#and they will come. and they will be wrung. and they will leave dry and drained of what they love

[sublimitymp3]

Do you, brother?

Pairing ✵ Aegon Targaryen/Younger sister!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, swearing, smut (Dub-con, p in v, fingering, choking, slight breeding kink), mentions of death, mentions of child loss, descriptions of birth, and heavy themes

Word count ✵ 2.6k

Summary ✵ The death of your son leaves behind a shadow upon everything, and after an overwhelming funeral procession for him, your evasive brother finally comes to you in the night.

Jaehaerys

Your little boy. Jae-hae-rys. The syllables roll off your tongue in a smooth manner, as they always have done. Sweet Jaehaerys. The very thought of the name conjures memories in your mind of the day you labored him and his twin into the world, screaming and writhing in pain as you felt as though you were being torn apart at the seams. He was a small, splotchy babe, who exited you covered in blood and wailing and squirming in the maester's arms. But even through your delirium and searing pain, you knew then what love was.

He was a precocious boy, eager to learn and to explore the world. "He has the makings of a very fine king," you recall your grandfather telling you once. The thought of Jaehaerys on that throne made your stomach feel uneasy, and the words loomed over you, lingering in the back of your mind and refusing to leave.

Even now it still lingers.

The once dreadful notion has been reduced to a silly daydream, for Jaehaerys will never be king. He will never grow, never explore the world, never ride his dragon, and you will never cradle him in your arms again.

It feels wrong to carry on. It feels wrong to do much of anything with the knowledge that your sweet Jaehaerys will exist only in memory now. Your mother tries to console you, to hug you in her cold arms, but you do not want her now. After all, what does she know about losing a child? The funeral procession your grandfather insisted on felt even more wrong than anything else.

Your son, the martyr.

Hundreds of the smallfolk clambered over each other to catch a glimpse of your little boy, and you. Your tears bought their sympathy and a new resentment for Rhaenyra, but it mattered little to you. They had sewn his head back on, you saw. It was an ugly sight, where black thread met severed skin.

Jaehaerys

How you longed to climb over to the cart carrying his body just so you could hold your boy one last time, but your mother's steadying and sobering grip on your knee kept you from doing so. "Deepest sympathies, my queen!" "Curse Rhaenyra!" "We love you, our queen!" Their shouts of support felt more like a ringing in your ear than anything. You didn't want this. You only wanted everything to be quiet.

You had a headache and felt nothing but exhaustion, and you couldn't even bring yourself to weep any longer. It was as if you were wrung dry. You cursed under your breath at the seemingly endless flights of stairs in the Red Keep, for all you wanted to do was to go and lay in bed. But then you saw him. First, you saw his hair, hair much like yours, only it was messily cropped short. Next was his eyes, violet in color and mirrors of your own. The scowl upon his handsome face, well, you didn't care for it, but you couldn't pry your eyes away. You found yourselves gawking at each other on the stairwell, and only then did you remember how much Jaehaerys looked like Aegon.

"Your grace, I-" Is all you can say before Aegon quickly turns away from you and hurries down the steps. You stand there, watching as the head of silver hair swiftly disappears from your line of sight. You snap your mouth close, pressing your lips into a firm line and continuing up the stairs. 'Foolish girl, when has he ever confronted anything in his life?' you cannot help but think.

You don't see your husband for around two weeks. Fleeting glimpses in the hallways, mentions of him from your mother, and murmurs about the king from the courtiers are all you have of him during that time.

As you prepare yourself for bed, you try to banish all thoughts of him from your mind to get some semblance of much-needed sleep. The nights seemed so long and torturous now, and yet you hardly could find sleep no matter what you did. Tonight was the first night in what seemed like centuries that you finally felt tired, and you wasted no time settling into bed to drift into a slumber.

You dream odd things, nonsensical things you'll forget when you wake, mostly. And even more odd, you begin to dream of Aegon. Of his strangely soft hands on you, of him pushing your nightdress up to your hips, and of him maneuvering you onto your back. It feels real, but you know it isn't. He won't come near you, no, not now. But even your mind begins to suggest otherwise.

With an irritated whine, you feel yourself being pulled from your sleep. It is only when you open your eyes to curse at what you assumed was a maid disturbing you, that your assumptions are quickly proven wrong.

