to give you, Eddie smacked it away causing Steve to curse at him, frustration amidst his high. He pulled at his hair, hands running over his face as he brought a pillow over him. You heard him shout into the pillow, feet coming up to rest on the bed as his knees bent, using the angle to fuck into you harder.

You came for a second time that night, a shout on your lips as Steve hips paused below you, filling you up as you clenched around him. Eddie let out a low laugh as he let go of you, watching the way you fell forward, chest smacking into Steve as he pulled the pillow away from his face.

"How was that, Harrington?" He teased, ignoring the way Steve threw the middle finger at him, running his other hand over your forehead, wiping the strands of loose hair that stuck to the skin. He slipped out of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Eddie leaned over you, your body sandwiched between the two men as you felt him prod at your entrance, pushing the cum that dripped out of you back in with his cock. You whined, pressing your face into Steve's shoulder as he pushed inside.

"Tell me if it's too much, baby," He whispered against your skin, hips moving slowly into you as you pushed back against him. His hips stuttered with each movement, you knew he was close before he even began. The overstimulation had you whining, a deep ache forming between your legs. His fingers dipped in between you, gripping at your boob as he fucked into you. You mouthed at Steve's neck, feeling his fingers run over your forearms, soothing you through Eddie's hips stuttering into you. Profanities fell from his lips, having you fall apart with each word.

You're so beautiful, baby, fuck—you look so good on my dick.

Such a slut, such a slut for me.

His hands wrapped around your throat, forcing your head back to look at Steve, head jerking forward with each movement of his hips.

Such a slut for Steve, too, huh, baby?

Look at him, baby, he loves this shit.

Steve moaned, cock stirring up again as you fell apart between the two of them, dripping down onto him.

Think you can cum again? Cum on my cock, show the brat what a good girl looks like. You think you can do that? Cum for him, and maybe we both can be inside of you... think about it, both of our cocks ins-

You shouted, eyes rolling back as your final orgasm left your body. Eddie followed suit, already hanging on by a thread, waiting for your cue before letting go. His orgasm was loud, a FUCK escaping his lips as he spilled inside of you.

He let you drop against Steve fully this time, listen to the whispers of him soothing you in your ear, you did so good. He collapsed next to the two of you, chest heaving as he watched the way Steve grabbed you in his arms, your head nestled into his chest. He hated to admit it, but you looked good in his arms, even better with the two of them surrounding you.

He felt Steve's eyes on him, glancing up at his doe eyes, wide as they bore into him.

"So... is this something we talk about or...?" Steve's voice was raspy, hand running circles into your back. You had fallen asleep, quickly and silently as every ounce of you was spent.

Eddie laughed, his own hand coming up to rest on you. Subconsciously, you leaned into the touch, a deep sigh spent into Steve's skin.

"I'm pretty sure everyone already knows," he muttered, laughing at the look on Steve's face. His mouth sputtered open, swallowing deeply.

"They said that?" Eddie's heart began racing at his look, nervous at the man's look. He didn't want to fuck this up, whatever this was. His feelings had been pushed down too far, for too long; he didn't want to confess, just to be rejected again.

"No, but—uh, I think that's why they left," he said, gaze dropping from Steve boring into him. "Rob said something about 'finally' before... they left."

Steve stayed silent, nodding as he looked down at you in his arms, snuggling into the heat of his arms. He didn't know what to say for a moment, opening his mouth repeatedly as he took back the sentences he began, but didn't finish.

An awkward silence lingered in the air, Eddie turning over as he figured Steve wouldn't say anything else in the moment.

"Well, I guess that takes care of it, then," his voice cut through the air, Eddie's head whipping around to stare at him, eyes wide with the fear of his next words. "Makes it easier for, ya'know."

Eddie laughed out loud, shocked at how this moment could've passed so much easier. "Makes it easier for what, Harrington? Us fucking each other?"

Steve blushed, a quick nod thrown to him. "Guess you could say that."

You sighed, lifting your hand to grab at Eddie's shoulder. Both boys looked at you, surprised at the movement as you should've been asleep, deaf to the conversation around you. You peaked your eye open at them, squinting in the bright light of the room.

