#and every so often you hear a word you know but it's not enough to make any sense out of

[sometimesliterate]

progression | aventurine blurb

loving aventurine was as easy as breathing to you, something incredibly hard for him to grasp. he didn't get it at all. when he first walked into your life, he had this arrogant mask up, another one of his well preserved fabrications to protect himself. he was snarky to you. not necessarily rude, but he wasn't afraid to bare his fangs and show you that he was capable of hurting you if he needed to. he wasn't afraid of hurting anyone. another gamble he was putting his faith in, that he wouldn't be put in a situation where he would have to hurt you.

you loved him during that stage. every sarcastic 'friend' he tacked on to every sentence like it was more of an insult than anything else, every boundary that he crossed of yours, every little lie he spun to keep you at arms length, trying to protect you from his teeth. words hurt less than his bite. and yet, you were there for him even when he was sure he would have pushed you away, and it unnerved him.

" aventurine ~ " you called out from behind him to get his attention, before lightly jogging up to him, standing by his side. not in front of him, but beside him. " i know you might be busy today with business as usual, but i was hoping that you were free this afternoon ? there's this new coffee shop that opened up, and i though- "

" coffee ? sorry to disappoint you, friend, but i am busy this afternoon, " he shook his head, as if dismissing the idea outright entirely.

" oh, that's okay ! i'm still able to say hi right now while we're walking, so that's enough, " you chirped, but he could hear the unmistakable sound of disappointment and sadness in your tone, making the guilt inside of him at being the one who caused your unhappiness eat him alive. but the look on his face didn't change, his walls too big to penetrate.

he did find you at that coffee shop, though. " oh, hello, friend- " he had called out, approaching your table, sitting next to you without even asking. he saw your eyes light up, and for a second he felt the warmth in his chest burst forward, his heart beating against his ribcage. " what good fortune that i was able to finish my tasks a little while ago. i didn't think you would actually come here alone. " there was a hint of confusion in his voice, but it was masked just as quickly as it came.

after this interaction, aventurine got a little awkward with you. what was he expected to say ? what did he do if he wasn't trying to push you away ? he was clumsy with his words, often just silently nodding along as you talked, and sometimes bringing up tiny points. he wasn't good at conversation when it wasn't to serve an agenda. being in survival mode his entire life, he had no idea how to be social, much less to someone as kind as you.

no matter how much he stumbled and fell over his own words, you treated him the same. he approached you cautiously, as if he was afraid that one day you would get sick of him and throw him out of your life permanently. was his personality too much for you to handle ? was he doing something wrong ? he wasn't sure, this was uncharted territory for him. all he could do was throw his dice and hope for the best outcome, something that was so comforting now unnerving. he could bet every single one of his chips, every possession he owned, including his own life, but you ? betting on you felt like one risk he wasn't willing to take.

" hey- i was at this shop a while ago, and i was hoping that you'd want to visit ? with me, of course, " aventurine asked, trying very hard not to look how pretty you looked right now, how your smile made his heart flutter every single time without fail. " i saw something i thought you might like. i wanted to get it for you but i don't know your size. "

" oh ? yeah, i'd love to go with you ! " you agreed immediately, as if everything that you were doing before this was suddenly unimportant. " but you really don't have to pay for me, honestly. i can take care of myself. "

this through him for a loop, and he hid it well, but aventurine had no idea what that meant. did you not want him to pay for you ? or were you just trying to be modest ? it wasn't like he was hungry for money, it was fine on his pockets, and he didn't mind spending if it meant spending on you, of course. besides, what did you want from accompanying him if it wasn't to buy things ? that's what friends were for, right ? it was a mutual beneficial agreement between two people to be friendly with each other to gain something from another, right ?

he was pretty sure that was how it was to be friends, but you challenged all of that. especially when you bought him a drink from a shop. he'd just mentioned it offhanded that he could go for some boba tea, and you had agreed, saying that it would be really good right now. and then you bought him his ? that's not how that was supposed to work, he was sure of it. why would you go out of your way to pay for something for him that you yourself wouldn't even get to enjoy ? he was willing to buy you things to keep you around him, but you didn't need to buy him anything to keep him around.

the possibility that you didn't want anything from him other than his time and himself was confusion, but refreshing.

eventually late night outs became late nights inside, and aventurine found himself in a precarious position, on your couch, your body on the other side, cuddling up against a pillow. the intimacy of the situation felt like it was choking him. and he finally got the courage to ask you the question that plagued him - why ? why did you care ? why did you try so hard ? what was in it for you ? putting your bets on him was a foolish decision that he couldn't rationalize. even he didn't bet on himself.

" because you're worth it, " you shrugged a little, the answer's simplicity wiping everything from him. all of his fears, his confusion, his doubts, just for this moment. right now, he understood. you never pushed him out of his comfort zone, and let your companionship evolve naturally. he didn't even realize he had let you inside of his shell before it was too late. " because you deserve it. "

he thought you were worth it, too. trusting you, putting his faith in you even though you had the ability to hurt him. it was worth it. you were worth it.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for redflawedglass behind the cut; they asked for dealer's choice, and I picked "Clark wakes up alive". ( chrono || non-chrono )

“I hope you don't mind me just showing up like this,” he says, gentle and apologetic. Conner never had enough choices in his life, short as it was. He feels like–Clark just wants better for him, this time. “Is it alright that I'm here?”

It was partially his fault, that Conner thought he couldn't choose things for himself for so long. Thought he couldn't have things he wanted. Thought he just had to accept whatever he was offered, more often than not. 

Not always. Not every time. But–too much of the time. 

If Clark can help him learn otherwise sooner . . . 

Well. Of course he's going to try to. 

. . . yes, appears very slowly in Clark's head, and he smiles at Conner again. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I'm happy to hear that. I hope us meeting each other makes you happy too.” 

Conner's face stays perfectly impassive, but his eyes go wet. He blinks, and Clark hears his heartbeat stutter again. 

He could've done this last time. He could've done less than this, and Conner would've had a much easier and much less painful start to life outside Cadmus. 

But he didn't, of course, so he can't do any less than this now. 

“Call security,” Desmond says flatly. . 

“On Superman?” Guardian asks in disbelief. “Sir, even if there was a reason to call security, I wouldn't do that to security.” 

“He’s trespassing!” Desmond snaps. “And interfering with the subject, besides!” 

“I mean, I don’t know if this is interfering . . .” Guardian says skeptically. 

This is absolutely interfering, and Clark is going to be doing as much of it as (in)humanly possible, but he does prefer no one calling security and interrupting the conversation. 

“Don’t mind me,” he says to them, as pleasant and sweet as Ma’s most passive-aggressive “bless your heart”. Then he smiles a little softer at Conner, trying to be . . . careful, maybe. 

He did this so badly last time. Did so badly by Conner last time. 

He doesn’t intend to do anything like that again. 

Ever. 

“It really is so good to meet you, kid,” he says gently. Simple and straightforward, still. Easy for a child to understand, he hopes–or at least easier. Conner had enough trouble understanding other people to begin with, and he can’t imagine it’d be any easier while operating a younger brain and with an even earlier interruption to his education uploads. “Would you mind if I hugged you now?” 

Conner’s eyes . . . flicker, just barely. There’s confusion in them, Clark thinks, but it’s a little hard to tell. He’s even less expressive than the version of himself Clark’s used to. 

. . . was used to. 

Clark doesn’t think about that. Not right now. 

. . . ‘hug’? appears in his head, slow and hesitant over an obviously unfamiliar word. 

Clark debates throwing Desmond through a wall. Just a thin wall. Not a load-bearing one. 

But definitely a wall. 

“I mean I’d like to hold you,” he explains, because if Conner sees him get angry, he’ll blame himself for it. Of course he would, between his current age and the kind of things he’s likely had shoved into his brain so far. “Like you were holding your friend a moment ago.” 

He points at the G-gnome to clarify, and Conner . . . hesitates. Nothing appears in Clark’s head. 

“Call security immediately,” Desmond snaps at Guardian. “Now!” 

“Sir–” Guardian starts, half-raising his hands, and Desmond’s expression turns murderous. 

“That was an order, Guardian,” he says dangerously. Clark half-expects to feel G-gnomes in his mind or for Guardian to change his mind under their influence, but nothing happens. 

He doesn’t look at Dubbilex, but he . . . wonders, a little. 

Conner just barely shrinks in on himself, and Clark wonders how many times he’s been faced with an angry person so much bigger and older than him in real life, or even been out of his pod at all. Is this the first time? A regular occurrence? Something in-between? 

The G-gnome hops up on Conner’s shoulders; leans forward over his head and inspects Clark curiously, tilting its own head. Conner freezes, and Clark sees the faintest trace of fear in the back of his eyes. 

He wonders if the G-gnome’s putting it there, but Conner’s looking right at him. 

So if the G-gnome is putting it there . . . 

If it is, Clark can’t help but suspect it’s not actually a deliberate effort on the creature’s part, as opposed to a genuine by-product of Conner not knowing what to expect from him. 

Not knowing if he’ll hurt the G-gnome, he means, remembering the way Conner had hesitated when he’d called it his friend. 

Considering what he knows of how Desmond ran this place–is running this place right now . . . 

“Hello,” Clark says, and smiles at the G-gnome. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

The G-gnome stares at him for a long, silent moment, and then slips back down behind Conner’s back and wraps its arms around his neck. Clark hears something like a whisper from another room, but not that clear, and Conner . . . hesitates, again. 

Then the word hug appears in Clark’s mind again, this time tentative and longing, and he doesn’t hesitate himself at all. He scoops up Conner and stands up with him in the same moment, and Conner lets out a little breath as his thrumming heartbeat stutters in his chest, and Clark holds him against his own chest very, very carefully, as if he’s holding something more delicate than melting frost on a sunny morning or cracked porcelain. 

Conner doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself; where to put his hands or arms. If he should hold onto him or lean into him or not. 

Clark keeps him in his arms anyway, and swears to himself he’s not leaving without the kid. Not for anything. If Conner doesn’t want to come with him right now, then he’ll wait here with him until he does, no matter what happens outside. 

If Conner never wants to come with him, well–then he’ll just stay, if that’s what it takes. 

He’s not giving Desmond the chance to hurt or hide him. Not giving anyone that chance. 

He wonders if the Conner he remembers even remembered being this small himself, or if it was so brief an experience that it didn’t stick in his head at all. 

He suspects it might’ve been, and hates the thought. 

Buzzes, appears in Clark’s head, still tentative. He doesn’t understand, for a moment, and then realizes Conner’s ear is practically against his chest. So he’s probably talking about . . . 

“I always thought of it as more a ‘thrum’, myself,” he says, and Conner stares mutely at him. Their heartbeats aren’t a perfect match–even with cloned DNA, Conner isn’t quite Kryptonian enough, and his heart beats a little slower and harder than his does. The separate beats are more audible, too. 

But it does still thrum, when it comes to it. 

Warm, appears in Clark’s head too, and Conner ducks his head just enough to hide his face from Desmond when the tears start falling. 

His expression doesn’t change at all, but the tears on his face are undeniable. 

Maybe a load-bearing wall wouldn’t be so bad to throw Desmond through, Clark thinks, bundling the kid up tighter in his arms and wrapping his cape around him as he does. Then he looks at Guardian, and puts on the most pleasant smile he can manage without needing to actually throw Desmond through a load-bearing wall first. 

“I appreciate you taking care of him, but it’s not good for him to be down in the dark like this,” he says, gently stroking what of Conner’s back the G-gnome isn’t perched on and pretending not to notice the fat, heavy tears dripping onto the El crest on his chest. “He needs the sun.” 

“There’s, ah–a solar suit, sir,” Guardian says, but he looks uncomfortable even as he says it. “I mean–he’s being fed solar energy, not just . . . uh . . .” 

He trails off, and looks much more uncomfortable; like he’s just realized what he’s saying. Maybe he has, given Desmond’s influence over the G-gnomes and what they do and don’t let people down here think. 

Guardian still thinks he’s human himself right now, after all.

[delicious-in-imagines]

Hii! Hope you’re doing well :3! Could I request like basic relationship headcanons with Kabru, Chilchuck, and Laios? If not that’s totally fine! Hope you have a good day! :D

You got it, boss!

Kabru of Utaya

I've covered this before in other posts, but his eye for details when it comes to people is going to be used on you. He has a internal list of things you love and things that you hate, and often references it over the course of the relationship.

The only way that he cleans his room is if you're coming over. He'll ask you to return with him on a whim, and then realizes that 'oh shit, I can't have them see this,' and once you get back, he tries to make a distraction, or just asks you to hang out in the hallway as he struggles to stuff all of the shit on the floor under every piece of furniture he can. His landlord finds this endlessly amusing, and knows when you're coming over because Kabru is frantically trying to clean - he helps to give Kabru some pointers.

Loves to surprise you with things you mention in passing, a necklace or bracelet that you saw in a nearby stall, taking you out to a fancy place that you mentioned wanting to go to dinner, or even just something that you need that he noticed. Stuff like a new whetstone, a repair for your armor, anything like that.

He's not the biggest on embraces, but this is a man who loves to cuddle when the two of you are in bed. He absolutely enjoys wrapping his hands around you, either having you curling into his neck, or with your back slotted neatly against him. He always plays with your hands, linking your fingers together. He actually gets to the point that he can't sleep easily unless he at least has some part of his body touching yours.

Cup his face before kissing him, stare into his eyes and tell him something along the lines of 'I love the color of your eyes' and just watch him melt. He used to be self-conscious and hate his eyes, though it's something he's outgrown over the years, but he still loves to hear it come from your lips.

Chilchuck Tims

His love language is admonishing you - sorry not sorry. He's very much the kind of person that if he is barking at you while patching you up, or while trying to help you, that he cares deeply about you. He yells because he cares, if he didn't, he wouldn't say a word.

Before you get into a relationship, he's absolutely going to bring up his past, at least in some capacity. Even if it's part of his sordid past, you deserve to know. He promises that he's changed, but he also knows that the only way to prove that is through his actions.

Speaking of, he does want you to meet his daughters. He's not ashamed of them - quite the opposite, he loves them dearly, and he doesn't want to feel like he's hiding them from you, or you from them. Though, there's not enough words in the common language to express how relieved he is when his daughters like you.

Even though he hates interpersonal relationships in groups, he also starts to outgrow that in bits and pieces. While on the job, he's going to be a bit more aloof, though he absolutely will indulge a handhold, and will only marginally shoo you away when you press a little peck to his cheek or temple.

Though, whenever you take breaks, he's definitely more receptive to any open displays of affection, and will even come to you to initiate. Especially if you're sitting, he'll come up to you and cup your face, making you look up at him - which is something that he loves way too much to be healthy. He's used to people looking down towards him, so being able to tip your head up? It's like a drug for him.

He knows that he's a walking space heater, and anticipates you setting your bedroll beside his own. He'll open up his blanket and grouse until you settle down, sighing out and finally snuggling up to you. Whether you like to be the big spoon or the little spoon, he enjoys the casual closeness. Though, his favorite is if you're bigger than him - being the big spoon, or more aptly, your jetpack.

Laios Touden

Being able to share meals made up of meal parts is a dream come true for him. He might pout occasionally if you are unsure about whatever y'all are eating. But, whenever he can, if there's something that you genuinely liked - then he's more than willing to share with you! I like to think that sharing food or cooking it with him is a love language of his.

If you're willing to listen to him constantly rambling about his hyperfixation on monsters, he'll continue on excitedly before he'll cut himself off, stumbling over his words and apologizing. Please - please, please, please, reassure him, even if you just tell him, 'I might not fully understand, but I just like listening to you.' You'll have his heart immediately, looking at you so softly and wrapping you up in a hug and thanking you. He knows sometimes he can get carried away, but knowing that you value his joy even if you don't fully agree, it warms his heart.

I like to think that rather than defaulting to kisses for showing affection, that he head bonks. You know how cats do the bunting? Yeah, that. He'll come up to you while you're doing something mundane and just bonk his head against yours. Sometimes it's a little too harsh, but that's just how much he loves you.

Above anything else, he wants you to meet his sister. While he may not be able to, nor want, to take you home to his parents - he does want you to meet the family that he cares about most. He'll share stories about Falin, things they did when they were younger, or when they were gold strippers, though sometimes he cuts himself off when he feels overwhelmed with what has happened to his sister.

He's a sprawler when he sleeps, usually on his back - pulls the full starfish. So, if you want to cuddle, you'll have to sleep in the crook of his arm, where he'll close his arm to bring you closer to him. Sleeping on the rise and fall of his chest, hearing his thumping heart skip a beat every time that you rest your head there. When he wakes up first, he can't find it in himself to wake you, craning his head awkwardly to watch your sleeping form with the softest smile on his face.

[ghoul-slime]

Mushy May Day 12&13 - First Time & Just Wanted to Hear Your Voice (Aether/Dew)

Uh oh, starting to fall behind now. Here's my combined entry for days 12 and 13. A million thank yous to @forlorn-crows for putting together Mushy May again this year and to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!