Aegon is on top of you, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. Salty, hot tears drip from him onto your face, and his hand clamps down over your mouth before you can question him. You must make a face unwittingly, for he begins to speak,

"Shh, shh, it's alright, it's just me...just me," Aegon soothes, and you smell the wine on his warm breath. He's drunk. Or at the very least near drunk. "I-I am sorry, sorry for you, sorry for our boy. Oh, my poor son," his words are ever so slightly slurred, and he retracts himself to sit on the edge of the bed and weep in his drunken stupor.

You sit up, a bit startled to discover your nightgown bunched up by your hips. Your smallclothes were even pulled down a bit, but not fully. You realize now what he was attempting to do, and you can only sit in a tense silence with him. "He was my son too, you know," he mumbles like a petulant child, once he catches a glimpse of your resentful face.

"I grieve him just as much as you, mayhaps even more. He was my heir, my only heir," his words linger in the stagnant air, not sitting well with you. His gaze unnerves you even more, staring at you expectantly. The implications in his voice are clear to you; he means to beget another heir.

"Take another wife then, I am tired," The brazen words escape you (before you can think) in a whisper, and you lay back down, wasting no time to turn your back to him. "I don't want to again, I can't again. No more, Aegon." and you close your eyes, letting your tears roll down the side of the face.

You refuse to subject yourself to it all over again. To the aches, the uncomfortable swell of your belly, and the terrible pain birth brought. You know what it will all end in. It's a deep knowledge that has burrowed itself between your bones, embedded itself in your brain, and wrapped around your heart.

The Stranger will come for you all, surely.

The bed dips again as he shifts himself closer to you, and he grabs your shoulder in a bruising grip to turn you onto your back. His face gets so close to yours that the tip of his nose nudges your own, and you feel his warm breath fanning against your lips.

"I wasn't asking what you thought of it. You're my wife, my little sister. You were born for me to have. A king needs an heir, surely you understand that? You're not a stupid girl," he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, mockingly, almost.

He manages to wedge himself between your thighs, and you feel his wandering fingers pull down your smallclothes. "Aegon-" "Don't say a word, don't say a damn thing," he interrupts, irritated by your unwilling mood. "Wouldn't it be nice to have another little babe to rock in your arms? Hm? We'll make more, yes? Enough to fill this fucking castle," Aegon grunts, pushing his fingers past your folds. A whine involuntarily escapes you at the invasive feeling, and even more so as he pumps his fingers in and out.

In and out, in and out, in and out.

You feel your body give into his ministrations and get wet. 'Betrayal,' you think. A pleased hum escapes from him as you leak onto his fingers, and you feel your cheeks burn with shame. This isn't right. No, no after what has happened.

"You weep down here too, did you know, sweet sister?" He mumbles, pulling his fingers out of you just to drag them along your dripping folds. A shiver runs up your spine at his actions, forcing you to bite your tongue to muffle any noises. You don't want him to hear you. You don't want to give him that satisfaction.

He fully retracts his fingers, and you know what is next. He undresses himself quickly, untying his breeches and tunic with a practiced speed before pulling your nightdress off of you, leaving you vulnerable and cold. He chuckles at your little shivers and the way you wrap your arms around yourself protectively. "Shh, do not worry, you'll be warm soon enough," he laughs as if this is a lighthearted moment between two lovers. Your stomach churns slightly.

"You're so beautiful, you know. I've never thought otherwise. So pretty like this, all for me," he whispers against the shell of your ear as he lines himself up with your cunt.

The burning stretch of the intrusion is what you feel first. It has been long since he bedded you, and your body had forgotten the feel of him. "F-Fuck, how are you so tight? Like you're trying to squeeze me to death," he groans against your neck, before suckling bruises into your soft skin. He bottoms out completely, and you feel his tip brushing against your sweet spot.

It's overwhelming for you. It's too much. You close your eyes and let your mind drift to happier days. Days long before you called Aegon husband, days when you would play with your sister by your mother's skirts. Days when the most daunting task was getting out of bed or letting the maids bathe you. It almost brings a smile to your face. Almost.

Your blissful daydreams and nostalgia are interrupted by Aegon gently slapping your cheek repeatedly, rudely reminding you of where you are now. "Hey, hello, where are you? Look at me, for fucks sake," he grumbles, slowing his thrusts you only now are noticing. He grips your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his familiar violet eyes.

It's cruel to have to stare into your own eyes while this happens, you think.

"Don't do that again. Think of me," he whispers against your lips, his voice a bit shaky and heavy with lust. "Only me, and this."