"This means I have to visit more often, yeah?" Steve's laughter vibrated you, his chest shaking as Eddie leaned up, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You preened at the touch, blushing as he looked down at you. Both boys were beautiful, smiles wide as their laughter carried through the room. It was a shock how you didn't implode right then and there, heart full as they held you.

a/n: I didn't know how to end it, don't hate me. I also don't know how to write anything less than 5k.

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! <3

#my writing #steddie x reader #steddie x you #Steve Harrington x you #Eddie Munson x you #Steve Harrington x reader #Eddie Munson x reader #smut #steddie x reader smut #steddie smut #okay #I've been thinking of this for ages #so I had to share #and idk how to write short things #someone pls help

2K notes · View notes

lavenderprose · 2 months ago

Text

Emmrich Volkarin would be such a disruptive presence to the local online dating app pools. An innocuous hookup with a handsome Vincent Price looking older guy. He's unsinister. Clearly takes care of himself. One of his profile pictures is from the day he got his doctorate. He shows up to the agreed-upon location and he's brought flowers. Okay...whatever. Some decent food (UberEats? The Chinese place on the corner? Maybe he cooks?) and some crazy hot sex later and the subject of his very soft hands just so happens to come up. Oh, he says. It's the embalming fluid. EMBALMING FLUID? OKAY. Dude's a mortician. Sure.

He gets up and puts on his clothes. He stares out the window for a few moments. Just long enough to be a little awkward.

"Do you have an uncle who recently passed?" he says. "By the name of Gerard. Gerry?"

WHAT.

"I'm so sorry," he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "He wants to tell you that your mother hid something from you underneath the floorboards of the blue bedroom. Does that make sense?"

Unfortunately, yes.

"Right," says Emmrich Volkarin. His hair is still sticking up from being clutched into by ecstatic hands. He is ten minutes post-orgasm and looks so, so annoyed. He only brightens a little when he says, "Thank you for a lovely night. You were wonderful."

Then he leaves in an almost-silent swish of expensive trousers and a plume of even more expensive cologne.

The only further contact from him is a message that says Your uncle spoke to me before we retired to your bedroom. I assure you his spirit was not present or aware of our sexual encounter.

I'm gonna need you to lose my number Emmrich, is the response from most people

There is a sadness about him.

He's sweet, considerate. He can do crazy things with his tongue. He also needs someone who can match his freak on a molecular level.

Understood, he responds.

At some point he pops up on the TV because he's become a regular on a well-loved YouTube channel. One of those phenomenally popular longform documentary-style series about ghosts or true crime. He's apparently the expert medium. The host of the show, some thirty-something named after a chess piece, looks at him like he hung the stars while he monologues about demons who imitate children. Or something.

Good for him.

#Emmrich Volkarin #Emmrook #Dragon Age #DATV #Spirit medium Emmrich has lived rent-free in my head since heylittleriotact started posting i hear people are dying to get in here #This will probably become a Thing.#This is also nothing I was planning on writing until maybe an hour ago #Sometimes the visions are quite insistant.

416 notes · View notes

void-bitten-ghost · 4 months ago

Text

Lucanis almost literally pulling his hair out over some paperwork so Rook just pulls up a chair near him with a book and sits, waiting, seeing if he would like the offered socialisation. He doesn't stir from his whirlwind of stress. And Rook knows it's important work they cant help with, not really, so they just stay near and start to silently read, ready for when Lucanis needs them.

Its not long before they can feel the barely there disturbance of something flitting about near their shoulders, the air feeling strange and familliar by one ear, and then the other. So they quietly start reading aloud, barely above the scratches of ink and quick mutterings of Antivan in the other corner.

Soon, the mutterings slow. The shoulders drop from his ears. Scratching becomes slow, smooth cursive and, eventually, both the paperwork and the book are finished, as is the fire in the hearth.

Rook closes the book, satisfied with its conclusion, and almost startles at a sudden Lucanis being behind them.

"Any joy?" They say, already knowing the answer.

"With you around?" He leans over the arm of the chair. "Always."

He kisses their hair, their head, their cheek.

"Thank you, amor."

They turn in the chair towards him. There's that faint hum of purple. "Feeling better?"

And there's that telling pause. "He says thank you too. And that he enjoyed the part with the giant eagles."

Rook breathes out a laugh, letting out a thoughtful "good to know" before leaning up for a soft, comfortable kiss, something with dark feathers and tingles around the edges.