Day 12 & 13: First Time and "Just Wanted to Hear Your Voice" - Aether/Dew, first time phone sex, praise kink, no other warnings, rated E/Mature, 1929 words

It’s late when Aether’s phone starts to buzz. He’s already tucked into bed and ready to turn in for the night when Dew’s picture pops up on the incoming call notification. He picks up before the second ring.

“Hey,” Dew says casually. Aether can’t help but immediately notice the tired edge he hears in the fire ghoul’s voice.

“Hi Dew,” Aether answers, happy to hear from his favorite ghoul despite the late hour of the night. “How are you?”

Dew gives a noncommittal little grunt. “Fine,” he answers. “Bored though. Horny. Nobody around, though…” he trails off.

Aether lets out a laugh. The little ghoul must be lonely. As hard as he’s trying to sound nonchalant about it, Aether knows how much he hates to be alone. That he prefers to spend his nights pressed against one of his packmates. That privilege used to fall on Aether more often than not, at least it did before he stepped away from the band to dedicate himself to helping in the infirmary full-time.

“Who are you rooming with tonight?” Aether asks, genuinely surprised that Dew would ever find himself all alone.

“Nobody. Phantom ditched me to spend the night with Swiss and Rain,” Dew answers with a yawn that he hopes will hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Well that’s new,” Aether answers, sitting up in bed, genuinely intrigued. He's happy that it sounds like the newest ghoul is finding his place in the pack, though he feels bad that Dew seems to be feeling a little left out because of it.

“Not to me it isn’t,” Dew says, sounding more than a little bit annoyed. “They’ve been going at it nonstop for the past week. You should see the three of them trying to cram themselves all into Swiss’ bunk to fuck on the bus.”

Dew is quiet for a minute. Aether can hear the blankets rustle over the phone as he settles into his bed. He can tell he’s turning something over in head, so he gives him time and waits for him to speak again.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, Aeth,” he admits softly. “Lonely out here without you.” Dew lets out a sad little sigh. 

The sincerity in Dew’s voice breaks Aether’s heart. He knows that if he were out there with them, he and Dew would probably be curled up together between scratchy hotel sheets, making the most of their night off with lazy kisses and wandering hands. He wishes he could reach through the phone and pull the little ghoul into his warm nest back home, to wrap his arms around him and remind him how loved he is.

"I want to try something," Aether says after a few moments of silence. “You can say no if it’s not something you like, though.”

Dew perks up. “Yeah?” he asks, already interested. “What is it?”

“Will you take your clothes off for me?” Aether asks, a little nervous, but hopeful. “Get undressed and get yourself nice and comfy on the bed. I want to take care of you tonight.”

Dew is silent for a moment, and then Aether hears more rustling, the sound of blankets and pillows moving around as Dew adjusts himself on the hotel bed.

“Already in just my underwear…,” Dew answers quietly. If Aether were there he’s sure he’d see a light blush dusting the little ghoul’s sharp cheekbones. That Dew would insist he isn't embarrassed despite it. They’ve had each other in every way imaginable by now, but this is the first time either of them have ever done anything over the phone. Up until now, they’d never been apart long enough to warrant it.

“Take those off too,” Aether asks. “And put the phone on speaker.”

He listens as Dew shuffles around on the bed, and Aether can just picture the way he lifts those skinny little hips up off the bed to shimmy his underwear off and slide them down his thighs. Distantly, he registers the soft little thud of fabric hitting the floor.

“Dew?” Aether checks in, “You ok with this?” He knows Dew would tell him otherwise, but this is new territory for both of them, so he feels that he has to check in, just in case.

“Mm, yeah,” Dew affirms. “Gettin’ hard already, Aeth. Now what?” 

Aether grins to himself. He knew Dew would be game, and he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t something he fantasized about doing the second he found out he wouldn't be going out on tour with the rest of the pack.

“Lie back and get comfy, baby,” Aether purrs. “Get comfy and close your eyes, think of me there with you. I want you to hear my voice and imagine it’s me there. That I’m the one touching you.”

“Can you do that for me, Dew?” Aether asks, voice low and gravelly, imagining just how sweet Dew must look spreading himself out on the sheets out there all by himself, just waiting for Aether’s instructions.

“Yeah,” Dew answers in a breathy voice just above a whisper. “Yeah, I can.”

He must have the phone propped up on the pillow next to his face, because Aether can hear his shallow little breaths loud and clear through the phone receiver. He takes a minute to adjust himself in his sweatpants at the thought.

“Good, now touch yourself for me, baby,” Aether tells him, “Want you to run your palms up your chest nice and slow.” He stops, gives Dew a moment to do as he asked him. “Do it just like I would. How I would stop and feel those sweet little tits in the palms of my hands. Now give a little tug on your pretty jewelry for me, just enough to get your nipples nice and sensitive.”

Aether walks him through it, has Dew wet his fingertips with his tongue and pinch and tug at those sweet little buds, soft at first and then harder. Just like Aether would do if he had his mouth on him. He has Dew play with his chest until he’s panting in his ear over the phone, soft little breaths becoming more urgent as Aether works him up with his voice in place of his hands.

“Good job, love,” Aether praises. “Bet you’re nice and stiff between your legs for me now, aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” Dew answers, “‘M hard, Aeth. Getting all wet for you too. Want you to touch it. Please.”

“Lemme touch it, then, sweet boy. Lemme see how wet you’re getting for me,” Aether answers. “Spit in your hand, Dew, get it nice and wet for me. Just the way I would do it.

The wet sound of Dew spitting into the palm of his hand has Aether growling and tugging his sweats down to pull his cock out. When he hears the sound of Dew slicking himself up, he wraps a hand around the base of himself and squeezes.

“Good,” he praises, breathing hot into the phone. “Is it dripping now?”

Dew answers with a weak little uh huh, as he slicks himself up with a palm full of spit, mixing in with the pre his cock is undoubtedly dribbling out at the sound of Aether’s voice.

He has Dew jack himself off for him, reveling in the wet sounds of Dew’s hand working sensitive flesh. In the sweet little sighs and purrs as Dew imagines Aether’s big fist wrapped around him instead. When Dew whispers that he’s close, Aether tells him to stop, hands off, and the choked little whimper he hears lets him know that Dew’s done exactly as he’s been asked.

“Doing so good for me, baby,” Aether tells him, breath shallow as he starts to stroke himself. “Two fingers in your mouth for me now. Get ‘em nice and wet.”

Aether hears Dew suck two fingers into his mouth, hears the wet little sounds of him lapping at the digits. How he can tell Dew pushes his fingers all the way to the back of his throat, just far enough that he struggles not to gag, before pulling them out and waiting for Aether’s next instruction. 

“Spread your legs now, nice and wide,” Aether instructs. “Touch yourself down there, just like I would. Start slow for me and feel yourself open up when you put ‘em inside.

Dew goes silent as he does what Aether asks, running his wet digits around the rim of his already wet little hole. He feels what Aether would feel if it were him fingering him open. Feels the way he stretches so easily as he pushes inside, how easily he takes two fingers.

“Got two fingers inside now, Aeth,” Dew whispers. “Oh, it feels nice. Feels like when you do it.”

Aether has Dew finger himself like that. Tells him to feel how hot he is inside, how soft. Tells him to feel the way his rim flutters around his fingers when he pushes in deep and crooks his fingertips just right.

“Can you get three inside for me now?” Aether asks after a while. “Gotta get you nice and stretched out for my cock, my love.”

“Y-yeah,” Dew answers, breathless and sweet as he pushes three fingers inside himself just like Aether asked. “Want your cock in me, Aether.” Dew sighs at the stretch, feeling full the way he would if it were Aether’s cock breaching him instead.

“Hold the phone between your legs for me, baby? I wanna hear how wet you are.”

There’s a moment of shuffling, the sharp scratch of the speaker dragging across the pillow fabric, and then Aether can hear it. The slick, rhythmic sound of Dew fucking his fingers in and out of his wet little hole. It’s completely filthy, the obscene, unmistakable sound of sex, and to Aether, it’s the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his life.

He groans, jacks his cock faster, working to match the rhythm of Dew’s fingers. If he closes his eyes he can picture it perfectly. Dew laid out in front of him, legs spread wide as Aether stuffs his tight little hole with his cock, fucking him deep and perfect until they’re both shaking with it.

A high-pitched moan from Dew breaks Aether from his vision.

“G-gonna cum, Aether,” Dew warns. “Gonna cum on your cock like this. Oh, wanna cum with you inside me, Aether,” Dew babbles, fucks himself faster, pressing in so deep with his fingers that Aether can hear his rhythm falter as he works himself closer to the edge.

Aether’s not far behind as he jacks himself faster, the slick sound of Dew’s fingers and his breathy little moans and cries working together to send him over the edge. He cums with a shout, just as he hears Dew give one final guttural ohhhh, as he clamps down on his fingers and shoots his load.

They come down together, panting into their phones as they catch their breath.

After a few moments of silence, Dew speaks up.

“Well that was fucking hot,” he snorts. “Got this bed all wet though, good thing Phantom isn’t coming back after all.”

Before they hang up, Aether tells Dew how much he loves him, that he’s counting down the minutes until he gets the little fire ghoul into his bed for real again.

Dew says goodnight, tells Aether that he loves him back, sounding happy and spent and breathless - the tired, sad tinge to his voice chased away for the night as he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

[historyslittlebish]

Illness won't stop love (Cured!King Baldwin IV x Witch!Female!Reader)

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

a/n: I have never watched kingdom of heaven before but I know of it because my sister watched it so I am gonna write for the king :)

Warning: unrealistic but okay, religious stuff, occ?

Baldwin groaned as he sat on his throne. He praised himself for getting all the diplomatic work done half the time he usually completes.

Every passing day his bones and muscles ached, his mind spinning, overwhelmed with his kingly duties. His mind was filled with thoughts and plans but he was too weak to act on them.

While determined and strong willed, he was aware of his sickly disease and how weak he is compared to anyone else. He often spent time looking up, thoughts of gods plan with him.

Why?

Why would god plague him with such illness, what had he done? What was his sin against his creator? he often found himself praying that he could, maybe, just maybe, be cured and continue to live and be the greatest king he could be, have a wife and an heir, to live his life to the fullest with no worry of death coming as soon as he always prepared himself for.

He knows he should not question God, and be grateful for his life but even then his mind does not stop thinking such thoughts.

He sat still staring into nothing, deep in thought as a few servants scuttled about, cleaning and tending to the throne room. The sounds of their whispering had started bothering him, the constant sound of pattering feet didn't allow him to think.

He slowly rose before clearing his throat. Some of the servants looked over in surprise and curiosity.

"I would like to be left alone, please." His voice is steady, firm, but gentle and warm. His servants rushed to leave the room allowing the king his privacy.

He sighed as he sat down once more. Alone in his own thoughts, he allowed himself to be consumed by his own mind, each thought, idea, word, running through his brain as he rested his eyes, deeply in his imagination.

Not too long after however does he hear a female yelp, a loud thud, and someone shuffling around the marble floor.

His eyes snapped open as he saw a small amount of mist covering a figure slightly. His eyes widened in surprise and shock as he stared at the woman in front of him. She wore odd clothes, not the kind he's seen before, her H/C was beautiful to him, mesmerizing even. Her S/C looked so soft in comparison to his heavily scarred and sore ridden skin.

He stood up and suddenly the strange and foreign woman stared at him before getting on her knees and bowing deeply, lifting her head enough to look back up at him.

"My king." She stated.

"Rise." Baldwin said as he motioned with his hand for the woman to stand. Slowly she did stand and still have a respectful demeanor.

"Who are you, and why do you come here?" She looked up, her E/C looking into his blue irises. She inhaled before kneeling and leaving her hands by her side "My king, I present myself as a witch from the North. I've heard of a prophecy that you will need to defeat Saladin but not without outside forces," She rose from her knees and reached into a small pouch, holding a vile with blue liquid, glowing and bubbling. "I've come to present to you a cure. You have my heart should I speak the lies of the devil himself.".

Baldwin was shocked and scared. A witch in his holy kingdom? Witchcraft is the devil's work. He could not decide if he should call his soldiers and risk the witch woman to hex him or to continue the conversation, only to eventually be found dead without reason, or to many, his leprosy being the cause.

He took the latter and prayed that no harm would come to him.

"Well witch, I want proof." The woman nodded and held her arm to her side, F/C mist circling the room, a wall of fog covered the walls of the room. The mist streamed into the middle of the room and created a circle, creating a pocket of white particles creating images.

They showed him being crowned king all the way to his death at an old age.

he could not believe his eyes. The images showed such small moments in his life that he could not recollect well but they were perfect for what he was told.

The mist that engulfed the room suddenly retracted and disappeared into the air.

He stared at the witch who stared back but with a slight fear in her eyes, not knowing if she would be in danger or not. Baldwin's breath hitched but he sat down. He racked his brain for thoughts but he was very overwhelmed by the information. He clutched his head and rubbed at his temples.

The two stayed in silence for a few minutes before the king made his choice.

"I shall take this potion if what you say is true." He murmured.

The witch stepped forward towards the kind on his throne and handed him the bottle gently before stepping back.

"I warn you my king, you will fall in a deep slumber, alive and well, but deep for the whole day." The king contemplated her words but slowly opened the bottle and drank the liquid completely.

After a few moments his head began to spun and he almost collapsed to the floor before a warm pair of arms caught him and held him before his eyes completely shut and he fell into a deep slumber.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Baldwin squinted his eyes as the sun peaked through the window in the early morning. The light was dim due to the window covers but it was still bright to him. He slowly raised his body but was confused when he could feel his body weight shift onto his legs. He had lost feelings partly in his legs and arms but he could feel himself twitch and move on his entire body.

He was wearing some white sleepwear that he doesn't remember putting on and his mask was on the side of his bed. He was confused but slowly walked over to the mirror.

His eyes widened and he stumbled back but caught himself before he fell on the cold, hard floor.

He saw himself but no longer disfigured or ridden with rashes and sores. His golden locks framed his face, his eyes looking deep into his in the mirror, his skin was just glowey as the witch he had seen.

That's when it hit him.

The witch had saved him, the lovely witch that had given him a potion that she said would heal him and allow him to live his life fully.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The whole castle was chattering with loud and bright voices. Their king was not only cured by gods miracle but he would be able to soon produce an heir should he be willing.

He sat on his throne thinking of the memory of you. You, you were to be his wife, you saved him, he could live without the fear of dying anytime soon.

Baldwin got a surge of confidence, he was determined to get you to come back but first he had to deal with royal affairs but nothing could slow him down, not anymore.

a/n: Part 2? Yes. I need to make a male version for anon OR male reader hcs for our king. Sorry if its shit though.

[yourplasticlittlespastic]

E̴N̴T̴W̴I̴N̴E̴D̴ - Series - Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f/reader

Warnings: Solid context, fluff but very much self-pleasure session with Benny bby +18, not raw but is going there

Notes: IT'S ALMOST TIMEEEEE Y'ALL, hours away really. Thank you again for reading and liking this story <3 it makes me feel so appreciated :')

WC: 6.4K I got carried away hehe

You didn't know how to stare at Lord Coxingworth at this very moment. He was so graceful in his movements, with his words and his pose and everything pointed in the right direction. Correction. To the proper direction.

With a glint of desperation, you saw how he started to confess, how his speech started and you felt so... frustrated. He will ask why you will say no to his proposal and what could you say? Benedict Bridgerton has searched all over me for his inspiration and still is not finished.

You blinked away and saw Lord Coxingworth with impatience. When can he be done? So you can flee and go three houses up and meet Benedict and finish whatever happened last night.

***

"Benedict" you whimpered at the force of the kiss

"Say it again, sweetheart" he mumbled seeing you with passion "Say you want the same"

You could not feel your body, your legs failed you and his grip on your waist was the only thing holding you up "I want the same"

"You do?" he purred and his nose brushed yours "You do?"

"Yes"

His eyes sparkled "No need to convince you"

"What are you calling this then?" you pointed at your extremely warm and suffocating embrace "hmmm?"

"I call it, finally" he smiled, and he kissed you, and you felt yourself sink.

The next time you opened your eyes, Benedict's hand was in the small of your back, and your body was flush against his, the thin fabric of your sleeping gown was the only thing separating you from his skin.

"How I've dreamed of this" he muttered against your lips "how many nights did I wish you were beside me"

"You are so silly, Ben" you cupped his cheek "So, so silly"

"Why is that?"

"You are here" you smiled "And I am here. Dreams do not often come alive and still, I am here"

"hmmm" he was an avalanche at your words as his head buried on your neck smelling the sweet scent of you. His teeth grazed your sensitive spot making you moan, his tongue traced every kind of form and shape and it made you agonizingly hot and needy.