His thrusts resume, and his lips are soon pressed against yours. He kisses you with a greedy, bruising force as if he's trying to devour you whole.

"Messy girl," he muses as he wipes drool off your chin with his thumb, and the action is oddly tender to you. The tip of his cock keeps brushing against your sweet spot, making your mind turn to mush and your legs turn to jelly.

You hate how Aegon has this talent to make your resolve slip with only a few touches and kisses. You could be upset with him for weeks on end, and yet all he had to do was hold you down and you'd soon forget whatever grievance you held against him.

"A-Aegon, brother, please-" you whine, even more so as he maneuvers your knees to press against your chest. He holds you down like this and the new angle allows him to push further into you. The sound of skin against skin reverberates in your chambers around you as he drives into you at a faster pace.

"Stay still, stay still. Quit squirming, don't you trust me, sweet girl?" He huffed, still irked by your light resistance. His hand reaches back down to your weeping cunt, and his thumb rubs gentle circles into your bud. The added stimulation makes you cry out with overwhelming pleasure, and you feel like your very bones are gyrating.

"There we go," he smirks, dragging out his words. He's found the combination that makes you fall apart around him and he finds it satisfying. "You like that, don't you? 'Course you do, sweet girl. You were made for me, made to take my cock and bear my children. You were born to be mine. Nothing more, nothing less," He groans, his own peak beginning to build up.

His words ignite a fire in your belly, and it feels so wrong. His words are mocking, demeaning even, and on any other given day and situation you'd have retorted and isolated yourself from him until you calmed down. But this night was not simply any other night. His words and his movements bring you closer and closer to the edge, and the coil in your belly tightens up as it prepares to snap.

"Aegon, gods, keep going, please don't stop-" you moan, lost now in the bliss of it all. You selfishly buck your hips against his, desperate for your own impending release.

"I got you, pretty girl. Go on, let go for me, sweet sister," and with his words, the tightly wound coil in you snaps. It is a white-hot pleasure that wracks through your body, and you feel as though you are floating.

You come to when you feel Aegon increasing the pace of his already rough thrusts. He is close, you can tell. You have no strength to tell him to pull out, to beg him not to finish inside. He's fucked you too good for that. Maybe that was his plan after all, you think.

"F-Fuck, I'm so close, sweetling. I'll fill you up, make sure you're nice and full with my seed. In nine moons time, we'll have another little boy, hm? Another silver-haired beauty," he pants, before his grip that still pushes your knees against your chest tightens. He brings one hand to squeeze around your throat, and you feel his fingers dig into the sides of your neck. There will be a bruise there in the morning, no doubt.

His movements are rough and fast as he chases his release, and soon, his steady pace falters and his hips stutter to a halt. "Gods be good," he moans, slumping over to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Spurts of his warm and sticky seed coat your velvety walls, a familiar feeling. Surely you will be with child by the next month.

Exhaustion is what you feel. Exhaustion, and a pang of sadness in your heart. Another babe you will have to labor into the world, another pawn in this war. Another victim of this needless bloodshed, as brother and sister tear each other apart.

Aegon gently kisses your lips, rubbing your stomach with his hand, no doubt imagining you are pregnant already. "I love you, I really do." He whispers, holding you close and breaking you from those thoughts of impending doom.

Violet eyes meet violet eyes, and you gaze upon his features that are not dissimilar to your own. The very same blood that runs through you, runs through him. The same blood that ran through your son, you think. You do not know what to make of his drunken declaration, and it is like your body speaks for you then;

"Do you, brother?"

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[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x female reader / 18+

Everything was fine.

Your phone was quiet, but that didn’t mean anything. You would wait. You’ve waited before.

Sometimes it took a while for them to ring. They had a life together, a home, things to take care of. They had lives to rebuild every time they touched down, got home, got out of their work clothes. Pieces to patch, blood to wash clean.

You weren’t their girlfriend. They aren’t beholden to you, there’s no sacred vow tethering the three of you, no promises or pledges. You don’t know Johnny’s middle name, or Simon’s, anything about their families, their private lives. You barely knew about their jobs, only holding the scraps tossed to questions lobbed back and forth across pillows. They leave little marks across your mind, little spots of scars, knowledge scratched into your skin, sunk into your body, but never too much.

You weren’t a part of their life, really.