#rookanis #rook #dragon age the veilguard #the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #dragon age spite #sometimes you (or your demon companion) just need a good story to chill out #i feel like he gets so bored during writing stuff and makes that lucanis' problem #its this odd joint-custody/polycule thing but it works for them

452 notes · View notes

pangur-and-grim · 2 years ago

Text

unprecedented levels of grease

#pangur #she still grooms herself so 🤷just gonna write it off as an age thing #the vet hasn't had ants advice to offer

3K notes · View notes

reidphobic · 5 months ago

Text

trying hard not to get into trouble (but i’ve got a war in my mind) - s. r.

in which your criminology professor is just too tempting. 3359 words.

switch!spencer x switch!fem reader, questionable age gap & power dynamic, mild exhibitionism, authority kink, brief choking, praise, semi-public sex, oral (f and m receiving), mild degradation, no use of y/n

Your bare thighs stick uncomfortably to the plastic lecture hall chair, and you shift in your seat. Still, you focus diligently on the lecture, or, more specifically, on your professor. Dr. Reid is your favourite kind of challenge, a man you can’t have, the kind who won’t compromise his morals no matter how much he wants you — or, thinks he won’t.

You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you just a second too long, flickers down to your chest before he catches himself. Toying with him is the highlight of your week, coming up with new ways to torture him, push his boundaries as far as you can before he snaps. The semester is drawing to a close, though, and you haven’t quite snared your pretty professor yet, so you’re having to resort to drastic measures.

It’s like he’s deliberately avoiding you, eyes sliding over you as if you’re not even there. You hope that means your barely-there outfit is working as intended. Dr. Reid refuses to call on you to answer a question, stuttering through his sentences and raking his hand through his unkempt curls. You wonder if they’re soft to the touch, if he likes having them pulled, if— Focus. You raise one hand, digging through your bag with the other. When his attention is finally on you, you spout off some stupid question that’s believable enough not to arouse suspicion; he sees right through it, though, knows the ruse.

Out of politeness, Dr. Reid keeps his focus on you as he speaks. His words come out rapid-fire as if he’s trying to escape you before you do any more damage. It only makes him stumble more, and his struggle is frankly adorable. His reaction as you wrap your lips around a cherry-flavoured sucker is audible, a hitch in his breath and a waver in his voice as you smile innocently around the candy. From then, he can’t take his eyes off you, watching your red-stained tongue lap at sticky sugar, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

You’ve got him right where you want him.

Leaning back in your chair, you smirk slightly, wait to draw his attention. When he meets your gaze, you spread your legs, give him a deliberate eyeful of the tiny scrap of lace between them. At that, you physically see him snap, rail against the constraints of his moral compass, finally, gloriously give in. A thrill skitters up your spine as he stops in front of your desk. “See me after class,” he murmurs, jaw clenched.

“Yes, Professor,” you breathe, licking your lips as your thighs clench under the table.

You linger as your class lets out, carefully reapplying your lipgloss while you wait for the room to empty. When you’re finally alone, you approach his desk cautiously. “You wanted to see me, Professor Reid?” you say delicately, suddenly uncertain — you might just be in for the reprimand of your life, and that’s no fun for anyone.

“If you’ll just come with me to my office,” he says tightly, staring resolutely past you as he stands from his desk. Desire pools under your skin, your every nerve alive with tension as Dr. Reid lets you into his office. The sound of the lock clicking shut falls straight between your thighs — that’s when you know you’ve got him. You sit demurely in his armchair, legs crossed as he puts as much distance between the two of you as possible, standing across the room with his arms folded protectively across his chest. “I think we need to discuss your behaviour in my classroom.”

You smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” you say, putting on a wide-eyed, naive look you’re sure he won’t fall for. Unconsciously, he steps towards you.

Dr. Reid’s gaze is unreadable. “Really? That little stunt with the sucker, I— I know what you’re doing, and it has to stop, okay?” he says, and, oh. He’s the one pleading with you.

It makes sense, once you think about it. You know he used to be an FBI agent; a dangerous, high-stress job like that, it’s no surprise he’d want to shut off, hand over the control, be taken care of, entrust his pleasure entirely to someone else. “Why would I stop?” you pout. He’s close enough now that you could reach out and touch him. “I’m having so.” You take Dr. Reid’s tie delicately between your fingers. “Much.” You pull him in gently. “Fun.” You tug sharply on his tie, hard enough that he stumbles, bracing his hands on the arms of your chair.