He sucked the spot where your shoulder met your neck and he gripped you, pinned you against the wall. You have never met so much desire before, the way his body felt against yours was not enough.

"Ben, I can't take it anymore" you cried in a whisper and your hand cupped his cheek

"Tell me what you need" he breathed so harshly as he broke the safe heaven of your neck and he saw the pause in your beautiful framed eyes and it struck him.

He can take you right now, here in his studio. He has it so easy, that you already took your robe out of your delicate body so he could, in a swift motion, remove your sleeping gown. He can spread your legs and admire your womanhood, he can lock his mouth in your nipples and oh so kiss your ribcage while playing with you and, and, and...

But you stared at him with a flinch of hesitation. He is not stupid, he knows this is the first page you have opened in the book of lust and sex. Taking you here, getting your innocence on a night like this is far from what he wants. He knows that you can respond to his question and tell him what you need but is it really what you need? Hell, he is again thinking for you but no, this is a matter far more important to think.

"I know what you need and I know what you want" he whispered caressing her cheek "That is all I needed to hear"

Your eyes landed on your twisted neckline as your right shoulder remained visible "But-"

"I know" he chuckled and placed a tender kiss on your cheek, your chin, the tip of your nose, your forehead and his lips hovered at your ear "And it is going to be everything you dreamed of and more, my love. But perhaps tonight is not the night"

"You mean, after marriage?" you asked shyly

Benedict was fighting with the idea, his groin was fighting with the idea "If that is what you want... I-"

"No, I meant if you believe it is for the best"

"Of whom?" he felt the sweat on his nape

You shrugged "of us?"

"Is that a question or an answer?"

"I don't know" you huffed

"I know what you mean" he nodded, his honour and yours were hanging from a thread so so thin like your gown and then it hit him again if your innocence will be taken in some near future then he can do other things to you that do not require you losing it "and I know what we can do"

"What?" you begged in your soft voice

"Have fun before our nuptials"

***

"Miss Ashbourne?"

You blinked at Lord Coxingwworth and his waiting smile "My Lord?"

"As I was saying" he turned around to stare at your mother who was there and you didn't realize until now "I know a diamond when I see one and you shine so bright it was hardly a discovery" he kneeled and took your hand "Miss Ashbourne, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Your mother stood there and her expression was unreadable. She looked at Lord Coxingworth and then at you, her face was calm, no tears, no happiness and no excitement, it was what it should happen.

"My Lord" you stumbled upon the words "I... I..."

"I understand this is a surprise but" he turned to stare at your mother "I do believe Miss Ashbourne can give me an answer right now, can she not?"

"Of course, Lord Coxingworth," said your mother with a hint of disappointment and a hint of frustration aimed at you "This is such an honour, a blessing really and we are honoured, my dear are we not?"

You swallowed your pride and smiled "It is, indeed" and you khow he was going to take what you said as a yes so you launched forward that he almost lost his balance "But I am in such a complex situation that I must come clean to you, my Lord"

"Y/N-"

"You see" you interrupted your Mama "I am engaged" The words dribbled from your lips so fast that they were not even formed correctly

"Engaged?!"

"I know, I should have told you beforehand but it was a rather sudden engagement and-"

"Miss Ashbourne" Lord Coxingworth was standing at his feet once again and he looked... he looked embarrassed in all his splendour "Miss A-"

"I hoped to see you today to bring the news but your speech caught me off guard I couldn't stop you between such devoted words"

Your mother looked beyond furious but her modals did not falter

"I... to..." he stuttered "To who are you engaged? I thought you were not seeing someone else"

"As I said it was rather fast, yes" you inhaled "Mr. Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton"

"Dear Gentle Reader,

My oh my, this author has nothing more to say but ouch. A commotion happened just outside Ashbourne's residence at Old Burlington Street. The loud voices clearly woke everyone who was still dreaming and what a thing. Yours truly was not there -or if I was you will never know- but the story has not been dissimilar from person to person contrary to other gossips. This one stays the same.

Lord Coxingworth walked outside the residence and it was not with a new wife but with a rather sad irate face. He avoided his transportation only to knock, insistently, at Benedict Bridgerton's residence but he found no one apart from a poor housemaid who was shocked to her core at his insistent manner of talking with the second son.

This author is clear on something. He proposed and Miss Ashbourne has said no, that or another thing transpired. But let me be clear, this proposal started with the left foot and ended clearly with Miss Ashbourne dizzily stepping on his foot -again-.

***

You stared at Violet's eyes as she kindly scanned your face "I must say I can't imagine what your mother told you after this" She left Lady Whistledown and sighed "was she harsh, dear?"

"She hasn't spoken to me yet" you admitted with a slight pinch inside and you took your tea and saw the roaming body of Eloise in the back "Eloise you are making me dizzy"

"You are going to step on my foot too?"

"Eloise!" Violet reprimanded "Your dear friend is going through a hard time, can you be more sensible?"

You looked around at Hyacinth and Gregory who were curious about your situation but not meddling that much. You felt so uneased at the fact that you have left the Bridgertons -except one- in the shadows. They don't know that you are going to marry Benedict, they only know you said no to Lord Coxingworth.

"Was he untoward to you?" Violet asked

You shook your head, trust is strong with her as you considered her an exceptionally maternal woman "No, thank God. He was always proper and I only have good things to say about him"

"Then?" Eloise confusedly scrunched her nose "Why the negative?"

"I am sure she has her reasons" Francesca came back with an embroidery set "Don't you?"

"I do" you muttered but the truth had to come with Benedict in the room "Bu-"

"When you are ready, dear" Violet softly curved her lips "Now drink your tea it will calm you down"

It was no more than minutes when you heard some noise downstairs, you straightened on your chair and waited. The butler by the entrance to the room you six were stepped back. You frowned and your face contorted at the sight of Benedict, sweat around his temples, flushed, tired, his attire looked convoluted, his hand nested a bruise on the knuckles.

"Oh my!" Violet stood up and walked to him "Benedict what happened?"

Everyone except you interrogated him. Your logic made sure to merge the happenings.

"Bring water, and bandages" Violet commanded, tears in her eyes "My boy, what...?"

"Mother" he said and took Eloise as support, she guided him to the divan by the end of the room "I assure you I am fine, fatigued that is all"

"Have you quarrelled with someone?" Gregory asked

"Gregory, Hyacinth please go to your governess"

"B-"

"I am pleading you two" Violet was on the verge of tears "Please"

The children walked outside with the biggest of pouts and they both threw glances at Benedict but he didn't return any apart from seeing you there. He sneered a bit when Eloise touched his shoulder.

"What happened?" Violet demanded

"A quarrel indeed, mother"

"Of what sort?"

"I assure you, I am on my five senses, mother. Quite spirited actually" he said smiling, directed at you of course but you looked down “I am just bruised, you should have seen him”

Violet could not pop her eyes more “who?!”

Eloise sighed and walked to sit next to her brother who was clearly trying to control the pain of his wound "Lord Coxingworth..."

"Coxingworth?!" Violet was going to have a heart attack

"Mother, I know I have a lot to explain, and I promise I will. But can we save it for later?"

"Benedict! We certainly cannot”

“Or won’t?” He tried to smile but flinched as a maid tried to heal the wound “There is no need for that now, thank you” The maid bowed her head and left “Mother-“

Violet sat down and looked at you “I am so sorry Y/N… I was not expecting this at all” she heaved as she breathed “, especially with Lord Coxingworth in the middle of this” She stopped and looked at Benedict “Why Lord Coxingworth?” She questioned

“Yes, why him?” Eloise asked

Benedict looked at you and nodded and you nodded back, this was it.

You took a deep breath and stood up. Violet might have thought you were excusing yourself but her eyes turned to see how you walked forward at their private questioning circle.

“Mother” he tried to draw one of those pursed adorable smiles he knows his mother adores “I am going to marry, Miss Ashbourne”

Eloise Bridgerton not so subtly snorted with such a noise that drew everyone’s eyes towards the wall where Francesca stood straight, she giggled at her sister’s reaction. She stood so quiet all this time that everyone looked surprised at her presence.

“I’m sorry?” Eloise smiled in the only way she knew how to do, confused, perplexed and waiting for someone to say they were pulling her hair

Violet opened her mouth more than she could that her hands did not conceal the shock. Francesca walked closer and her embroidery set still hanging from her hands was long forgotten.

Eloise cleared her throat, a nervous trait she has and nodded with a smile on her face "So that is why we are here?"

You felt like your legs were going to fail you and sat down beside Benedict who shifted in his languid posture to give you space to do so “I know this must be a surprise, it is to us too”

You turned to look at him and he held your hand, the bruised hand, the one you knew had collided with Lord Coxingworth’s cheek, stomach?

“My dear…” Violet touched her chin, the shock not leaving her features for one moment and then she laughed and looked at Francesca who was now standing next to Eloise, looking at the floor with her hands behind her back, her eyes not meeting anyone, especially you “that is why you turned his proposal”

“To accept his” Francesca pointed with her gentle eyes at her brother “My…”

“God!” Eloise exclaimed and sneered and scrunched her face “You and you?!”

Violet chuckled and stood up, she walked to you took your hand and squeezed it, she kissed your forehead and then she kissed Benedict's.

"How?" Eloise's voice was loud "how?!”

“Eloise please” Violet pleaded “Is this not the thing we wanted?”

“But she’s… she is like a sister”

“Eloise!” Francesca caused alarm with her voice “That is not the appropriate way of treating your sister-in-law. Do you want to offend them in such a manner? Or are you just being insensitive again”

Violet waved. Her hands at the sisters “All alright there, let’s see” she turned around “Was Lord Coxingworth the one who started the quarrel?”

“Definitely,” Benedict said and grunted trying to sit straighter

“Good and who else was there?”

“Mostly every other nobleman from this ton”

“So this happened at the club?” She asked and knew the answer was yes “Well if I know something is that those husbands will return home and tell their wives”

“Or mistresses” Eloise finally spoke

“Then…” Violet continued “we shall keep our heads up”

“It is not a scandal” Francesca shrugged “She merely denied a proposal because she was already engaged, right?”

“Yes, very much engaged” Benedict nodded and squeezed your hand

You felt like the most fortunate girl in the world with the support of the Bridgertons, maybe Eloise’s falling quite behind but either way, you knew the rest of the clan would understand that whatever gossip flees from mouth to mouth has a good reason behind.

“My dear” Violet said “you must regain yourself, heal that hand of yours, go to your former bedroom and-“

“Refresh me, I know” Benedict stood up, gracefully placing a hand on your back “I must be back in a while”

His tender voice made you feel all kinds of things and you looked at him as he walked away leaving you again in the company of the women you considered family. Family. They will be real family now.

“There is so much to unfold here” Eloise said sitting down in front of you “Is it not?” She asked the others

“Well” Violet kindly said sitting next to her daughter “if I must say so myself I find this… not surprising at all yet surprising at a degree”

“That doesn’t make sense, mother”

Violet shrugged at Eloise and looked at you “I hope this day does not make you weary, Y/N. This is not the best way for you to start your engaged phase”

“I think I brought it upon myself”

Francesca arched a row “Why?”

You bit your cheek and realized you let yourself talk after so much silence “Well, it was quite confusing at first”

“I bet” Eloise nodded

“Let her talk”

“With Lord Coxingworth being extremely forward and Benedict and I…”

Kissing each other at the devil’s hour.

“Having so much time knowing each other” you continued “I don’t know how it happened but” you giggled “he said we started seeing each other in other colours”

Violet smiled and placed a hand over her heart, the way you saw her do a lot of times, but this was the first time it was directed at you.

Eloise nodded, she looked serious. “Hmmm”

“And true he was” you admitted “However with Lord Coxingworth things were accelerating”

“Why not put a stop and spare his feelings?”

Francesca seemed to growl at Eloise’s lack of understanding.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and shook your head “Benedict wanted time to think as well”

“I would understand that logic” Violet nodded “It is not a simple decision”

Francesca hummed and nodded with her usual quietness

Eloise sighed and rolled her eyes but the look in her eyes was a happy one and then she giggled and nodded a couple of times. “I can’t believe you like my brother”

“Do not speak ill of him” Violet reprimanded

“He is divine, a piece of heaven in earth” she blinked

“Funny” Francesca turned to you “I can’t believe you are my future sister in law"

“I can’t believe this is happening like so” you snorted

“Come here, dear” Violet stood up. She approached you and hugged you, not a tight hug, a comforting one. “All will be well, especially with a wedding coming. That is what must fill your mind and soul.”

***

Was it fear? You did not want to return to your place, alone and ready to be questioned by your mother but with a pinch of hostility. You took every second the Bridgertons offered you that day and when sunset came you prepared yourself for facing your parents.

You said farewell with Benedict by your side. The look on Violet’s face as she experienced for the first time you and Benedict together not as friends but as a couple, made you blush.

Nonetheless when you were ready to walk further to your street he changed the path to-

“Wait”

“Is there something bad?” He felt your resistance

“It is your house” you commented

“Yours too”

It melted you the ease with which he was already sharing things “but, that should be-“

He did not allow you to continue, he simply put a finger over your lips and smiled, he guided you further and opened the door to his house. The sunset painted its walls differently than during the night.

“This time we can pass the evening in…” he hummed “The tea room?”

“Is there going to be tea?”

He smirked and leaned to kiss your lips, the tip of his nose touched yours and he said.

"Maybe something stronger"

His fingers touched your jaw, your cheeks, the tip of your nose and when he reached your chin he tilted it up and kissed you once and pulled apart.

“Come on… fiancé”

The word made your heart beat so hard you were certain the whole London would hear it. He pulled the chair back for you to sit, he poured the amber liquid and handed you the glass. He did the same for himself, a few more drops to his, and sat in front of you.

“Good day?”

You laughed at the mockery “Yes splendid. Best day of my life”

“Leave that for the wedding night” he savoured the rim of the glass with brandy and sighed “All in all, are you alright?”

You smiled and nodded, the warmth in your chest was not because of the drink, nor the day. It was him.

He was smiling, he was not hiding his face, he was not ashamed of your situation and his hands were not shaking.

“I am tranquil now. The situation will die shortly I know”

“Exactly” he smiled “I knew you would come to that”

“Well, you do say you know me well, so who am I to say otherwise?”

He smiled and nodded “Would you like to rest here before you head to your place?”

“Can I just sleep here?” You heard your voice but didn’t remember how is that you articulated it. You listened to your childish complaint and looked up at Benedict’s face.

He leaned his head to the side and smirked “You’re making this harder every day”

“No I’m not”

“Yes you are”

“And?”

“You want me to explode”

“I do not want such a thing”

“You want me to have the most forbidden thoughts about you and because I still can’t act upon them you like the torturing”

“Are you saying I’m a wicked person? Me? After today and yesterday and the days before, are you accusing me of such a thing?

He snorted and looked down as he shook his head.

You stood up and walked to him, his eyes were still low but you were sure his eyes followed you as he saw your figure above.

“Then I am wicked” you naturally said “I won’t go to my house just yet an-“

“Don’t say anything else”

Your body was jolted with strength that the staircase almost felt like air. You tripped, yes, but you almost flew. Where? You saw his bedroom, decorated with the same wooden panels and furniture. The smell of sandalwood and books, his sketches spread in front of the bed that looks extremely plush.

"I know you say you are tranquil," he said taking the knob and closing the door, he turned to you "I still think you are somehow troubled"

You saw he walked to the windows, the greenery from afar quickly was blocked by the thick curtains making the room ten times darker than twilight time.

"Just a tad" you murmured

"I do not enjoy that," he said and started kicking his boots "One thing you should know about me is th-"

"I know everything about you" you tried to smile and he adorably returned it

"No, you don't"

You took the bait plain and simple. You kicked your shoes not caring if the force of the pulling would rip the ribbons around your ankles "Lies" you said coming forward and he sighed against the headboard "I do know you"

He smiled again and made a gesture with his fingers "Just a few things you are missing, Y/N"

You huffed as you sat down by the end of the bed, your dress was not ample enough to sit crisis cross so you opted for your legs by the side, a bit uncomfortable "Like?"

He inhaled "Like for example, I am utterly protective"

"As everyone man should be"

He rolled his eyes "I am not every man, I am Benedict and when I say I am protective is because I am" he scratched his temple "If you are unwell, so Am I. If you are the happiest so will I be... if you are troubled, well I do not like it"

"What happened with Lord Coxingworth?"

Benedict looked down at his already bandaged knuckles, you saw him sigh and look away. "It is not important, not now"

"Did he hit you too?"

He snorted and closed his eyes as he laughed, his head went back to the pillow and you heard him inhale deeply. "Yes of course, it was a quarrel"

"He left my house quite fast... I know he knocked her and..." you stopped

"And he went to the Club and found me. Tried to make me drop the proposal!"

"What?"