You were a part of the dark hours. The soft ones. You were in the orange rays of sunlight cresting over the city, and the emerald abyss of pitch black night. You were the flickering yellow street light, the grey blue smoke of Simon’s cigarette. The in between. Here in the moment, gone with morning.

For months, you had spent their time home pressed between them, folded beneath them, balanced above them. They made you sing. Made you scream, made you cry.

But most of all, they made sure-

you understood the status quo.

“Say it.” Simon cradled your jaw, thumb and finger full of steel, like he was oblivious to Johnny beneath you, his cock sliding in and out of your body, his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, your back to his chest, eyes wide and mouth agape, Simon did not flinch.

“I- I’m not-“ a gasp, a groan, words bitten off when Johnny strokes faster, curved deep against the spot that makes you see stars. Sweat builds across your skin, slicking down your spine, and Johnny chases it, tongue sweeping salt clean. You swallow to try again. “I’m not- not yours.”

“Not ours.” Simon’s fingers wrapped around the engorged length of his cock, stroking leisurely, eyes half lidded. “You’re not ours, sweet girl. But we’ll take care of you, when you’re here.”

So, you fell into it. Fell into them. Got comfortable waiting for the phone to ring, going weeks or months at a time- holding your breath. You got into a rhythm, syncopated behind the swell of their voices, their bodies, their souls. Along for the ride. A passenger.

It was fine. You weren’t looking for anything serious anyway. Maybe someone to hang out with here and there, grab a drink, have some fun. All of these things, they gave you. All of these things were provided. Granted, you only went out with them to a dive around the corner, a dark, bottomless place with tar licked floors and worn away wooden bar. The kind with dusty stained glass pendants swinging over pool tables that have seen better days, wrought iron back patio furniture that squeaked when Simon would pull you onto his lap and hook the hem of your panties to the side to stare at your pussy, hungry and desperate glint in his gaze under the silver glow of moonlight. He’d flip up your dress and stroke you with the back of his knuckles, just the down the seam, cooing, telling you how lovely you look, asking how much you missed them.

They never took you out for meals, or dates, or anything like that. They kept you in bed, buried beneath them, wrung out, drained dry. They took and took and took until you had nothing left to give. They’d feed you, make you come, fill you up and put you to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

And it was all… fine.

Even tonight was fine. Johnny had emailed, said they were back in service range and they’d be around soon, if you weren’t busy. Typically, a phone call came later. Late, in small hours, when half the city slept.

So when you fell asleep to nothing, you weren’t surprised. They’d catch up with you.

They always did.

You didn’t hear from them the next day. You forced it away easily, didn’t let the unease nag at you, pasted a smile on your face for your friends when you agreed to meet them for dinner.

No strings. You’re not their girlfriend, you’re not theirs. You’re cool. It’s cool. You’re fine.

Besides, your friend had gotten a reservation at a very nice restaurant in one of those shiny new hotels that just went up.

You shoved the boys from your mind.

You were the cool girl. You were unaffected.

You’re fine.

“So how’s work?”

“Oh, it’s fine. You know, same shit different day.” You roll your eyes, touch light on the thin stem of a wine glass. The red is a shade darker than your nails, and your lips, and it tastes like sweet cherries soaked in acid. Stringent. Sweet. You’re about to reciprocate the question when the bulk of a man catches your eye, handsome width of a shoulder you’d know from a mile away.

Interest in your friend’s conversation evaporates, and your tongue turns tarnished, sticking in the back of your throat like an overgrown thorn.

It’s Simon. Your heart pounds, and you drink in the sight greedily, elated to see him outside of their flat, or in the bar. Thrilled to get a glimpse of him in the real world, in a restaurant, a real, tangible place, in a real, tangible moment.

“I’ll… be right back.” You manage, slipping from the both to the wall, openly gaping across a room full of diners. As he moves, you mirror it, coming closer and closer to a hallway, a lead off down to the bathrooms.

“Simon.” His name slips from your lips without permission, a build up of excitement and anxiety, all twisted into one heap that darts out in front of your intentions, your resolve. Not cool.

You expect him to be surprised, certainly. You expect to see that small spark, the little fire burning behind his irises, expect him sweep the length of your body.

You don’t expect the surprise to be blanketed with the white fog of indifference. The grey slab of a stone wall.

It confuses you. Startles you. And when you take a step-

Johnny turns the corner, an arm slung around the waist of a pretty, thin, blonde.