He lets out a shaky gasp, like he’s expecting you to unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole. “This is… The, uh…” He clears his throat. “The way you’re acting in my class is not appropriate, and it needs to stop,” he says. You’d almost call it firmly, if not for the near-imperceptible tremor in his voice.

You note that he hasn’t pulled away. “I don’t think you want me to stop, Professor,” you murmur. “I think you want me to stop teasing you, and you want me to give you what you want.” Your smile widens the longer he stays silent; searching for the words to refute you, but the lie won’t come. “Tell me what you want, Doctor Reid,” you purr.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “You aren’t… It’s not…”

“Look at me and tell me you don’t want this,” you breathe, catching his jaw so he can’t look away.

His mouth opens, but no words come out, speechless in a way you’ve never seen him. “I… I’m twenty years older than you.”

You grin. “And?”

“I’m your teacher,” he protests, nearly a whine, and oh, isn’t that a delicious sound.

“So?”

“So?” Dr. Reid repeats, incredulous. “I can’t… have sex with you in my office!” he hisses, low as if someone might be listening in.

Your grin only widens, and you pull him down towards you, so close that his breath skates across your lips. He twitches nervously, like you’re close to breaking him, like he’s this close to doing something he’ll regret. “But you want to,” you murmur, cupping his jaw and letting your fingers trace his cheekbone. “Tell me, Professor… When was the last time you had something just because you wanted it, hm?” He shudders, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll take real good care of you, sir, I promise.”

With a strangled groan, he gives in. The kiss is sudden, harsh like he’s furious with you for pulling him in like this. Soft lips give way to sharp teeth, greedy tongues, slotting together like you were moulded for him. Your hand slides up into his hair, tangling in his curls as you kiss him harder. A moan slips from your lips when you pull away for air, and the sound seems to drive him well and truly into madness. His lips meet yours with a renewed hunger, resting a hand at your jaw when he breaks away.

Spencer (you’ve just had your tongue down his throat, for God’s sake, you’ve earned the right to call him by his first name) strokes his thumb over your bottom lip, gazing down at you with awe and disbelief written across his face. He sucks in a sharp breath when you close your lips around his thumb, lapping at it just like the sucker from earlier. “You’re trying to kill me,” he breathes.

Releasing his thumb with a slick pop, you laugh. “Is that what you think?” You stand up, press your body into his. Spencer nods warily. “You’d know. If I was trying to kill you, I’d do something like this,” you murmur, sliding your hand up his throat and pressing down softly. His eyes flutter closed in surrender, and a filthy, spit-slick grin spreads wide across your lips. “You like that? Good boy,” you say silkily, letting go of his throat as he nods. “You gonna let me take care of you, Professor?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, and when you let your gaze wander away from his flushed face and down his body, your lips part softly at the sight of him straining against his pants. You dip your head to kiss his neck, wishing you could bruise, make him yours, but you restrain yourself.

Rough carpet grazes your knees as you sink to the floor, hands coming up to work his belt open. You kiss him through his pants, slide his zipper down with your teeth. Spencer whines, and the sound sends a pulse of arousal through you. “So needy, sir,” you croon, slowly pulling him free of his boxers. It’s probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen, thick and hard in your palm, drooling precum as you lean in to kiss the tip. The salt taste of him fills your mouth and you moan involuntarily, his hips twitching as you pump his cock slowly.

Hands thread into your hair, but the touch is gentle, reverent, born from need rather than demand. Not that you’d say no to his manhandling you, but you get the sense that’ll take some time. “If you want something, it’s polite to ask,” you tease, holding Spencer’s hips when he tries to fuck into your hand.

“Fuck, please,” he hisses, and the obscenity slides deliciously up your spine. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so gorgeous down there. I want you so badly, I just— please?” Spencer whines, and he sounds so sweetly pathetic that you take pity on him, wrap your lips around his head. The moan that falls from his lips is made of pure lust, and you shiver, arousal dripping between your thighs.