"Yes" he looked bewildered "The bullocks of that man" he snorted "he tried so hard to make me say he can have you" he waved his hand "He is a Lord, he can marry tomorrow without a problem but having you was not something I was going to allow him to have"

You opened your mouth "I-"

"And I am not referring to you as an object, I am saying that your soul, as much as it is yours, I want just a pinch of it too"

"You have more than a pinch, Benedict"

He smirked at your comment, his foot playfully tapping your forearm trying to pull you closer. You obeyed and slid closer but not that much.

"So... he was not pleased and he insulted you, me, and well, our families"

"But we are not even married yet!"

"Yes, I know" he looked at his hand "I tried to be diplomatic but-"

"I am sorry," you said "What a sore loser"

Benedict leaned forward and sat upright "I do not blame him, my dear. I would be the most horrible maniac sore loser this world will see, worse than Napoleon if I lose you"

You looked down and your eyes met his hand on top of the duvet and you took it "Thank you for fighting for my honour"

"I am telling you, I am protective" he touched the side of your head "There is another side of me you haven't seen and I am not being naughty"

You laughed "Try to say that again without sounding naughty"

"What I mean" he hummed and laughed "You have never seen a Benedict a la romance... and now that I have you as my.... pffff!" he smiled "My fiancé... that grows even stronger"

"And what do I do with such knowledge?"

"Just know, when things happen, I will be there"

"For?"

"Everything" he whispered and leaned closer and his lips were touching yours. "Everything you need, everything you desire you will have it"

"It is enough with having you" you confessed smelling his warm breath

"Let me give you the world" he purred and kissed you

Was he intending to do that? Because the world seemed to fit in his lips and he was, as he professed, giving it to you. You felt the capturing soft lips as they opened, the tip of his tongue touched yours and the moan he released made you shiver. His arms were strong as they enveloped you, the scent of sandalwood and a touch of brandy filled your nostrils and your heart.

You felt your world leaning and indeed you were. He went to lay on his back as you kept yourself so damned uncomfortable with your straight dress but alas you could at least move your lips. You enclosed his lips and he yours, he licked your lower lip and gently bit it, his hands moved down to your waist, his fingers pressing against the material.

You pulled apart and gasped for air, his chest rising and falling with the same rhythm, his lips wet and swollen, his eyes almost black.

"What is the matter?" he whispered

You huffed and sighed as your hands grasped the lower sides of your dress and pul-

"What are you doing?" he looked panicked...?

"Nothing of that sort, I cannot move with this" You pulled it just above your knees and felt free as you could now flex on the bed

"That..." his blue eyes wandered so deep, so deep he got lost. Your thighs showed your white stockings tightened with feminine ribbon-like garnets and the visible skin was the most tempting thing he had ever seen. "Come here" he turned around and brought you to the mattress, the view oh the view of you against his linen and duvet "Do you have any idea how many times I dreamed of you in my bed?"

"Many I imagine" You tried to joke and he laughed.

"Yes many and none compared to the reality" his fingertips caressed the side of your calf, the sensation tickled you and your feet wiggled as he kept going upwards.

"What are you doing?"

"Touching you, feeling you... memorizing every inch of your body"

Your breathing increased with his touches, his hand moved to your knee and gently passed to your thigh where he could graze ever so lightly your skin, soft "So soft" he muttered

"You're softer"

"I am not" he said, his lips brushing your nose "You are the softest one in here" His hand was now on the inner side of your thigh and you bit the inside of your lips "This is a first" he murmured and leaned closer and his lips were touching the base of your neck, the sensitive part where your collarbone begins and the kisses were making your skin turn red. Benedict frowns at the barrier under your dress skirt "What is this...?"

You so innocently tried to lift your head as he funnily stretched the skirt to look under it "what?"

"You wear pantaloons"

"Pantalettes!" You giggled "Men wear pantaloons, I happen to wear pantalettes"

"Why?" he snorted putting the skirt down as he stood between your legs

"Because..." you laughed "I like them and..." you saw the look he gave you "I know many don't wear a thing"

"Many? Most!"

"And I am not most" Your hands pulled the skirt higher so you could see the soft cream fabric covering your lower part, they are shorter than pantaloons usually reaching below the knee, these you wear reach inches down your womanhood "Is it a sin?"

"For me it is" he snorted "Once married you must not wear them"

"Bene-"

"Let yourself free, my love"

"Ben-"

"Let the air flow" he giggles and you hit his side with your leg "Ouch"

"See me as a Christmastide present"

His ears perked at that "Say what?"

"You unwrap it, don't you? You do so with excitement. You wonder what can it b-"

But Benedict grasped your waist and moved again above you, the movement pulled the rest of the skirt up all the way to the waistband of your goddamned pantalettes

"Now you are the best gift. I agree"

"I was not finished"

"Uhummm" he kissed your neck, his lips and tongue tasted the soft skin and he bit the juncture between the base and the collarbone. His hands were on your hips, his thumb gently pressing your belly and moving slowly up.

"Benedict" you called out to him

"What is the matter, darling?"

"Are you going to remove them?"

He pondered the question for a while "Shou-"

"I feel weird" you confessed and saw how he tried to stop touching your hips "No, not bad... I... feel clammy"

"Clammy?"

You shrugged "Muggy?" you certainly couldn't describe the feeling down there "Perhaps if you take this off and... and..."

"Do you touch yourself?"

What kind of question was that? You frowned "Eh?"

"I mean when I'm not there and you need a relief, do you touch yourself?"

Your cheeks felt hot and he saw them turn a shade of pink that was almost too adorable. "No...?"

"Is that a ques-"

"No, why would I?" You simply asked

Benedict's shoulder dropped, he saw your face and wondered why were you so left behind in that type of passion, especially when is private... well, not now anymore.

"To live" he stated, "To live, my love..." he grunted and turned around to land on your side and he propped his head on his hand "I'll guide you"

You nodded "alright"

"Alright" he sighed "Come closer"

You did it so your shoulder was touching his chest "Done"

"Now... take those bloody gloves away"

You giggled and saw the short white gloves hiding your palms, you did so and playfully threw them away.

Benedict pursed his lips with a soft smile "This was supposed to be the part I took a peak at you doing it but with those..." he mocked your voice "Pantalettes... you must do it underneath"

"Do what?"

"Just..." he held your right hand and placed it on your belly, the ruffled sound of the pulled skirt making the only noise inside his room "So this hand... goes under that"

"Is your hand coming with me?"

Benedict was cursing inside he was feeling the real pain of not being able to do more now. He swears he could feel some wetness on his member and the look you gave was not helping him more.

"You can do it by yourself, can't you?"

"Of course I can"

"Well then, show me" he whispered. His lips brushed your earlobe and he nipped the shell of your ear. "Let your hand explore under there, go on"

You took a breath and allowed your hand under the cotton. It is not the first time you have explored there you remember. It was a year or perhaps two but the curiosity was definitely covered by fear of touching something that might cause an issue. This time you were curious and your fingers moved slowly, the skin was smooth, and the particular wetness made you frown - a thing Benedict caught completely-

"That is you" he kissed your temple "And all that has the ability to give pleasure"

You kept tracing around and looked to your side catching Benedict close "I thought it was for breeding"

"Don't use that word" he ordered "It does serve to procreate but, there is something you will find down there, it is small, round, and feels like a button, do you feel it?" he saw the bulge of your hand underneath the pantalette

"Feels strange, it does feel round"

"Sometimes very well hidden if you ask me" he bit his tongue, his expertise in the female body should not be trailed by that tone "Touch it, do not push. Graze"

"Hmmm" You were sure you were failing; the sensation was not coming at all "mmm-"

"Remember that day" he said with a deep exhale "when you went with my family to see the spring coming to a bloom?"

"This season?"

"No, last"

"Yes, I remember"

"And you grabbed a rose so desperately and grazed the petal with your finger?"

"I wanted to catch its pigment"

"Graze the same way"

"Graze the same way" you repeated and tried, you really tried, his lips were on your temple, his breath was hot and the warmth was coming to the pit of your stomach. You finally did it and gasped at the sensation.

"There it is" he cooed staring deeply at your dazed eyes.

"Hmmm"

"Keep on going, love" he murmured

You could feel it now, the heat threatening to really make you explode. The thoughts, oh the thoughts were too much. How can your mind split into two? One part is here feeling Benedict's presence and smelling his masculine cologne. And another part is imagining what else is in store for you two with his hands gripping, with his kissing and nibbling. Nibbling.

"Oh" you softly moaned

"That's it" he encouraged you

The heat was there, it was about to come. The tension was rising and the knot was tightening. Your fingers kept their pace, the grazing was not enough anymore, it was becoming a pressured rub and you felt your chest rise with the intake of air and your eyes felt heavy. Rubbing became circling and that was it.

You squirmed and tightened yourself at the explosion of... of... sensations. The sounds from your mouth, the growl from your throat were so unladylike and you loved it. You felt your mind coming and going back to you. Your body was in control now as your chest rose and fell, your back arched and your legs stretched until the muscles ached.

"Oh" you finished the instant with a sudden chest heave and drowsiness owned you for a while that you blinked away seeing Benedict right there with a smile you know he only draws when success is in his mind "what was that?"

"An orgasm" he answered and kissed your cheek "Congratulations"

You laughed and quickly felt the wetness all over you, you previously said it felt clammy but this... this was flooded.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that" he shrugged "Maybe now, yes... but when I come into the picture I'll clean you up good"

"Why should I worry about it now?" you gulped and sat upright "If I can grab a towel and-"

"I was certainly not talking about using a towel" he outright smirked

"Benedict!"

"Yes, dear?"

"No!"

"What?"

"Don't you dare!"

He frowned, "Don't I dare what?" he adorably sat upright and rubbed his face "The things you do to me, woman"

"So..." you took your discarded gloves but didn't put them on "For you is the same? the orgasm?"

"More or less"

"And do you think about me when you do it?"

He stared at the ceiling and sighed "All the bloody time"

"All the bloody time?"

"Every minute, every second, every time"

"How many times a day?"

Benedict looked perplexed at the curiosity "None of your business, Miss Ashbourne"

"It is my business" you winced as you hopped to the floor "If I'm the centre of the illusion... do you rub too?"

"No, I stroke"

You grinned fiercely, the grin of someone who is not up to any good. You looked at your hand and innocently hummed "You know, Mr. Bridgerton..." you licked your palm and heard his gasp

"What are you-"

"Just a taste, just a small one"

Benedict was about to protest but the view was not allowing him to say anything. Why was he going to protest? No, he got a little devil in front of him.

"Can I get a hold?"

"Of what?"

"Of you!"

"N-no...!"

"Why?"

"Because we have plenty of time to do so" he said and watched your expression change "What is the matter?"

"Nothing" you shrugged "Let this stay in history as the day you decided to pleasure yourself one more day while thinking of me"

"Not fair"

"While I offered to make it true"

Benedict rubbed his face again with the thought of wanting you to mix your honey with his member and come undone in front of you but for the sake of the day, you have had a fairly lot of stress that he doesn't want to push you any further than he already did.

"You" he pointed, his arm straight to your playfully all-so-bratty expression "Will pay enormously"

"When?" you eagerly said

"I won't send you an invitation, just be ready because my love... I'll come"

Yes, literally and figuratively.

[zukosdualdao]

i promise i'll do better (i will soften every edge)

zutara month, day 11: "mom and dad are fighting again", @zutaramonth

summary: kya interrupts an argument between katara and zuko.

warnings: reference to (implied) abuse/domestic violence, wrt to ozai's treatment of ursa.

other notes: lyrics from 'light' by sleeping at last. don't ask me how timelines work idk. yes there is a zutara daughter named kya here (separate entity from the lok kya.) she wears her hair in a southern water tribe braid and zuko calls her firecracker and it’s very cute. not really relevant but in this story i’m imagining she’s a nonbender.

“Katara, you know I agree with you.”

Across from him, she crosses her arms, and Zuko sighs. The throne room is empty, save for the two of them, and Zuko feels trapped, claustrophobic in the walls. They’ve made a point of opening up windows in the castle, letting light filter in, getting rid of old, haunting portraits, and making something new and beautiful together. 

But the throne room doesn’t have windows to open. On a day like today, at times like these, it’s all too easy to remember the staunchly severe figures both his grandfather and father made here, walling themselves as they did behind high, towering fires.

Maybe they shouldn’t be having this talk here. It's too late now, but something to note for the future.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Of course I want to increase reparations soon,” he insists. “That’s the plan, and that’s always been the plan. But we have to be smart about this,” he tries to remind her. “We can’t do it all at once, or people will try to block—”

“Oh, so now you’re all about thinking things through! Those instincts could have served you well years ago, you know.”

Zuko closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. The words are biting, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Things have been tense again in the Fire Nation lately. Better than ever before in some ways. Worse in others.

The first years after the war were a turbulent time in the Fire Nation—riots from those not happy with the changing of the old guard, strikes from workers contesting the need to pay reparations to the other nations, whispers of loyalists to the old regime plotting to get either Ozai or Azula back on the throne. A few assassination attempts, all handled efficiently but reason enough for concern.

Ten years past the end of the war, though, and things have started to stabilize. The plan has always been to increase reparations once the Fire Nation’s economy has improved, and Zuko intends to keep his word. But part of the system he’s trying to build means that there are representatives from all over the Fire Nation, as well as the other nations, and they each have their own agendas. It’s a tricky thing to navigate; he has to take all of their concerns seriously, of course, but also act according to his own principles. To live up to the promises he made years ago, and that he’ll continue to make for years to come.

Katara looks at him with a combative raise of her eyebrow.

It’s taken a strain on their relationship. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, they’re both a little too good at lashing out, both a little too good at saying the thing that will hurt, even if they immediately regret it.

But usually, by the end of the day if not before, they can remember they’re on the same side, for all that their perspectives might differ.

“Can we pause?” Zuko asks of her, and her features soften. “Just—try to hear each other out? Katara, I understand…” but before he can finish, the large door to the throne room creaks, and Zuko watches as one of the serving maids guides their daughter into the room.

“See?” Kya points to them, eyes wide with alarm and lip quivering. “Mom and Dad are fighting again.”

Something in Zuko’s stomach drops. He doesn’t want her to worry about this. About them. He’d had to worry about his parents, to worry about his mother, Ozai looming over her, and sometimes Zuko was pretty sure he saw fear in her eyes where there should have been love, and then—

She’d been gone. And he’d drawn his own conclusions, quietly and with little reason to question them.

“She coudn’t sleep,” Hina says apologetically, and Zuko only waves a hand. “She was asking for you both.”

“Thank you for bringing her.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry,” Katara says, walking over and lifting Kya up onto her hip. “Things are just tense right now,” she says, with a guilty sideways look to Zuko, who smiles weakly. “It’s not anything for you to worry about.”

“Promise?”

Zuko walks over to join the huddle and places a kiss atop her dark hair, which is twisted in a braid. “Promise, little firecracker. Mom and Dad are just trying to figure out the right way to handle something.” He meets Katara’s eyes and tries to impress the sincerity of his words on her. “But we will figure it out. We always do.”

Katara smiles at him and uses the hand not keeping Kya secure on her hip to touch the small of Zuko’s back in a gentle gesture. The three of them stand huddled together, and for the first time in… weeks, probably, Zuko feels his body relax, just a little.

He smiles back, a little exhausted but a lot relieved—to have Katara with him, there to both challenge and support him, to have Kya with them, creative and funny and quick as a whip as she is, and at only age four. He’s glad to have his family.

They are okay. Right now, they are okay. Whatever else may come.

[iamthecomet]

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯: 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦

Day twelve coming as soon as I figure out what i want to write. Rating: G Pairing: Sunshine/Cirrus Words: 462 Mushy May by @forlorn-crows Divder by @ghuleh-recs

“Just wanted to hear your voice,”  Sunshine sounds exhausted, voice raspy with sleep. Cirrus can’t help the ache that blooms in her chest at her tone. The longing in it. Lucifer, Cirrus misses her. 

She settles back against the headboard of the hotel bed. Stretches out her legs, crosses them at the ankles. She holds the phone to her ear like if she presses it close enough it will make Sunshine appear. 

“It’s good to hear yours too, pretty girl.” Cirrus can’t keep the softness out of her voice, the reverence. “It’s really late there, isn’t it?” 

Cirrus glances at the clock on the bedside table. It’s really late where she is. She isn’t sure how many hours ahead Sunshine is–but it’s a few, putting her somewhere in the middle of the night.  Cirrus can’t keep track of the timezones when they change so often–but Sunshine can apparently. 

“Early,” Sunshine says like that makes it better. “‘S fine.”

“You don’t have to call me after every show.” 

“I know. I want to.” 

Cirrus closes her eyes. Cards a hand through her hair, still damp from the sad excuse of a venue shower. “Tell me about your day?” 