His lips part, brows knitting together in slow motion. The girl, their date, it seems, is oblivious. She only bats her eyelashes at Simon and then gazes up at Johnny, sweet and hopeful.

You turn cold. Your fingers go frigid, ice cracking through your veins and attacking your heart, slowing your pulse.

The room spins.

And you’re alone in it. Dining room chatter falls away, drowned out by the thrumming between your ears.

You’re alone. Alone, staring at them, trying to piece it all together, trying to breathe, trying to be-

Cool.

“I uh…” You teeter, precarious in your shoes that now feel like a mistake, like your dress is a mistake, being here is a mistake, getting up from the table-

You’re not their girlfriend. You’re not theirs.

“I’m just gonna… go.” You begin to backpedal. Johnny says your name, says it quietly, and takes a step, lurching forward, an animated corpse seeking its last meal.

“Bonnie, ye-“

“I’ll see you around.” You blurt, stepping back out of reach. Johnny’s fist clenches, and he casts a dubious glance towards Simon, who’s tense and focused on you. “See ya.” You croak, and then spin on your heel, trembling all the way out the door and into the cold, crisp air.

Very uncool.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 4) part 1, part 2, part 3

-

You remember the lock turning on the door of another room.

Ice flooding your veins. Heart suddenly tripling in speed, flush against your breastbone, close to snapping your ribs and pumping right out. A man standing in front of the locked door, barring your only way out. Petrified, but not confused; it’d always been an inevitability, something you’d long been waiting to happen, but hoping beyond hope that maybe you’d skirt by it unscathed. 

You’re in a bedroom, but you’re also in a study hundreds of miles away, cabinets along the walls filled with jade carvings and porcelain trinkets, bookcases filled with untouched first editions with the spines still stiff, a leather chair tucked into wide mahogany desk, and a grandfather clock ticking ominously in the corner. And you’re watching a man come into the room and lock the door, shutting you both inside. 

There is a bust of the same man in the corner of the room. When you sink into the memory, your eyes drag there and hold.

“Honey? Honey, are you alright?”

You come back to yourself at the sound of another man’s voice. When you blink, the memory leeches out of the corners of your eyes and you find Price looking down at you with some concern, a slight furrow between his brows. You shudder out the memory until it’s wrung out, until you’re dry of it. Sweat cools on the back of your neck. There’s a tremble in your hand that you notice when you go to rub your forehead, a shake that even Price notices, taking your wrist and pulling it to his chest.

There is no bust in the corner of the room here. The man that locked the door holds your wrist tenderly to his chest and waits for you to answer, his lips still sloped down. The black spots fade from your vision one by one, panic retreating back into your bones. It leaves a too big hole inside of you. 

You know it’s still within you. It slumbers in the marrow of your bones; it cowers in there, sometimes close enough to kiss or close enough to cradle your head and crack it against the nearest ledge. 

“Honey?” he asks again. The deep tenor of his voice moves something back to life inside of you, as much as it pains you to admit. Even to yourself. 

You blink up at him, only realizing how dry your mouth is when you croak out, “I’m—I’m alright. Apologies.”

He doesn’t seem much convinced. Perhaps he has a right to doubt your words. You can’t see the tormented thing staring back at him. 

“I’ve given you a few too many frights today,” Price sighs, head dropping towards you, like drawing a curtain around the two of you. “Thought maybe you needed a bit of a push, but you’re not quite there, darling, are you?”

“Not where?” you ask, lost. “Where am I not?”

For once, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t try to force his vision into your head. It shocks you when he dips his head to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for several moments. Breathing you in. You let him linger there, half-curious yourself, a softness suffusing into you like breath. 

“Are you hungry enough to eat? Or straight to bed?”

His words give you a nervous thrill, but when you catch his eye, there’s nothing to read there. Absent of double meaning. He’s asking you if you’re hungry and if you’re wanting to eat. 

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m still…well, I’ve had a bit of a cramp all afternoon. I don’t think I’m up to eating.”

“Not even tea or cake?”

The thought intrigues you, but not enough for your stomach to untwist. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

He hums against your forehead, then presses another kiss there, then a third on your temple, breathing out a puff of air that blows across your face and tickles your nose. “Not hungry for anything then,” he surmises, and you hear it there, the silvery flipside of an innuendo. You scrunch up your nose and flinch when he chuckles. “How about just a bath then? And then we’ll tuck in for the night.” 

“That sounds nice. Do you, um…I could help if you want?"