You suck and lick at him, eager and teasing, moaning as the taste of him fills your mouth. Spencer trembles with the effort of holding still, not fucking up into your mouth, and his hands unconsciously tighten in your hair. “You can be a little rougher, if you want,” you say, sliding your palms up his clothed thighs and taking him in your mouth again. You moan around him as his cock bumps the back of your throat, swallowing a gag with practiced ease.

Spencer’s hand curls into a fist in your hair, your stomach clenching in anticipation. The gentle sting when he tugs just a little buzzes under your skin, and you moan enthusiastically around him, hollowing your cheeks and taking him even deeper. “Fuck,” he whines, hips jerking forward until his cock bumps the back of your throat. Heat throbs between your legs as he twitches on your tongue, and you can tell from the sounds he’s making that he’s close.

You double your efforts, pulling off to lick around his head and drip spit along his length. Arousal throbs in your belly, hips grinding down against nothing. Slowly, you take him all the way back in, moan low in your throat when he’s buried to the hilt. You trace your tongue across the vein throbbing on his underside, and Spencer lets out the sweetest, most desperate little whimper you’ve ever heard. “I- I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck, baby, oh, my God,” he gasps, needy and adoring.

His voice trembles as he begs, so soft you’re not sure he knows he’s speaking aloud, and the way he pleads your name, fuck. Time blurs around you, your head goes hazy, pleasure knotting itself deliciously around your insides. Spencer gives a strangled moan, a garbled sound that might be your name, and that’s all the warning you get. You swallow greedily as he spills on your tongue, twitching and moaning and praising you through short, gasping breaths.

He’s still twitching with the aftershocks as you pull off, kneeling to smile blithely up at him. Spencer’s eyes are wide, sparkling with adoration as he struggles for breath. “How was that, Professor?” you tease. “Do I get an A?”

He gives a groaning sort of laugh, pulls you to your feet. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, still gazing into your eyes. It’s disarming, and you get the distinct impression he can read what you’re thinking as plainly as if it were stamped on your forehead. “Come here, come on,” he adds, pulling at your hips and pressing your body into his. You’re almost shocked when he kisses you, hard and greedy and hungry, the most aggressive he’s been this entire time. He sanitises his damn desk three times in a class, for God’s sake — you’d half expected him to hand you a toothbrush when you stood from the floor.

And yet, he’s kissing you breathless, and his hands are tangled in your hair, and his body is pressed so close to yours that you can barely tell where you end and he begins. “Thank you,” he mutters against your lips. “That was incredible. You’re incredible. You’ve gotta let me— Come here, sit,” he says, guiding you to sit on his desk. You balance between scattered papers, an uncapped pen bleeding a black stain into your skirt.

“Let you do what, Doctor?” you say, quiet and breathy, gazing up at Spencer with wide, adoring eyes.

Spencer smiles, and something warms in your chest at the sight. Long, delicate fingers trace along your thigh, push up your skirt until your panties are on full display. “Pretty,” he remarks, maddeningly casual. “Did you wear these for me?”

“Of course, sir. I don’t dress up for boys anymore.” You swallow, bite your lip. You decide to lay it on a little thicker. “See, I need a man.”

“Is that so?” Spencer murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Your heartbeat quickens, excitement throbbing between your legs as he drags them down. “Look at you, sweet girl. So wet. Is that all from sucking my dick?” he teases, and you shudder.

You don’t know where the sudden obscenity, sudden dominance came from, but it thrills you all the same. “Mhmm,” you murmur. “What are you gonna do about it?” Smirking, Spencer picks up your panties, lets them dangle from his fingertips, red lace starkly incongruous from the calm, studious background of his office.

After a beat, his grin turns wicked and he tucks them into his pocket. “Safekeeping,” he says, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. The movement is so tender that it stops you in your tracks, a shimmering thread of something more than simple desire stringing between you. His eyes glitter, and you know he feels it too. Then, long fingers start to work at the buttons of your blouse. “I want to see all of you,” Spencer says, bending his head to kiss your lace-clad breast as your shirt falls open.

His hand skates up your thigh, oh-so close to where you need it. “Please,” you breathe. “Please, sir. I need you.” Spencer draws his hand away and you whine pathetically, your bare thighs suddenly impossibly cold.