It’s a habit–a routine. It makes Cirrus feel like she’s home again when Sunshine talks. It’s like they’re sitting in Sunny’s room back at the Abbey. Stretched out on her bed, just talking late into the night, both of them stoned. Now, the exhaustion has to take the place of the weed–but that’s ok. It’s easy to pretend when everything is so hazy from lack of sleep. “I spent some time in Mountain’s green house today. Watered everything. The tomatoes are almost ready. And then I spent some time with Aether in the infirmary because I didn’t feel like sitting in the common room alone. We made dinner–too much of it. We can’t figure out how to cook for two people. Tell me about the show.” 

Cirrus does. And about the hotel and the city. She tells Sunshine about the weird snacks Swiss bought at the giant gas station they stopped at. She tells her about how she barely slept at all on the bus because Aurora and Aeon were bickering about something in the bunk below her–all night. As she talks, she feels her limbs start to get heavy.  

“Copia messed up the words to Square Hammer again,” Cirrus laughs softly into the phone. There’s silence on the other end. 

“Sunny?” 

She hears nothing except the soft sound of deep breathing. Cirrus smiles against her phone. Thinking about Sunshine curled up in her bed, phone cradled her to head–fast asleep. 

She presses her lips to her phone screen and hopes the kiss makes it all the way to Sunshine’s forehead. 

“Good night, pretty girl.”

[mcleavemealone]

I like to imagine the Oak family having a very convoluted and mixed language that's just a mashup of English, Spanish, Elvish, and Druidic that is absolutely indecipherable to anyone else that overhears it

[essektheylyss]

I am TIRED of hearing the whole "there is NO reason a paragraph shouldn't be more than four lines" writing critique. If Ursula Le Guin can write an asshole psychiatrist monologuing for a page and a half straight, it is FINE, actually.

You can have characters monologue, you can have a long bit of description, you can give exposition in chunks—the issue is when there's no PURPOSE to it and it's treated as a prerequisite dump of information rather than a curated telling.

As long as you're making choices about language and what is being conveyed so that it's relevant and matches the style, it's fine.

[kissitbttr]

nobody understands how you did it.

how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.

‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’

that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.

the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately

“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.

they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.

so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?

certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.

definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.

“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,

you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.

scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.

he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.

“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.

he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.

he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.

“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”

“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”

simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.

truly is a sight.

“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,

he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.

“you’re just so beautiful”

something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.

you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.

“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”

the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.

something you’d see when two people are in love. c

so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.

he found a solace within your existence.

only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.

vbecause you. are his home

[rinhaler]

DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[priniya]

˗ˏ` EMOTIONS! 🍵 ´ˎ˗

pairing. theodore nott x reader

summary. theo never handled his emotions right, and when his girlfriend shows up in a wrong moment, things escalate and theodore doesn’t know how to fix it.

THEO HAS BEEN A TICKING BOMB LATELY and you knew that. it’s been bothering you, but every time you tried talking some senses into him, he brushed it all off, saying something too stupid and reckless for you to hear, so the topic was dropped sooner than it was brought up.

it was one of those times again, when a recurring thought was planted into your brain that you didn’t know your boyfriend like you thought you would. theodore hasn’t been himself lately, which made you worry tons. he’s been smoking much more and getting into fights more often as well as getting into trouble with the teachers, losing the points for your house, which… well, you didn’t care that much about it. what you cared for was theo’s wellbeing.

since it’s been a christmas break, you had gone home to spend time with your family, which meant your contant with theo was limited to a few letters that he was doing somewhat fine, yet you’ve been smart enough to know that spending christmas with his father and grandfather could never make him feel fine, not even a little bit. it was the breaking point in you that you’ve decided it’s the end of brushing you off.

“riddle, berkshire – out.” you barged into the dorm, glaring at your boyfriend’s dormmates, causing the first one to groan in annoyance.

“jesus, can’t be in your own room anymore.” mattheo rolled his eyes at you, yet he knew it was coming, so he dragged his ass up, patting theo’s back. “good luck with that one, nott.” he muttered before leaving the room with lorenzo, who just sent you a sympathetic smile.

theo, on the other hand, just glanced at you for a second, knitting his eyebrows together. “what do you want, l/n?” he asked, his nose still burried in between pages of a book you gave him for christmas.

“oh, last name basis, al–fucking–right.” you grumbled, grabbing the book away from his hands, your body trembling with fury. you hadn’t had a proper conversation in over two weeks, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be a decent man towards you. “what’s going on with you, nott?”

“get off my dick, y/n, really.” he rolled his eyes, expression matching the one his roommate had a few moments earlier. “i don’t have fucking time for this shit.” theo added, clearly agitated.

“well, you want it — you have it, i’m not getting on your dick anytime soon.” your voice was thick with emotion as the mention of celibacy earning you a look. “i know something’s going on. i know that, because i’m your girlfriend and i care about you. just trust–” you started, but the sentence wasn’t meant to be finished, because nott cut you off.

“then don’t. merlin, i don’t need a fucking babysitter, hoovering over my ass all the time. you’re not my bloody therapist, l/n. i don’t fucking need you to stick your nose into my business 24/7.” theodore stood up, his nose almost brushing yours before you took a step back, startled at the sudden outburst. “and sex? don’t amuse me, for merlin’s sake. i could leave the dorm right now and find someone to bone if i wanted to.” his tone was harsh, while his words were like knives thrown at you as a reward for being a caring girlfriend.

your boyfriend looked at his knuckles, his gaze focusing on the ring as he begun to take it off, making your pupils widen. “go. give it to someone who’s gonna be crazy enough to put up with your obsession about emotions. i’m not doing that anymore.” he muttered, pushing the ring into your palm.

“fine.” was the only thing that came to your mind after his words. your body continued to tremble and at this point, you couldn’t have been sure if it was your annoyance or broken heart that he just broke up with you. “just keep your promise and stay away from me. maybe join the death eaters too, for all i care, you’ll fit in perfectly.” with that, you left his dorm, slamming the door behind you as you fought with tears flowing down your cheeks.

“troubles in paradise?” mattheo grinned at you playfully, not noticing your tears-stained face as you were storming through the common room to the exit of the room.

“go fuck yourself, riddle.”

it wasn’t even five minutes later, when mattheo entered his shared dorm, his expression utterly confused as his mind was doing its best to connect the dots. “what’s with that gal of yours?” he asked theo, plopping down onto his bed, lightning up a cigarette right after.

“she’s not my gal anymore.” nott mumbled in response, almost untouched by the entire thing that just happened and that took his best friend by surprise.

“what do you mean she’s not your gal anymore?” he asked, his frown deepening. “lad, don’t tell me she broke up with you, you love this girl to death.” riddle added, scanning his friend’s face for any sign of uneasiness or a clue to understand all of it.

“i broke up with her.” theo replied with a shrug.

“merlin, man, why?” mattheo asked another question, this time being left without an answer as nott shut the curtains of his bed, putting on a silence spell.

IGNORING THEODORE ALL WEEK HAS BEEN EASY as you weren’t in the same year as him. you’ve been grovelling inside about the break-up, but from what your mother had always told you, when you were younger, you remembered that all the teenage boys were shitty and you couldn’t — by any means — let him know how much hurt you were. ignoring him was easy, all because, in your eyes, he didn’t even take any effort to show you remorse for what happened, from what you’ve known, he didn’t even look at you once.

the worst part of loving theodore nott was not being able to brush off all the concerns and worries that lived rent free in your mind, whenever you’ve noticed him walking through the hallways. nevertheless, he didn’t want you to care about him at all, so that was what you were planning on doing. kept your head high and your feet steady on the ground.

what you didn’t know, was that it wasn’t pride that made him keep his eyes away from you, but guilt. from the moment he woke up the day following your argument, his organism was flooded with guilt and shame to the point, where he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror.

he fucked everything up just like his father always told him that he would. he broke the promise he’d made to himself that he wouldn’t drive you away, wouldn’t hurt you like his father hurt his mom, yet he did. you were the only person in his world that made him feel like a normal human being, one, who could love and be loved, but he had to ruin it all, because his pride wouldn’t let him to open up to you.

it’s been already a week since the biggest mistake of his life, as he called it, and theo’s entire body hurt. he was popping pills with blaise like candies, because sobriety and consciousness made everything worse. he couldn’t stop thinking about you — about your expression, when he broke things off with you, the hurt in your eyes and the way you were holding yourself after that.

people, not close enough to you, might’ve been fooled by the facade you’ve built around you, though not theo. he’d known you for years prior to your relationship, he’d seen you both happy and miserable and now? now, you were beyond miserable. you might’ve kept your head high with the biggest smile on your face, but he’s known. he always would — whether you wanted him to or not.

quidditch practices were the worst, all because you were always there, yet never watching him. it wasn’t even up to you to be there and theo was certain of it. you were there, so your best friend wouldn’t have to sit through an entire practice alone, while she watched lorenzo with starstruck expression all the fucking time.

“lad, you have to apologise to her, sort it out.” enzo sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “aoife’s worried about her. ‘m not really surprised, though, she started smoking weed on daily-basis again. aoif’s saying she can’t remember, when she saw her sober for the last time, but it’s better than bawling her eyes out over some asshole, aoif’s words, not mine.” having a friend, who was also somehow close to you and your best friend was a blessing in disguise. lorenzo kept him updated, not leaving out all the insults aoife lynch threw at him for breaking her best friend’s heart.

a loud sigh left theo’s lips as he leaned over the table, his forehead falling onto the wooden surface as he let out a groan. “i don’t even know what to do, enzo.”

“my suggestion? get your shit together.” mattheo chimed in, a playful grin on his face. “i mean it, theo. the gal of yours keeps showing up to my spot and i can’t deal with her tears anymore. get your shit together and fix it.”

“the problem is, matt, i don’t know how.”

the opportunity, although being totally… stupid, occurred at the end of another week during a game with hufflepuffs. theo’s entered another stage of grief and has been going around the school angry at everything. so, when the game came, he was playing rougher than usually, because he needed an outlet to the built-up anger.

of course, you’ve noticed. how couldn’t you? you’ve been keeping an eye on him for the entire two weeks. despite your promise to aoife, you couldn’t let it go. no matter who he was, your boyfriend, a friend, a stranger or an enemy, you couldn’t stop worrying about him and doing your best to look out for him. so… when he was forcefully pushed off his broom by diggory, you were running down the stairs before he even hit the ground. you needed to be beside him or it would kill you.

he was unconcious for almost two more days, making it a sixteen days without hearing his voice and you were going crazy, spending every single second, occupying the tabletop placed next to his bed. his hands in between yours as you kept it close to you. did he deeply pained you with his words? yes. would you let him be alone in the hospital wing? of course not.

“y/n/n.” he whispered suddenly, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.” nott let out and you weren’t sure if it was some kind of sleep talking or your delusions leading you on. “i’m so sorry, baby.” he repeated his words with a term of endearment, squeezing your hand weakly.

“theodore…” your words hitched in your throat as you moved the hair aside from his forehead. “don’t think about it now.” you whispered in a coy manner. “it doesn’t matter.”

“i can’t.” he coughed out. “i can’t stop thinking about it. about you. i’ve acted like a dick, but i didn’t mean it. you’re my world, baby, i’m so, so sorry. you were right all this time, i build up my emotions inside of me and let it get the best of me in the worst moment. i’m so sorry i hurt you, i swear i hate myself for—” he continued his rambling, slowly opening his eyes to have a look at you.

“hey, teddy, please, don’t think about it now.” you pleaded, still holding his hand. your thumb caressing his palm. “just rest, okay? please. we’ll talk about once you’re well-rested and out of here.” your voice was gentle.

he shifted in his hospital bed, hissing as his ribcage hurt immensely. “no, cara, please.” he muttered, bringing his lips to your palm. “listen, i can’t get over what i told you. i’m so fucking sorry, baby.” he whispered.

“teddy…” you started, but he cut you off.

“no. i’m sorry i said all those things to you, you didn’t deserve all the shit i gave you.” he let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “you need to hit me. for all the pain and suffering. oh god, and the tears. you should just kill me at this point.” theo muttered, and honestly? he did deserve the beating for what he’s done, but the three days of unconsciousness due being knocked off the broom, you could let it go. it could be his fate share of beating.

“just shut up, will you?” you sighed, planting a tender kiss on his lips. “we’re fine.”

[gi4hao]

☆ wonwoo x gn!reader — warnings: mentions of nausea

just wonwoo being completely whipped for his s/o <3

if there’s one thing both wonwoo and you are grateful for, it’s your ability to sleep with noise around.

the clock on your right is displaying 1am, and the last time wonwoo got up from his gaming chair was two hours ago, to bring you a glass of water and kiss you goodnight.

it hadn’t been hard to fall asleep, relaxed by the steady clicks of his fingers on the keyboard and the occasional whirring of the hard drive. but a queasiness seemed to have settled in your stomach, making it much harder to stay asleep.

without even looking at him, you know wonwoo has his headphones on. it’s no use trying to call him, and standing up seems a little too risky right now. with a heavy sigh, you turn to your side to at least catch a glimpse of his focused face and occasional nose scrunches.

“is everything ok?” he asks just a few seconds later, snapping a quick glance at you before looking back at his screen.

“i’m- wait, how did you know i’m awake?” you ask, and immediately notice how talking makes your nausea feel worse.

with a frown, you put a hand on your stomach, tracing circles on your skin in hope it might make a difference.

“i know everything,” wonwoo smiles, still focused on his game. “are you okay?”

“i’m not feeling so good” you reply, trying your best to be loud enough for him to hear you.

and he apparently does, since he lets his headphones rest on his shoulders as he slightly spins his chair to face you. with a worried look, wonwoo silently offers you to come sit on his lap like you often do, sometimes for no particular reason.

you’re quick to reply with a slight shake of your head, your face twisted in an uneasy expression. that’s how he knows you really aren’t feeling well, because you usually never decline this kind of offer.

“need some water? a pill? …me?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed after turning his computer off.

in lieu of an actual answer, you simply grab his t-shirt to pull him to bed, making him chuckle in surprise. and the sounds you hear next are more than familiar: him taking his glasses off, folding the arms and gently putting them on the nightstand.

your face is now inches apart from his chest, and you let out a content sigh as his reassuring smell envelops you in a tight hug.

“can i?” he whispers, his fingers slowly lifting the cloth of your t-shirt (well, his t-shirt actually).

you nod, and he lets his hand find its way to your stomach, careful as if you were made of glass. his palm covers much more surface than yours, especially when he starts to rub slow circles on your skin.

“this feels nice,” you hum, lulled by the steady lifts of his chest with every breath he takes. “i feel sleepy again.”

“good. try to get some rest baby, i’m not going anywhere,” he whispers again, kissing the crown of your head.

wonwoo had not always been one to openly express physical affection, which was okay with you. but the more nights you spent in his company, the more he offered to cuddle you to sleep. and it was often in the early hours of the morning, when you woke up with your limbs intertwined, that you realized just how much you meant to him.

“but what about your game?” you ask, looking up at him in an attempt to make out his features. “you were close to winning, weren’t you?”

hearing those words, wonwoo lifts his free hand to the side of your face, tracing a gentle line along your cheek. it that moment, it feels as if the room is filled with the warmth of his affection.

“i’m pretty sure i already won,” he replies, kissing the tip of your nose, an evident smile in his voice.

requests are open!

[strang3lov3]

Dirty Laundry

Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.

Tags - 18+, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation on a washing machine, dirty boxer sniffing (you fucking freak), fantasizing about a dirty old man, unprotected piv, creampie, curmudgeon joel talks you through knife safety, washing machine repairs, and overstim. 8k words, idk what the fuck happened. Thank you to @noxturnalpascal , @beefrobeefcal , and @papipascalispunk for helping me edit this monstrosity and @joelsgreys for letting me scream about washers and dryers for days <3 A/N - i have worked harder on this than my finals, but that should surprise no one. i only have one more left and then you should be seeing more of me this summer <3 i have a lot a lot a lot planned and I've been so excited to share new shit with you. Roman girlies, I haven't forgotten about you. He's up next. Anyway, you maniacs know what you’re here for, so please enjoy.

Joel’s best kept secret is his Whirlpool brand washer and dryer set, which is hidden deep in his basement. You stand before it now, loading your dirty laundry into it, using what is definitely too much of Joel’s detergent. 

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say his washer and dryer set was his best kept secret, until you came along and forced his hand. Everything was fine, and then you showed up, both yourself and your basket of laundry soaking wet, leaving Joel with no choice but to lend you a hand. Biggest mistake of his life. 

As great as Jackson is, it still comes up short sometimes. Not with everything; you’re beyond blessed to live in the safety of its walls. Just technologically, sometimes it can leave you missing the finer things. It's not Jackson’s fault society is twenty years into an apocalypse, thus running on twenty-plus year old appliances. The older ovens, refrigerators, and other appliances that were built in the seventies to the nineties or so are surprisingly doing alright, but the ones built when manufacturing began to take a turn for the worse around the later nineties and 2000s are beginning to crap out, especially the washers. God, you hate laundry day. The washers at the laundromat in Jackson always give you a hard time. Week after week, your chosen washer won’t start, or it’ll stop mid-cycle. The laundry attendant, Patti, often helps you wash your clothes by hand which is nice, but still frustrating for you both. 