“Already fetched the water earlier today. Wash tub’s downstairs. You can stay here or come down and wait until the water’s warm.”

Finally, he pulls back and puts some space between the two of you. Something buried deep in your chest clicks when he unlocks the door and steps out. You try not to look at it too hard. 

You follow him downstairs, more out of habit than anything. With the water already fetched from the well and Price starting a fire to heat it up enough for a warm bath, there’s not much for you to do besides wait, but you join him downstairs anyway, taking the time to look around. 

“Toothpowder, brushes, and mint are in the drawer under the sink if you need any,” Price tells you. You don’t bother with the mint, but you use the rest to clean your teeth in the bathroom sink, a bowl of water already waiting for you to help rinse your mouth. You rethink the mint afterwards, chewing on a couple of leaves to rid your mouth of the chalky aftertaste. 

It takes awhile to heat up enough water for a bath, giving you time to peruse the rest of the house. After spending the bulk of your day locked up in his room, it’s nice to stretch your legs and move about. The rest of the house is fairly typical, barebones; Price heats up the water in a stone fireplace in the main room and at the other end of the house, you find the kitchen.

The crickets in the bushes out front are louder than you’ve ever heard them. For a moment, you stand alone by the front door, fingers twitching by your sides. It wouldn’t do you any good to run, but your feet feel quick now, light after hours of rest. You could bolt like an Appaloosas if you wanted to. 

Then Price calls your name and you drift back to the other room.

Steam billows off the water in the metal tub. It’s only halfway filled, which makes you frown; you have no right to be picky after the days you’ve spent cleaning yourself with a damp washcloth over a porcelain bowl, but you can’t help thinking that it’ll hardly come up to your waist. Still, staring at the warm water makes your skin itch; you could practically kiss the bar of soap sitting on the floor next to the tub. If there wasn’t a man in the room, your dress would already be on the floor. 

“Are you still waiting on more to heat up?” you ask, casting a glance at the fireplace where a small flame still burns. There isn’t a bucket of water hovering over it though, just a poker stowed back in its place. 

“Any more and I’ll be mopping up water for the rest of the night,” he huffs. “That’s more than enough for us.”

“Us?” you repeat. 

It only makes sense when you turn around and stare wide-eyed at Price as he untucks his shirt and starts at the buttons, each one slipped through the hole exposing a new inch of chest covered in dark hair. You make a noise at the back of your throat, half-aghast. The other half, indeterminate. If your feet weren’t glued to the floor, you’d stop him or grab his hands. Instead, you watch mutely as he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his pants, mouth drying at each new slab of muscle revealed.

You swallow reflexively when his pants pool around his ankles on the floor. You catch a glimpse of thick thighs covered in dark hair and something heavy dangling between his legs before you avert your eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. Sure to give yourself a kink in your neck, but perhaps forgivable this time. 

“Us?” It comes out squeaky this time, high and tight in your throat. Price laughs.

When he moves towards you, you can hardly so much as lift a finger to keep him at bay. Your body feels tethered in place, sluggish and inert. The world moves around you instead, doubly so when Price fits his hands at your waist and twists you to face away from him. 

Big hands ruck up the fabric of your dress, slowly pulling it over your head. You lift your arms for him on command, the whole time baffled by how little struggle you put up. You imagine him telling that deputy of his what an obedient little bride he’s found for himself. 

“Us,” Price confirms, emphasizing the word the same way you did. “We’d be here all night if we took turns. Water’d be ice cold by then too. You’d rather I freeze my nethers off?” You open your mouth to reply but he cuts you off. “Don’t answer that.”

That pulls a real giggle from your chest, shocking you both. Breath sits like a bubble in your chest. You feel his fingers still at the ties of your corset before pulling it through. 

He loosens each lace slowly, giving each a gentle pull. It’s nerve wracking, nail-biting tedium, the corset gradually giving way to his touch and drooping into your waist. You let him undo each of the hooks and unwrap it from your torso before pulling off your chemise underneath, flesh chilling in the open air. Even stationed behind you, you feel his stare like a heavy, weighted thing. His fingertips trace over the naked skin of your back, looping small circles just for the pleasure of touching your skin. 

Gooseflesh runs down the length of your arms, shivering from his touch as much as the cool air. You tell yourself that it means nothing just to put it all away.

“Alright, let’s get you washed up,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Been awhile since you had a warm bath, I bet.” 