“Be patient, sweet girl,” he says, low and almost dangerous. A thrill skitters up your spine as he sinks to his knees, gazing intently at your dripping wet core. “Beautiful,” he mutters, so quietly you don’t even think he’s talking to you. His hands slide up to your thighs again, spreading them apart gently. “Are you gonna let me taste you, beautiful?”

You nod frantically, cunt fluttering at his words. He kisses the inside of your knee, works his way down your thigh. A brief, bright spark of pain flickers through you as Spencer sucks a bruise into your skin and you moan. A rush of incredibly gratifying heat washes over you when you realise he’s marking you; a hidden little secret lying just beneath your polished exterior. Spencer won’t be able to see anything else when he looks at you.

He pulls away from his assault on your thighs to look up at you, doe-eyed. “Tell me you want this. Please. I need to hear you say it.” You shudder, closing your thighs around his head and threading a hand into his curls so he can’t drag himself any further away.

“Spencer,” you moan. His eyes blow wide at the sound of his name from your lips. “Please. I need you,” you breathe. “Need you to make me cum, sir, please. Haven’t I been good for you? Don’t I deserve it?” You bite your lip to muffle a scream when Spencer leans in, licks a broad, flat stripe along your soaked core.

He’s methodical, at first, and you know somehow that he’s carefully cataloguing your responses. His tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first and then faster, pressure mounting between your thighs. Spencer moans into you, shifts his hips, and you realise: he’s getting off on this. A jolt of arousal so strong you literally pulse against his mouth rips through you, and you feel his lips curve into a smirk.

Big, soft hands dig hard into your thighs, pulling you flush against him like he could bury himself in you. “You taste so good, baby,” he whines, pressing his tongue flat against your hole as you grind your hips forward. Pleasure curls under your skin, swelling and pressing against your organs, crowding your mind until you can’t think, can’t feel anything but him. Your toes curl in your shoes, stomach clenching as your orgasm builds and builds. Breaking away, Spencer presses tender little kisses to your inner thighs, licks soothingly over his bite mark.

Just as you’re starting to whine at the loss, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit. Sudden, electric ecstasy shoots through your body when he sucks on your sensitive nerves and it’s all you can do not to scream his name for the entire campus to hear. “Oh, fuck,” you whine instead, rocking your hips in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “M’so close, sir, please— You gotta let me— fuck!” you gasp, cunt clenching as he slides two fingers into you. You’re so wet that it’s easy, a slick slide as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look how well you take me,” he says, staring openly at the point his fingers disappear into your body, your greedy cunt parted around them as wet, obscene noises fill the room. He kisses your clit softly and your legs kick out. “You’re gonna look so pretty taking my dick, hm?”

Your mind goes blank, pleasure thudding sickly in your throat, humming in your ears. “I want it,” you whine. “God, I want you to fucking— mmm— bend me over this desk ‘n— fuck— make me all stupid for you. Oh, God, Spencer, m’so close!” you cry, tugging at his hair and writhing helplessly.

“Go on, pretty girl,” Spencer says, softly urging. “Cum for me.” He pumps his fingers, licks at your clit, gently coaxes you over the edge. Your hands white-knuckle the edge of the desk as pure pleasure washes over you. Your body slumps, weak and powerless against the weight of your orgasm ripping through you. Spencer doesn’t let up, smiling into you as you write above him, murmuring soft praises that fade into a low buzz against your pulse hammering in your ears.

Spencer’s lips and chin glisten with your arousal, still kneeling between your legs as you struggle back to your body. “That was… Shit, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand,” you giggle, testing your weight as you shuffle off his desk. Spencer leans down to kiss you, and the taste of yourself on his lips is dizzying. Pouting, you glance up at the clock hanging over his door. “I have class.”

As much as he wants to, Spencer won’t tell you to cut class, and you both know it. “Would you like to, uh…” He clears his throat, adjusts his tie, and just like that, he’s back to the sweet, nervous academic you’re used to. “Continue this discussion later? I’ll— I’ll be here all day.”

Your lips stretch wide in a saccharine smile as you slowly button your shirt. “Why, Doctor Reid, are you asking me to meet you after hours? How scandalous,” you giggle, pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss against his lips. “I’ll be back at six.”

#one thing ab me i cannot resist a problematic age gap fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #writing #smut #spencer reid #professor!au #<- feels weird to call it that cos he’s canonically a professor but u get my drift

587 notes · View notes