On a busy and gloomy Sunday a couple months back, you were lucky enough to pick one of the less temperamental washers and hardly had to fight or beg and plead with it to get it to wash your clothes. However, your luck ran out when it came time to dry, your dryer wouldn’t run. Refused to start, even with Patti’s help. Worse yet, every other dryer was in use at the moment.  You were shit out of luck. Patti offered you a sympathetic smile and sent you home with a baggy full of clothes pins and a wagon to carry your basket of sopping wet clothes. The clothespins were a nice gesture, but didn’t help much as you didn’t have a clothesline. And - you had to laugh - most of them were broken. Oh dear, sweet Patti.

Once at home, you did your best to hang up your clothes on your porch, laying them out over the thick wooden railing, securing them with rocks. The wind was blowing something fierce that day, and then you felt it – a raindrop. And then another, and another. Before you knew it, you were caught in a torrential downpour, with your clothes blowing every which way. Working to gather your clothes as quickly as possible, you haphazardly chucked the rocks that were keeping them still in every direction, your neighbor Joel interrupting the task when he came outside and started to shout at you. Joel’s a man that can only be described as crotchety. A curmudgeon, even. 

“The fuck are you throwing rocks at my window for?” he shouted, but you couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind and the rain smacking your porch. 

“What?” you yelled back, “Joel, I can’t hear you.” 

“ROCKS,” he shouted again, “Why are you throwi–” Joel realized it was a lost cause then. He could see in your face that you couldn’t hear him, you looked puzzled and annoyed for a moment before you returned to throwing rocks and gathering clothes. “Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself. Through the pouring rain, he marched across both his and your lawns and right up the steps of your porch. “What are you doing?”

“I was at the laundromat and the dryer stopped working so Patti gave me clothespins but I don’t have a clothesline so I tried to lay them out on my porch with rocks so they could dry but then it started to ra–” Getting the picture, Joel had stopped listening to you and joined you in gathering your clothes tossing stones back into the rock edging surrounding your house. “What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Nothin’, just– come on. Let’s go – we’re goin’ to my house,” he answered, dumping the last of your clothes into your basket. 

“Why?”

Lightning shoots from a nearby cloud, with booming thunder following suit. Joel’s soaking wet, as are you. His hair was dark and stuck to his forehead, his thin t-shirt clung to his body, outlining his soft, pillowy tummy and belly button and his thick, muscular biceps. “Go, go, go,” Joel shouted, waving you away. “Just go. Move.” he grunted as he lifted up your laundry basket and hauled it across the grass in quick strides. He held the basket on his hip as he opened his door for you, guiding you inside with a push to your lower waist. 

Your shoes squeaked as you followed Joel through his house. He took your basket down his basement stairs, “Be careful for me, stairs are steep,” he warned you, “Don’t need you crackin’ your skull open. Got enough shit to deal with.” It was sweet, knowing that he was looking out for you – even with the irritation lacing his tone. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes as you saw what Joel had led you to. A washer and a dryer, olive green in color. He opened the door of the dryer and shoved your wet clothes inside it, then took off his own soaked shirt and pants and tossed them in too. “They’re clean,” he told you. 

In another lifetime where the world doesn’t go to shit and fungus is the least of your problems, the mundane appliances in front of you would be the very last thing on your mind. You’d be focused on Joel, watching rivulets of water slide down his jaw, past his Adam’s apple and pool in the hollow of his throat. You’d be tracing the outline of his body with your eyes, following that thin line of hair that spreads down his lower stomach, disappearing under his boxers. You’d be eyeing his thick bulge and the way that if you squint, you could see the outline of his cock. But in this life, in this moment – where the world went to shit a long time ago – you’re more amazed by the washer and dryer he stands next to. “This is why I never see you at the laundromat? The whole time, you’ve had a washer and dryer?” you asked, astonished. 

“M’not supposed to, but yeah,” Joel answered, shutting the dryer door before turning to you with his chin tilted down, eyebrows raised. Don’t you go tellin’ anyone, now.”

“I’m gonna tell Patti.”

Joel looked betrayed and puzzled. “I’m doin’ you a favor,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“You want me to dry your clothes or not?” You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as you shrugged. “Oh, Christ,” Joel grumbled under his breath. “Why the hell would you go and rat me out?”

“Because, Joel, ” you began explaining, “All of the washers and dryers are breaking and you’re hoarding your own? I don’t think so – if everyone else has to share the washers, then you do too,” you scolded. “It’s selfish.” 

“Life ain’t fair, sweetheart.” You stared at Joel for a moment before turning on your heel to go tattle on him, just like you swore you would. “Wait–” Joel grabbed your arm, stopping you. Despite being long gone from Boston QZ, Joel couldn’t quite shake those smuggling and bargaining habits of his. You were serious about this threat, and he knew it. You’d march your ass through the pouring rain to go snitch on him to Patti. And really, the worst that would’ve happened to Joel would be a scolding from Maria and the washer and dryer removed from his home and placed in the laundromat. It’s not like he’d be placed in a pillory and have rotten tomatoes thrown at him. But still. Joel liked his washer and dryer. He sighed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything, Joel. I just want to better our community.” 

Give me a break. “What do you want,” he repeated, his voice lower. 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, eyeing those pretty olive green appliances of his. It’s not a far walk to Joel’s house… And you wouldn’t have to wait in line to wash your clothes behind twenty other people. You did want to better your community, that much was true. But you weren’t opposed to bettering your own life. “Let me use your washer and dryer. Whenever I want.”

Joel was quick to counter in a stern voice, “Twice a week, tops.” 

“Three times,” you tried.

“Once,” Joel lowered his offer and then looked at you with his eyes squinted, his head cocked to the side. “Who does laundry three times a week?” 

It was a fair point. Even with your very own washer and dryer, you wouldn’t do that much laundry. “Fine. Twice,” you agreed, and Joel held out his hand for you to take and you shook on it. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm. In that moment you met his eyes, taking in the beauty of his face. Those sparkling, big brown eyes and the beautiful curve of his aquiline nose. Your eyes traveled lower still, and it hit you both at that moment - the realization that Joel was wearing nothing but his boxers, and that you were still shivering in your cold, wet clothes. Joel dropped your hand quickly and grabbed a clean t-shirt from one of his own laundry baskets on top of the dryer. “Here. You can change into this and toss your clothes in there too, f’ya want.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the shirt from his hand. “Do you have something to wear?”

“I’m a little behind on laundry, actually…” Joel trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. You scoffed and chuckled at that. The luxury of his very own washer and dryer, right in the comfort of his home, and Joel had the audacity to be behind on laundry. “Uhh, anyway. You just turn the knob on the dryer to ‘high’ and press the start button. I’ll give ya some privacy to change, you can meet me upstairs when you’re done,” he said, and then shuffled past you. 

Once Joel was up the stairs, you took off your clothes and put them in with the rest of the clothing in the dryer. You changed into Joel’s t-shirt, the fabric was soft with time and many wearings, and it smelled like him despite being washed. It was a muted teal in color, littered with a couple of bleach stains here and there. You liked it. 

Upstairs, Joel made a couple of mugs of hot tea to warm you both up. “Honey?” 

“Yeah, Joel?”

“N- no, like…Was askin’ f’ya wanted honey in your tea.”

“Oh.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Y– yes please. Thank you.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks. What a stupid thing to say. You watched as Joel stirred a bit of honey into your cup of tea, smirking as he then handed you the mug. Asshole. “Thought you were a coffee drinker,” you mused awkwardly, attempting to change the subject after taking a sip of the hot liquid, “You like tea?”

Joel grimaced in disgust as he took a sip of his own tea. “No. Just tryin’ to be polite for ya.” 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it, you know,” you smiled into your mug. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Aaand there it is. Curmudgeon Joel was back, Neighborly Joel never lasted long anyway. 

You sat on Joel’s couch, warming up with your cup of tea. Joel had noticed goosebumps on your thighs and pulled a blanket over your lap. He sat next to you with his mug steaming in his hands and just stared at you, not even realizing how deeply he was admiring the way his shirt hugged your curves just right, highlighting all the right parts of you. He jolted when he felt his cock thicken in his boxers, spilling his scalding hot tea all over his bare thighs. “God bless it,” he swore. Without thinking, he pulled the blanket from your legs and covered his own lap to hide his growing erection from you. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” 

“Nothin’. Just– m’cold,” he lied. “Jesus fuckin’- just - c’mere,” Joel huffed as he patted the spot next to him and urged you closer, then laid the blanket back over your legs. You sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh as you sipped your tea and Joel’s went cold. Dork. 

Moments passed. You sat in silence, the only sound was the rain pounding against Joel’s windows as your heart fluttered in anxiety, or maybe excitement. You might’ve even called it butterflies in your tummy. But you knew better. It was just the close proximity to Joel. And the fact that you were wearing his shirt, and he was practically naked. All of it pretty insignificant, honestly. It was basically nothing.

Joel finally spoke first, “Was thinkin’ it’d be best if you’d come by at night, when I’m on patrol or somethin’. Nobody’ll see you with your laundry and it’ll stay our lil’ secret, yeah?” You nodded, still a little bashful with everything that had happened. You aren’t often like that. It’s cute, Joel thought. “An’ you can use my detergent and whatnot. Whatever you need, s’yours.” 

“Thank–” an especially bright flash of lightning followed by nearly deafening thunder interrupted you. You startled and sort of hurled yourself closer to Joel, grabbed his forearm and held it tight. It was just a reflex, probably. Basically nothing. 

“It’s just a storm, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna bite ya,” Joel teases with a grin. 

“Oh, shut up,” you let go of his arm and missed the warmth of his skin beneath your palm almost immediately, but your longing for his touch was quickly soothed. Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side as you listened to the sounds of the storm together. You stayed like that, inhaling the sweet scent of him, masculine and heady. He smelled like the rain, too, and the hair on his underarms tickled your skin but you didn’t mind. When your laundry dried, he carried your basket home for you. You thanked him and moved to shut the door, but Joel stopped it with his hand, “Washer can be sorta delicate sometimes, so just be careful with it.”

“Noted,” you replied. “See ya, Joel.”

“See ya, hon.”

A few nights later, you returned to his home with your basket of laundry. Joel was gone, on patrol as he often is at night. Doing the laundry was uneventful , even though you probably used too much detergent, but whatever. Joel didn’t have to know. The next time you did laundry, Joel was at home. He told you not to worry about whichever nights you come by, that he’d always leave the washer and dryer empty in the evenings for you to use. He was even generous enough to make you dinner that night. 

It all worked out. Joel’s washer and dryer stayed unknown to the rest of Jackson, and your laundry was cleaned in a much more efficient way. There really weren’t any flaws in your and Joel’s system, as long as you didn’t include the one laundry night where Joel was gone on patrol again, but had come home just as you were leaving. You bumped into him accidentally, causing a lacy pair of your panties to fall right out of your basket and onto his shoe. He bent down and picked them up for you, not even realizing what he was holding. “Oh. My bad,” he blushed, once he recognized the garment. “I’ll just…” and put them back in your basket. From that point forward, he was always careful to stay out of your way. Aside from that it really did all work out. 

-

After loading your clothes into Joel’s washer, you shut the washer door and turn it on. You make your way upstairs and there’s a note on Joel’s table – Leftovers in the fridge are yours if you wanna heat them up.

Opening the fridge, you see a neatly packed container of what looks to be chicken and vegetables. Yum. God, you’ll miss these vegetables when it gets cold again. You take advantage of the offer and heat up the food in a pan on the stovetop, humming to yourself as you stir the food to keep it from burning. A light flickers above you. Weird. It flickers again, and then finally goes out. But it’s no big deal, you’ve seen in Joel’s basement that above the washer and dryer is a shelf full of supplies and you know there’s a couple of bulbs there. You go back downstairs where the washer hums, working its way through the cycle.

“Hmm,” you hum to yourself. You’d never quite realized just how high up that supply shelf is. And the bulbs are in the middle of the shelf, so there’s no good way to get them without climbing on top of the washer, which Joel would probably kill you for doing. He did ask that you be careful with his fragile washer, after all. Whatever. It’ll take like six seconds, tops. You hoist yourself on the washer and first try kneeling on it to see if you can reach one of the bulbs. No luck. You stand on your feet then, raising yourself up carefully, slowly, feeling the washer shake slightly beneath your feet. Joel would be absolutely irate if he saw you like this now. When you finally grab one of those light bulbs, you carefully lower yourself to a seated position on the washer to catch your breath. You’re not usually prone to vertigo, but Joel’s wobbly washer brought the dizziness on. You know better than to try and move right now, so you just settle yourself down to avoid fainting.  

The washer vibrates under the flesh of your thighs. It’s a gentle sensation, lessened by the angle you’re sitting at. But if you focus really hard, you can feel it in your core. Curious, you spread your legs and turn to the corner of the washer, tilting your hips to the floor, and oh, this is it. You’re not even thinking about potential consequences when you shimmy your shorts and panties off, then find that sweet spot once more. The metal of the washer is cool against you as it vibrates, sending sweet little buzzes through your hot core. You’re not quite wet yet, just enjoying the sensation. Letting it build and build, seeing where it can get you. You let your mind wander, not really thinking about much in particular. The low hum of the washer fades away in your mind and you’re starting to become wet. Shifting your position, you extend your arm to find something to grab onto when you feel fabric. Joel’s clothes. He’s still a slacker with keeping up on his dirty laundry. Usually it would irritate you. It does irritate you, this exorbitant waste of an advantage he has. You look at the shirt in your hand, the same shirt Joel had lent you. You think back to that first time you did laundry here at Joel’s, how he sat next to you nearly naked. The feel of his skin and the smell of him - sweat and rain and musk. And Joel being the beautiful, incognizant man he is, probably had zero clue of how sexy he looked. Or smelled, for that matter. 

With Joel now on your mind and his shirt in your hand, you decide to experiment, create a better ambiance. You keep those images of him in your mind, those feelings too. You remember the low timbre of his voice, the rain splashing against the windows, the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders. And with his dirty t-shirt clutched in your fist and its armpit pressed against your nose you remember his scent. Smell is a powerful sense, closely linked to memory and emotion, his shirt and what it’s doing to you is a testament to that fact. Legs spread wide, your hips angled down with your clit pressed to the corner of Joel’s washer, the machine vibrating under you as you inhale his scent deeply - you’re back in that memory. And then some. 

In your mind, your back on Joel’s couch. You can smell him, feel him, and if you really concentrate, you can even taste him. You’re on your knees and he’s drawing lazy patterns on your back as you suck his cock and fondle his balls, and he’s moaning, grunting and whimpering your name. He tastes like he smells, heady and all masculine. He grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, guides you to straddle his hips. His forehead pressed against yours, he notches the tip of his cock inside you and pulls you down slowly, careful so as not to hurt you but it does, of course it does. Not that you mind, you love the stretch and the ache of his thickness splitting you in two. You rock yourself, grind your clit against that unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock. You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re coming. 

You’re coming. Loudly, whimpering Joel’s name as you rut against the vibrating machine. As you finish, so does the washer. It sings you a little chiming song indicating the load is done washing. You can’t help but giggle at that as you bask in the discovery of this fortuitous delight. You’ve got private access to a washer and dryer and a vibrator now too? Lucky, lucky, lucky. 

God, Joel’s shirt smells good. You inhale it deeply, wondering if he wears cologne. It smells almost woodsy…smokey, even. 

Fuck. You’re smelling smoke. 

You pull on your pants and sprint up the steps, racing to Joel’s kitchen only to find that the chicken and veggies you were heating up are no more. They’re black and shriveled, cemented to the stainless steel pan, and there’s no salvaging that. No amount of scrubbing can erase your masturbatory mistake. Fuck, Joel’s gonna kill you. Your only choice is to conceal the evidence. Surreptitiously, you take the pan and hide it under a bush outside Joel’s backdoor.

You’ll be more responsible next time - yes, there absolutely will be a next time. Gas off before you get off. 

The next time came and went. And the time after that, and the one after that. Laundry was always your least favorite chore, but with access to Joel’s washer and dryer and this new trick up your sleeve, it’s not so bad. Getting off on Joel’s washer has become a weekly thing and it’s been lovely, relieving, dirty, and exciting, but you’d be lying if you were to say it’s been perfectly fine the whole time. 

You’ve been abusing the poor machine. It’s no secret. You get every bang for your buck out of the washer, taking full advantage of Joel’s twice a week offer and then some. Some nights you’ll sneak over and do an extra load, wash a blanket or something just to make the washer run for your masturbatory purposes. And so, the vibrating sensation the machine produces has begun to weaken. In order to compensate, you’ve been rocking yourself harder on it, which probably isn’t helping. But it’s still washing your clothes, right? 