You turn part way around, watching him from the corner of your eye. If only he knew. 

Price gets in the tub first and it’s immediately obvious to you why he hardly filled the tub. His body takes up so much room that you frown when you realize that he expects you to get in next. It’s one of the bigger tubs you’ve ever bathed in and yet he still has to bend his knees. The sigh he lets out after relaxing against the back of the tub makes you shiver. 

When he glances up at you swelteringly, you hear the evocation unspoken. 

“If you’d just give me a minute,” you snap. 

“Darlin’.” 

The note of warning in his voice finally tips you over the edge of hesitancy where you’d been precariously balanced. 

The water is still warm when you dip a foot tentatively in. It’s easier to ignore the indulgent smile on Price’s face than engage with it, sure you’d shout yourself hoarse if you finally let your composure crack. 

You think it vaguely humiliating to have to turn around in front of Price in the tub in order to lower yourself to sit. He doesn’t touch you yet, but there’s no way to avoid the weight of his eyes on your backside. It’s not something you’ve thought about much before. A man’s hands on you, stripped bare for him, lowering yourself into a hot bath with him. 

You peek over your shoulder. “Do you ever stop staring?”

A pointless question. He doesn’t even meet your eye to respond, just stares at the curve of your ass with heavy lidded eyes, the faintest pink hue high on his cheeks. He hums instead. You purse your lips.

The water sloshes up the side of the tub when he pulls you down abruptly, settling your back against his chest. You stiffen in the cradle of his arms and chest, acutely aware of every point of your body pressed into his. When Price sighs now, it reverberates through your back and chest. 

“Why does it feel like you’ve been run against a whetstone?” he asks. The sound drips heavy from his lips because the room is silent apart from him, apart from the gentle lapping of the bath water against the sides of the tub and the water trickling from the washcloth when he lifts it out of the water and gives it a wring. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, frowning. 

“You’re all sharp, all hard edges. If I’m not careful, you might run me through.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you married me,” you huff. 

That gets another laugh out of him, raising your hackles. It’s hard to differentiate between ridicule and endearment. You opt for the former to guard yourself, to keep yourself safe. 

“I’ll take my chances.”

You can’t think of a way to respond to that. It’s loaded in an uncomfortable way. It’s easier to just let it pass into silence. Price doesn’t seem anxious for you to respond anyway, thankfully, instead reaching out of the tub to grab the bar of soap still on the floor. The movement pushes his pelvis into you, the length between his legs pressing against the small of your back. You jolt forward only for him to wrap an arm around your waist and haul you back. More water splashes over the rim.

“Christ, you’re skittish,” he gripes. 

“What do you expect me to do?” You squirm in his hold, which only makes his arm constrict tighter around you, drawing you even closer. 

“Sit there and let me wash you, for one. What’s got you all riled up?”

“You know exactly what,” you say, face hot when you feel it press against you again. 

“My—”

“Yes, that,” you hiss, digging your nails into his forearm. 

“Squirming around isn’t gonna make it go away,” Price teases, squeezing once before finally letting you go. You scoot forward as much as he allows, but it’s for naught; you can feel it press against you still. 

In the brief silence, Price lathers up the cloth until it froths, then puts the bar of soap back down on the floor. You almost stop him to say that you can wash yourself, but he starts on your arms before you’re so much as able to part your lips. 

Your nipples bead when he drags the washcloth over your chest. The material is coarse, almost abrasive, and when you wince, Price murmurs a soft apology into your ear. He’s softer when he pulls your legs one after the other from the water and sets your foot on the rim of the tub, dragging the cloth over your calves and up the inside of your thighs. You shake when his hand disappears under the water, biting your lip until it hurts.

You sit with the silence instead of electing to fill it. It’s better that way anyway; words can unravel so many interiorities that long for stasis. And what has the man at your back done to earn your words anyway, besides lock you up and throw away the key?

You’ll figure your way out eventually. It’s only a matter of time. 

His own washup is perfunctory, performed only to get it over with. None of the affection reserved for washing you. He barely makes you lean forward before dragging the cloth haphazardly across his chest, getting a few good scrubs in before calling it a day. 

“I can’t imagine why you’d spend so much time filling a bath just to wash up in five minutes,” you say, peering over your shoulder at him. Expressly not focusing on the pillowy muscles of his chest or the dark, wet hair now flush with his skin. 