…Yes. Mostly. It still washes, but it’s become sort of finicky. And the door doesn’t quite shut the way it used to, and it makes an odd noise now that it never made before. 

Tonight you’re at Joel’s doing a double load of laundry. There were no ulterior motives on your part when you came over, honestly and truly. Your first load is drying, the second load is in the washer. Joel’s home tonight, he’s gonna cook you dinner like he always does when he’s around. For such a grouch, he wears his heart on his sleeve. 

It would be more accurate to say you’re cooking dinner together. Joel came home with a basket full of fresh vegetables from the market and actually put you to work, his reasoning being that he was starving and wanted dinner ready yesterday, and that having your help cutting up the vegetables for the meal he was making would have dinner ready that much sooner. He places a cutting board in front of you and hands you a knife, “Chop chop,” he says, then laughs at his own pun as he rifles through some cabinets. “Missin’ a saucepan…” he mumbles to himself. Oops.

You start by peeling the carrots. As you begin to chop them, you realize he didn’t give you any sort of instruction. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“How small do you need me to cut the carrots?”

“Uhhhh,” he thinks. “Lemme see.” Joel turns around and watches you with a look of disappointment and repulsion painting his features. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” you ask defensively. 

“Why are you tryin’ to cut off your fingers?”

You look down at your hand holding the carrot and your other hand holding the knife, then up at Joel. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m not trying to cut off my fingers.”

“Sure looks like it to me. Is that always how you handle a knife?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “Why?”

“‘Cause you’re gonna cut off your damn fingers, dammit, that’s why. C’mere,” Joel stands behind you where you stand at the island, then lifts up your left hand and curls your fingers underneath themselves. “Keep your fingers like this,” he instructs. “Holdin’ your fingers out flat like that are a sure fire way to cut ‘em off. Now show me how you chop.” 

With your fingers in the proper position now, you begin to cut the carrots. They wobble beneath you, you hate the way Joel has you holding them. “This is uncomfortable,” you tell him. 

“You know what’s more uncomfortable? Missin’ fingers. Keep goin’.” You groan but keep chopping per his demand. He’s pressed against your back, one of his palms lays flat against the countertop, semi caging you in as he watches you work. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re makin’ me nervous. Gimme this.” Joel wraps his hand around yours on the handle of the knife. He moves the knife for you, cutting the carrot slowly, your hand securely in his. “You’re liftin’ the knife too much, sweetheart. Just rock it back and forth for me. Just like this,” he whispers, showing you how he rocks the knife in a fluid motion to cut the carrots. His hands are warm, his grip on your hands is firm. His breath is hot and tickles your ear, sending goosebumps erupting down the back of your neck. He chops the carrots quietly, and you feel him against you - the rise and fall of his chest and tummy with each inhale and exhale he takes, his wiry scruff kissing the side of your face. “That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl.”

Fuck. His words go right to your core. As if him holding your hands and caging you in to teach you how to cut vegetables wasn’t enough, he had to call you ‘good girl’ as well. That had to be deliberate on his part, you’re almost certain of it. And now you’ve got to pay his washer another visit. His fault, honestly. “Laundry,” you blurt out, pushing his hands off of yours and shrinking away from his hold. “Sorry. Gotta check the laundry.”

“Oh. Alright, then.” Joel watches you pace down the basement stairs and listens to you pretend to check on your clothes, opening and shutting the washer and dryer doors. He’s waiting for you to come upstairs, but you never do. “You comin’ upstairs?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” you call back.

“There’s spiders down there, you know. Big an’ fuzzy too.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you yell as you unbutton your shorts and pull them down your legs. “I don’t mind them.”

Your reply immediately has Joel feeling suspicious of you. Even a mention of a mere ant should have sent you running into his arms and pleading with him to get rid of it. On more than one occasion, Joel’s woken up to you pounding on his door in the middle of the night begging him to come kill a spider that’s in your bedroom. And he always does, of course, even when the spider is miniscule and simply minding its business in a corner somewhere. He’ll scoop it into the palm of his hand and set it outside in a bed of flowers, call you a wimp and be on his merry way, grumbling the entire walk home. He wonders why the hell you’re so brave all of a sudden. 

A loud, clunking noise interrupts the silence. “Oh, fuck,” you swear. And Joel’s deaf, but not deaf enough to not hear you. “What was that?” he calls from up the stairs. 

“Nothing!”

Joel knows it wasn’t nothing, it certainly didn’t sound like nothing. You quickly pull your shorts and panties back on when you hear him stomping down the stairs to investigate. Wracking your brain to think of a lie to tell Joel, you realize you’re fucked, utterly and completely. It would’ve been more appropriate to think of one before now, probably around the time the washer started to make weird noises. Now you’re faced with god knows what consequences. 

Joel greets you with a puzzled and angered expression. “What the hell happened?”

“I d– I don’t know. Just something… Happened, I guess,” you stutter. Subtly, you stuff the used pair of his boxers you were smelling down the back of your shorts to hide the evidence of your even dirtier secret. Joel sees that you’re avoiding eye contact, looking up and away, scratching your head. The silence hangs heavily in the air and Joel sees the guilt on your face and that your shorts are undone for some reason. “You have ten seconds to tell me the truth before this becomes a much worse day for us both.”

“Nothing happened–”

 “Nine, eight…”

You fold instantly. “I sit on it,” you confess, Joel exhales in frustration. “Sit? As in… this is a regular occurrence, you’ve been sittin’ on my washer,” Joel asserts. You nod in confirmation. “Why.”

 “I don’t know,” you shrug, another lie. 

“Well, how much have you been sittin’ on it?” 

“Just like…a lot, I guess.” You look down at your feet, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.  

“Why?” he asks again.

“It…uhh…sort of…” you mumble, picking at your fingernails. 

“Sort of what?”

“Vibrates.”

Joel’s face falls at the admission. “You’re not serious,” he says, but he knows you are. “Oh my god.”

“Stranger things have happened, right?” Your voice wavers as you try to soften the blow with a joke. 

“Unbelievable,” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “No. Stranger things than you have not happened, sweetheart.” After taking a few deep breaths, he pushes you to the side and reaches for the shelf above the washer for a toolbox. He takes out a putty knife and wriggles the front of the washer off, then drops to his knees to inspect the washer. “Did I not ask you to be careful with it?” It’s a rhetorical question. Joel groans when he sees what’s broken inside of the washer. 

“What is it?”

“Belt’s broken,” he answers. “You’re lucky s’fixable.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, it’s good you can fix it, right?”

 “Oh, no. You are fixin’ it, my darlin’. You broke it.”

Joel’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re putting his washer back together. “I don’t know how,” you tell him. You’ll make it up to him in any other way than this, but there’s no way he’s serious. Besides, he’s now the first to know that your track record with washers isn’t to be trusted.

 “I’ll walk you through it,” Joel replies plainly. “Get down there. On your knees, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at him. “Now,” he says, unimpressed with your defiance.

You drop to your knees in front of the washer, looking for the broken belt that Joel speaks of. You find one of the big and fuzzy spiders he was talking about instead. “Jesus!” you yelp, launching backwards and nearly knocking Joel over in the process “There’s a spider, Joel - kill it, kill it, kill it, Joel - kill it, please,” you beg. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, it’s harmless.”

“Joel!”

Joel nudges you out of the way to find the spider sitting right at the bottom of the washer. He scoops it into his hand, then holds it in front of you, “I thought you said you didn’t mind ‘em,” he taunts. 

“I lied. Get it away from me,” You shove him away from you, and he clutches the spider more carefully in his hands, laughing. 

“Yeah, I know you lied. You’re very bad at it,” Joel opens one of the basement’s egress windows and sends the spider on its way, then closes it and returns to you, first grabbing what looks to be a replacement belt for his washer from a nearby shelf. Leave it to Joel to have the most convenient yet obscure supplies right in his basement twenty years into an apocalypse. “Back to work.” You’re in front of the washer once more, and Joel takes his seat right behind you. “See that black belt at the bottom of the drum?”

“No.”

“This thing here,” he points at it with his finger. “Take it off,” You reach for the belt and tug on it a bit, “Gotta wiggle it a bit,” following his instruction, you wiggle the belt and it falls off the drum. “Attagirl. Now put this one on,” he hands you the new belt and takes the old one from you. “S’gonna be snug.”

You struggle to stretch the rubber over the drum and it snaps your hands when it slips. “Fuck.”

“Keep tryin’. Put some elbow grease into it, hon,” Joel hovers over your shoulder, just as he did earlier in the kitchen. “M’just checkin’ to make sure you got it lined up properly,” Joel tugs on the rubber belt, making sure it’s sitting where it needs to. “So tell me again how long you been doin it for,” he whispers. “Long time?”

You answer cautiously, “Uhhh…a while now, I guess.”

 “Yeah, I figured. S’it feel good?” 

The question throws you off, makes you nervous. But his voice is low and gravelly, and his tone isn’t pointed or accusatory. He seems curious, but for what reason, you’re not quite sure yet. “It does.”

“Better than your fingers?” Joel tightens the belt a bit and leans back. He’s watching you, but you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes. You gasp when you feel his warm palm sliding underneath your shorts. “What the–” Oh, fuck. Joel found his pair of boxers. He holds the fabric in his hands, a knowing grin on his lips. “These are mine. What’re you doin’ with my dirty boxers?” he asks. He doesn’t allow you time to stutter out an excuse. “You’re a dirty lil’ bird, aren’t you?”

“Joel.”

He tosses his pair of boxers onto the dryer and whispers in your ear again, “I asked you somethin’. My washer feel better than your fingers?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “Better.”

Joel hums in amusement. He slides his hand down the front of your pants, still unbuttoned from earlier. “Saved me the trouble, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” he breathes. Your breath hitches when his fingers find your mound, as he toys with the curls there. He traces over your lips, then dips a finger between them, circling your hole, then circles your clit. “Better than mine?” he asks, dipping a finger into your center and you moan.  He holds one hand on your hip as the other pumps in and out of your center, and you lean back into his chest, relaxing with his touch. You sigh deeply. “Don’t get all cozy on me, now. You ain’t done. Gotta put the front of the washer back on, should just click right into place.”

Joel pulls his hand away from you so you can lift the front piece of the washer. “It’s not–” you complain, struggling to click it into place the way Joel says it should. You push and push, but it doesn’t budge. “Joel, it’s not–”

“It will. Just try.” 

“I am,” you argue, shoving it once more but to no avail. You’ve grown frustrated by his washer, by the task Joel bestowed upon you in fixing it, and his teasing, too. In a fit of anger, you stand up and kick it.

 “Hey, easy,” Joel scolds. “Look, like this,” Magically, the front piece of the washer fits right into place, just like he said it would. He does nothing different than what you did, it just works out for him. Of course it does. “You’re impatient, huh?” he murmurs, moving behind you. You gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, tugging the fabric of both your shorts and your panties down to your ankles, he helps you out of the garments and tosses them elsewhere. His hands are on your hips again, this time guiding you, whispering, “Back, back,” as he positions you where he needs you, spreading your legs apart. You’re leaning on his washer and he’s on his knees behind you, using his nose to tease and part your slick folds. He inhales you deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your arousal before he tastes you. He traces your lips with a pointed tongue, up and down, before he dips his tongue into your heat, savoring you. 

“How ‘bout my tongue?” he purrs, whispering against your skin. You don’t answer, and it’s not like you could anyway, with the way he devours you. His arms are wrapped around your legs, his fingertips are digging harshly into your thighs like he means to bruise you, tear the flesh off your bones even. It’s possessive in nature, but not abusive or aggressive. You know his actions aren’t borne of anything except pure pleasure and you indulge in it, in him. He moves slow like honey as he tastes you languidly, kissing you. He laps your velvety heat, his tongue teasing all of your sensitive, slick flesh. Now and then the wiry hairs of his beard will tease and scratch your inner thighs, a sensation that tickles you and rubs you raw all the same. “Oh my god,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to take hold of his head, fingers tangling in his graying curls and waves. “Joel, oh my god.”

Joel takes your lack of a real answer to his question as a no, his washer pales in comparison to his tongue. Good. He bets you’ve fantasized about him, all those times you’ve used his washer for those needs of yours besides washing your clothes. And he bets that you probably grind yourself on it, picturing it’s his warm flesh beneath you and not the cold metal of the machine. He’d be right. He sucks your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his tongue. He nips at your folds, sucking one, then the other between his plump lips, then focuses his attention back at your clit. You’re moaning his name, the only word you know anymore. Joel keeps you still, held tight in his arms so that you can’t push your ass back and grind against his mouth like he knows you’re fighting to do. All you can do is take it, feel his perfect aquiline nose tease between your cheeks. He’s buried himself face first in your most private place as he consumes you voraciously, his tongue flicking and swirling and painting you. You’re biting into your own arm, seeing stars as you come on his tongue. It’s an elusive sort of orgasm, the kind where you don’t exactly know where it begins and it ends. All you know is that you’re sensitive, so fucking sensitive and Joel is relentless. Your knees buckle as he toys with your clit, gives you a break for a moment before he’s right back there again, continuing to eat you. He keeps going and going, repeating the actions over and over again just to make you cry and beg, “Stop - please - I can’t, I can’t, Joel. T-too much.”

“Know it’s too much, sweetheart, s’why I’m doin it,” Joel coos. But he obliges, places one last kiss to your heat, soaked by his spit and your own arousal before he stands up behind you. He wraps one arm around your stomach, pulling himself close to you. You can feel his hard cock against your ass, separated only by his denim as he uses his other hand to turn your face to the side, meeting him beside you. He kisses you, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, then feel his hand leave your face to reach for his fly. You hear him unzip his jeans slowly, and then he’s pulling his cock out, still kissing you as he lines up with you, first parting your thighs with a gentle nudge of his knee before notching his tip at your entrance. He finally pulls his mouth away from yours and gently forces your chest down toward the washer. He pushes himself into you, careful so as not to hurt you but deliberately so that you still feel that ache, the stretch of his thick cock separating your insides. Joel continues holding your body close to his as he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlacing his fingers in between your own.  “How about my cock, sweetheart? You like it better, worse?” he whispers, kissing, nipping at your ear in between words. He pulls out of you nearly all the way, then pushes back into your dripping cunt. 

You try to answer, “Bet - oh, ahhh,” 

Joel chuckles at the way he’s reduced you to nothing but broken syllables and moans. “Ohhh, listen to you. I think it’s better, huh? S’that what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” You nod frantically. “Yeah, I know, beautiful.”

His pace is slower to start, but it builds in quick time. You can feel he’s fighting with himself to be more gentle than he actually wants to be, his thrusts sloppier than he intends, like he’s losing himself in you. You’re lost in him, lost in the moment all the same. You take it all in, the lewd and obscene sounds of the pleasure he creates with you - his thighs slapping against yours and the gushing of your cunt on his cock. Your moans, your cries, all babbling nonsense. And Joel’s deep breaths in and out, shaky and stuttering as he does it. His grunts and his swearing, a whimper here and there if you listen closely. He fills you up perfectly, hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over and over…

“You coulda had me like this the whole time,” he pants, “Didn’t have to go an’ break my washer f’ya needed somethin’ more than those fingers of yours, sweetheart. Know you been needin’ some lovin’.”  He reaches for your breasts, squeezing and groping the flesh, twisting your nipples and smirking when you twitch and whine. “All you had to do was ask.” You don’t respond, but he doesn’t expect you to anyway. What he did expect, however, were your moans of displeasure as he pulls out of you. He knows, oh, he knows how empty you must feel, you poor thing.  He’ll soothe that. He flips you around, seats you on his washer. “I’m gonna make you come again,” he promises, “I’m gonna watch.”

 “Too much, Joel, I can’t,” you cry. You want to come again, really. But you don’t think you have it in you, still so worked up, overstimulated by the endless teasing of his tongue on your pussy.

 “Oh, don’t cry. You can do it, hon. You can take it,” he says, “Open up those legs for me, darlin’.” Joel pushes your trembling legs wide so he can slot his hips between them, then wraps your legs around his waist before sliding his cock into you once more. He thrusts just once, rather harshly, before he’s met with another rather loud noise from the washer. Joel halts and scratches the back of his neck. God, he hopes he didn’t just do it in. “Probably shouldn’t…uh…”

“Yeah,” you agree. 

“Did you use my dryer too?”

“Duh,” you answer. “How else would I dry my clothes?”

Joel rolls his eyes, “No, smartass. Were you usin’ it for your dirty work, is what I’m askin’.”

“No.” 

Still inside you, Joel slides you over to his dryer. “Good girl. Poor washer’s been abused plenty by you already.”  

“But I will,” You whisper defiantly under your breath, wrapping your arms around his neck as he adjusts. 

“Wrong ear, sweetheart. My right one’s deaf. I heard that loud and clear.”

Joel’s back to fucking you in an instant. He wastes no time in making good on his promise, thumbing your clit as he rolls his hips into you. “See, look at you. Takin’ me just fine,” he praises.The way you squirm and take your shallow little breaths fills him with satisfaction and delight. He knows this isn’t easy, that you’re tired and sore and overstimulated. He’ll be done with you soon. “Come with me, wanna feel you come with me, sweetheart,” he says. “Focus here, eyes on me. You’re gonna come with me.” 

It’s a few moments of Joel painting your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you hard and deep. There’s a push and pull to it, where you’re not sure who this is for - yourself or Joel. Just like before, you’re not sure where it starts and stops, but you’re there. God it’s intense, you’re gonna break and you know it. Joel’s got his palm on the back of your neck, squeezing you. His jaw clenches and he’s coming undone first, but he never loses focus on you. His thrusts stutter as he milks himself in you but doesn't yet stop - he’s making sure you’re gonna come. “C’mon baby, c’mon. Give it to me,” he says. “One more for me. Last one.” 

His words are all it takes. You whimper and moan, cry his name as you find your climax. Release washes over you the way waves crash onto sand - it’s repeated, the way the tides push and pull. Deafening. Powerful. 

But there’s a calmness yet. The rolling of his hips slows, slows, stops. He presses his damp forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay?”

You nod and smile, “Yeah, I’m good.” He smiles with you and helps you off of the dryer. Joel finds your clothes and dresses you in them, steadying your shaky legs. 

Joel tentatively restarts the washer. It chugs a bit, but makes all the right noises and he breathes a sigh of relief. You’re a bit startled when he takes you by the arm and marches you up the stairs. “New rule,” he says, “You stay with me when your clothes are washin’.”

You bite your lip to hide your guilty smirk. “Yes. Joel.” 

“And I still need you to cut them veggies for me, too.” 

I struggled heavily with this fic, comments and reblogs would be much appreciated if you were feeling so inclined🙏 they keep me motivated and I look back at your words when I’m writing to remember that I’m capable of pleasing you all

[fangswbenefits]

Comfortable

Summary: Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Fluff. Aftercare. Oral sex. Pillow humping. Innuendo. Mentions of masturbation.

Word count: 3.3k

It's a wavering sequence of whimpers that catches Astarion's attention just as he arrives at camp after a late night hunt.

The blood on non thinking creatures seldom presents itself as a decent meal, but he finds it unfair to depend exclusively on you.

The boars in the outskirts of Baldur's Gate are delectable enough to blind his hunger for a few hours – maybe a full day, if need be.

The camp seems peaceful and quiet with everyone still catching some rest after in their respective tents, and as the pale moon glows up high in the dark blue sky, he notices the dawn isn't breaking for at least a few more hours.

Maybe he can indulge in a trance to ease his mind and body after feeding, even though it's not a dire necessity.

But it seems that the night has other plans reserved for him.

His steps are light and sure, following the crescendo of sounds that seems to come from near his tent.

He would recognise that voice anywhere.

You.

As he draws near, trying to make out the origin of said whimpers, he vaguely wonders if you're having a dream.

That is the most reasonable explanation.

But then he hears what resembles a muffled groan.

A nightmare?

Instinctively, an eyebrow quirks as he approaches your tent.

And then he freezes.

Even through the obvious failed attempt at reining yourself in, he knows exactly what he heard.

His name. Muffled and barely intelligible, but his name, nonetheless.

An amused smile tugs at his lips as it dawns on him that you are indeed pleasuring yourself. Risky and unexpected, but beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Cheeky…

He could simply entertain this, and leave it to you to reach your peak on your own.

Unfortunately for him, he has just fed.

And unfortunately for you, he has every intention of interrupting your solo endeavour.

His usual cool body now flooded with the warmth and vigour that make it extremely easy not to succumb to your sweet and melodic whimpers.

As such, he tugs at the strings that hold both flaps together, successfully drawing a surprised gasp from you.

“You scared me!” 

He finds you propped up on one elbow before rushing to sit and pulling a blanket to cover yourself, a mortified look splattered across your face.

The sight in front of him is enough for the recently drunk blood to rush downwards at record speed. 

Predictable, but such is the nature of his body when it comes to you.

Flustered and quickened breaths. His senses are so sharp from the recent blood intake, that he can hear your heartbeat drumming fast in your chest.

By now, he knows you well enough.

So well, that he's sure he has just interrupted your climax.

The confirmation comes in the form of a low growl of frustration.

He almost feels sorry for you, but what crosses his mind is the offer of a moment of pleasure so great only he can provide.

“You were close.”

It isn't a question and he doesn't expect an answer.

But you're so visibly irritated that you scowl deeply. “Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you so much for interrupting.”

“My pleasure,” he retorts, knowing fully well he's about to set off a bomb if he doesn't choose his words carefully.

You have a temper he adores to test. He's used to dancing to your tune and knows exactly which strings to pull to get you riled up in ways that often lead to very enjoyable outcomes.

His cock welcomes your huff of annoyance with a faint twitch.

“Why didn’t you just… wait…” you almost cry out in sheer frustration.

He lets out a taunting laugh. “What, and miss out on all of the fun, darling?”

A dramatic pout settles your lips and it takes all of his self-control not to wipe it off your face with a kiss in an instant.

“How many did you take this time?”

It is a glaring taunt.

And your mouth drops open.

Maybe he should have eased his way in, considering the current predicament.

But the way your body is all flustered and heated from your own touch is enough to flare desire inside him. And whenever desire begins to swell inside him, the fine line between reason and pleasure begins to blur. 

Mostly because he knows he was the one on your mind when you had your fingers deep inside you.

Your eyes widen slowly, and you clutch the blanket closer to your lower half, still hiding the proof of your arousal from his prying eyes.

You don't reply at first, your pride keeping you silent.

But Astarion doesn't mind. In fact, he enjoys your resistance at first. Makes it all the more enjoyable when you finally give in.

“How many, darling?”

You frown, averting your eyes.

So stubborn…

His cock adores it.

“How many?” his tone is firmer this time and you slowly meet his eyes again.

“... two.”

He clicks his tongue, crouching before you. “Oh, darling…” 

Two fingers are not nearly enough to provide the fullness and stretch that only his cock can. But he appreciates your effort nonetheless.

It's quite adorable and enough to have his cock hardening even more.

Your fingers still glisten in the faint candlelight and he feels the sudden urge to have them in his mouth. He never tires of tasting you in more ways than one.

“You do not need to hide from me,” he says tenderly, but still not moving an inch. He wants you to feel comfortable enough under his gaze. “You've bared yourself to me many times, love.”

Still, you don't let go of the fabric, a slash of defiance crossing your face. “You took too long.”

Ah. “Did you miss me?”

You bite your lip, face softening as you nod twice.

And you were so desperate for him that you just couldn't wait?

Gods.

His cock stirs even more against his trousers at the silent realisation.

“And I am here now,” he says, dropping to his knees, as a wicked smile turns his lips. “So, allow me.”

He reaches out with his hand to tug at the fabric, silently looking for your permission.

A shaky sigh parts your lips and he spots a shiver as he pulls the blanket that keeps you from him.

His eyes drop to the sweet spot between your legs and he almost regrets having interrupted you.

Almost.

Your clit is so swollen it deliciously peeks from between your folds, parting them gently. It throbs faintly as he catches your clenching a few times, wetness dripping out.

After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring the twitches of protest from his cock.

He finds your half-hooded eyes. “May I?”

You hesitate at first, nearly pressing your thighs together, but he stops you with both hands on your knees, a reassuring grip that has you slowly but surely loosen up under his touch.

“You don't have to…”

No, he doesn't.

But he wants to.

In fact, he thinks he needs to.

He rubs circles along your flushed skin, wanting your full attention on him before he speaks, “I appreciate the concern, darling, but I'm impossibly hard and you look incredibly delectable.”

It's more than enough to have you yearning for more, as a surprise gasp parts your lips.

You finally nod, spreading your legs and leaning back as you settle on your elbows.

He offers a sly grin, lowering and positioning himself right where he craves to be.

But not before he eases some of the growing tension on his lower half. The blood coursing through his body is more of an inconvenience for now, and he's sure, under different circumstances, he'd have better control over this.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you're just that good for him.

You jerk slightly when his mouth draws near your slick folds.

“Wait.”

And he does, his concentration slightly shaken as he promptly scans your face for any cause for alarm.

“Just… don't leave afterwards.”

Don't leave–

Astarion's lips are so close to your clit, he has to pull back slightly so he can have a proper look at you, his hardened cock still straining against his undergarments.

“What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed. 

There is hesitance in your eyes. “You tend to leave after… like you don't want to be here with me.”

That sounds like a whiplash to him, because it is not true at all.

Your words take him by surprise  and he immediately worries he may have said or done something that could be interpreted as mixed signals.

“Darling, I–”

But you immediately shake your head. “If you can stay after… I'd appreciate it. Only you want to, of course,” you quickly add. “It doesn't feel right otherwise…”

It isn't a request. Nor a plea.

It's just what feels right.

He's done this many times to the point of instinct. It comes natural to him to please others. The aftermath, though, is something that he's also used to forgoing. The mess, the sweat, the fluids… the unnecessary and forced talk…

But you are different, aren't you?

You are not… the others.

And after all you've been through, he feels his mind nearly snap in half as he realises just how much he's still holding back with you.

Even something as simple as just staying still felt… tainted.

Slowly, he nods. 

And slowly, your lips turn into a tender smile that he's grown to adore beyond comprehension.

“I'll stay.”

You heave a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Astarion counters the impromptu detour with unmatched expertise, lowering his head and admiring just how eager your body is for him.

Before he drags his tongue along your folds, he slithers his hand down to reach for the front of his trousers, hurriedly undoing them.

It's his turn to sigh in relief as his cock is set free.

But now he misses the friction and the carpeted floor of your tent feels too rough.

His eyes roam around in search of something – anything – more comfortable.

And then he's caught off guard by your offer.

“Maybe this will help.”

A pillow.

He chuckles deviously, appreciating your creativity in moments such as these. Promptly, he takes it in his hand and positions it under him, his cock welcoming the soft surface.

“I adore that mind of yours,” he says cheekily.

You are about to voice a reply, but no word comes out when his tongue hits your entrance. 

Immediately, your hips buck and his smile never wavers.

He knows what you crave, but he will take his time even if you're already close to the edge.

After all, he's addicted to his devotion to you even if he never utters it out loud. He prefers his actions speak for themselves. Words are treacherous and deceiving. Actions speak louder.

And so he indulges in you. He indulges you, because that is what keeps him from reaching the frayed ends of his mind. 

You're what grounds him these days.

And he will ground you with him.

As such, he drags the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness and he only stops once it finds your clit.

A soft moan escapes your lips and he hopes you have it in you to keep it down so as to not wake the others. 

He locks eyes with you one last time. “Are you ready, darling?”

Your hips roll twice, but he knows you're not ready. You never are for the pleasure he offers to you so passionately. 

Another roll and he knows you're growing impatient, so he gives your clit a quick swipe of his tongue before he latches.

He doesn't begin suckling hard right away, as he needs to ensure he can steady you for what's to come. Both arms loop around your thighs and he allows his eyes to flutter shut, losing himself in you.

It amazes him how your body responds to him, and your hips try to find a desperate rhythm as if you're riding his cock.

The pillow under him provides enough friction for him to roll his own hips, eager to match your tempo.

He could feel the wetness drenching the fabric, but he can't bring himself to care.

Your hand finds his curls and he growls against your clit as you tug gently, but evidently craving more.

And more he gives you.

He's sucking more fiercely this time, taking his time to savour the swell in between his teeth. From this angle, he can feel your wetness coating his chin. He can't directly feel it, but he just knows you're clenching desperately around nothing.

Maybe he should take it slower.

Maybe he should pry you open with two of his fingers, even though you're wet enough to take a third one.

But the unexpected friction caused by the pillow is begging to edge him beyond belief.

Is it from the blood he drank? Is he just so ridiculously aroused? Why is your clit so swollen this time? Is it from his incessant suckles? 

His mind turns into haze and he decides he's not looking for any logical answers.

He simply allows his hips to move on their own accord, matching the face with each suckle.

“Astarion… Gods…” 

You're fortunate his mouth is kept busy, or he'd hurl a snarky reply. Gods have no place here. The delicacies of carnal bliss are reserved for those who tread the earth.

He's the only one who'd ever worship you, and you'd worship him right back, because that's how it's meant to be.

Precum drips from his tip at an alarming rate. He's too hard. He's too aroused. His body is seeking to be inside yours.

But he decided against it.

No.

He wants to see you unravel for him and in front of him.

His eyes open once again and he takes in the sight of your body undulating. Skin all flushed and eyes read to drop close as you near the precipice.

As always, his latch is impeccable. He never lets go and takes pride in leaving you dripping for him.

A few droplets run down his chin and dangle from it, bestowing upon him the most enticing silent praise he could ask for.

He knows you're close when your fingers close around his curls, desperately rocking your hips against him.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his chest and he's starting to struggle to keep his pace.

He has to find a way to still his hips before you reach your climax in fear you'll drag him along with you far too soon.

And so he does.

This time, he wants to see it.

He wants to see you as you come for him.

He's mostly perplexed that you found a way to muffle your moans, your shirt rolled up and captured in between your teeth, granting him the privileged view of your heaving breasts and hardened nipples.

Momentarily, his hips threaten to buck driven by pure instinct.

But he manages to hold back.

And when he's sure you're too far gone, head tilting back and legs shaking ever so slightly, does he unlatch from your clit.

He pulls back enough to witness the first sets of contractions course through your body. 

Wetness drips from his chin, and he can't tear his gaze from the mesmerising way your entrance clenches rhythmically before him.

He's felt those contractions many times. He is well aware of just how vicious and relentless they can be around his cock, never failing to draw every last drop of his cum deep inside you.

Your muffled cries and the way your hips still momentarily, are all he needs to get lost in his own pleasure again.

He props himself high enough to place his hips at the right angle, rolling them urgently against the soft fabric of the pillow.

He's so close… so deliciously close.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and the vision of you still writhing under him holds his gaze almost painfully.

Your fingers ease on his curls and he feels the familiar tightening of his balls warning him that he's about to reach the point of no return. 

It comes and overtakes his body so violently his mind blanks for a brief moment, as his mouth drops open.

He wants to groan and growl and hiss, but no sound comes out.

The friction is so overwhelming, he can't help but to lose balance, his lips finding your swollen clit once again.

And just like before, he latches instinctively and you try to jerk away from him, definitely being hit with a sting of oversensitivity. 

He comes undone, suckling on you harder than ever before.

Ropes of cum spill from him rhythmically, his own contractions taking over. He can feel the fabric underneath him drench with each thrust, and he vaguely wonders how much of it he still has left in him.

Your clit is now the only thing grounding him as he rides out his climax and, in the far corner of his hazy mind, he's thankful that you eased into him once again, granting him the solace he is seeking so desperately.

There's only so much he can withstand as his senses are flooded with overwhelming pleasure, and he finds himself unlatching and almost slumping against your lower abdomen.

He's spent.

Utterly spent.

He thinks he hears a tender giggle, but maybe it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

With effort, he hoists himself along your body, collapsing, the side of his face resting against your stomach.

He wants to say something, but he's rendered silent by the aftershock of his climax.

And that's when he feels your fingers again, raking along his scalp and through unruly curls. 

“Are you leaving?”

He says nothing.

Your fingertips work their magic along his skin and he's sure you can lull him into a trance if you so wished. 

You're too powerful and he's too in love with you to care.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is low and sweet and he hums in return, arm wrapped around your waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?”

Who's he to deny you of it? Or himself?

He's sweaty and his cock drenched in cum and precum and you're a mess yourself. Hardly the epitome of romance.

Or maybe he's wrong because when you bring a soft piece of cloth to his temple and drag it along his face, he suddenly gets it.

He finally understands why you want him to stay.

Why it makes sense.

His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your tenderness and adoration. 

You hum a soft tune under your breath, cleaning him up.

Face and neck first.

“Can you shift higher?” you ask.

He realises your intentions and lifts his head to stare at you.

“You don't have to.”

All you do is offer him a smile. Your smile. “I want to. Allow me, lover.”

No one has ever taken care of him. No one has ever bothered to. Not until you. 

He silently does what you asked, too stunned to come up with a clever tease.

His eyes flutter shut in what comes close to embarrassment. For some reason, he feels more exposed than ever when you wrap the cloth around his cock.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” you say, your voice but a whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Not with you.”

A hiss parts his lips as you tenderly take care of him.

Astarion rests his head just above your breast and 

“Do you wish to talk?” he asks.

Your lips find their way through his damp curls, placing a kiss atop his head.

“Do you want to?”

He chuckles, feeling his cock soften in your hand – definitely a first. “I fear I'm too drained to do so.”

“Silence it is,” you say and he feels your warm breath against his skin.

Not just any silence.

Comfortable silence.

The rare type old romance books mention in passing and that many seek to no avail.

But he's found it because he's found you.

Masterlist