“Haven’t used the tub in months,” he grunts, dunking the cloth in the bath water until it comes out clean. He wrings it dry before hanging it over the rim. “There’s a creek out back, ‘bout a ten minute walk from here.”

You frown. “You usually bathe in a creek?” 

“What’s the point in spending time heating up enough water for a bath when there’s a perfectly good creek nearby? Water’s water.”

“You did it for me.”

“That’s different.”

You roll your eyes. “It shouldn’t be.”

“You like to fuss over nothing, huh?” Price remarks. Again, it’s said so earnestly that it makes your skin prickle. 

When you stand, the water rushes off you in a wave, leaving you slick and cooling rapidly in the air. Your teeth clatter until he steps out of the tub to fetch you a towel, wrapping you up in it and patting you dry. You get a bit dizzy when he kneels before you to dry your legs, swaying on your feet. Under your breath, you mumble something like, you don’t have to. 

He ignores you. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you let it go. 

Your bare feet pick up stray dust and debris on your way back up the stairs alone. You wipe them off on the mat at the door before changing into your shift while Price empties the tub downstairs. The oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates most of the room when you light the wick and delicately put the chimney back in place, apart from the elongated shadows that hang from the corners like spiderwebs. 

The bed looks different when you know you’re meant to share it. You try not to tense up too much when you hear Price come up the stairs, eyeing him nervously from the other side of the room. 

“You’ve got that look again, darling,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it this time. The knot in your shoulder aches when they untense. 

“What look?” you ask, averting your gaze when he drops the towel to change into his nightwear.

“Like a doe.”

You snort, distinctly unladylike. “Like a deer before it’s shot?”

“The very same. Didn’t I tell you it’d be straight to bed?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. In the back of your mind, you must have assumed he was placating you, saying words just to soothe. It’s rare that men speak plainly and mean it. Over the years, you’ve learned to read into second meanings and real intentions couched in soft words. Men like to think themselves simple, but you know a vast underground world. 

Some part of you grows anxious with your own inability to play the part of his simpering wife. He must have thought he’d be taking to bed something nurturing and with wings. It’d be easier if you just acquiesced; you can’t imagine he’d worry so much about his doting wife fleeing in the middle of the night. Not the wife happy to spread her legs for him.

“Why are you so patient?” you ask him outright instead. 

He takes a moment to answer, studying you. His face by lamplight is inscrutable. “Nothing good comes plucked too soon.”

“You don’t think that God gave you the right to—” You can’t say the words, but he understands. 

“The methods of God take pickaxes and shovels to uncover,” Price says, so simply, so plainly. You hardly understand what he means. “It’s not a man’s place to rush to understand His intentions.”

You think it’s almost unfair for a man to say those words to you when you plan on running away from him. It makes you dig your nails into the palms of your hands. 

You’re still nervous when you crawl into bed, eyeing him when he settles on his side and turns the lamp off, cupping his palm around the glass and blowing out the flame. There’s little to worry about though. Price doesn’t so much as shift from his side of the bed. 

The world outside is beyond gold and red now, when you stare out the window from where you lie on your side. When you think of the past, it comes with a searing pain. Then, it is no more.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember.

Oh, He Wants

Week #2 Prompt: Backseat/Clothes On/Bruise | Word Count: 4608 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Unprotected Sex, Bodily Fluids | Tags: Clothes On, Until They're Off, First Time, Virgin Eddie, Horny Boys in Love, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, Barebacking

Note: It's backseat sex. Suspension of disbelief is often required for this trope. Like the Tardis, it's simply bigger on the inside than it appears, haha.

The windows are steamed up, condensation rolling down the glass, as Steve lays on top of Eddie, grinding down against him, over and over again. Steve kind of thought that was just a thing from movies, not something that actually happens in real life. But they've been at this for at least an hour, both breathing heavily, slowly heating up the car, literally fogging up the windows. 

He feels his face flushing, and his chest is heaving as he keeps rutting against Eddie underneath him. Fingers digging into his arms, his shoulders, his neck. Probably hard enough to bruise. Just clinging to him anywhere he can reach.

It's slow, and steady, and the feeling of Eddie's cock pressed against his, even through all the layers of underwear and jeans, is really working for him. Steve's never been much of a backseat makeout kind of guy. He always had other places for that: Skull Rock. Under the bleachers. The last row of The Hawk. Not to mention there's never been a bedroom window he hasn't been willing to crawl through to fool around with a girl right in her own bed, her parents none the wiser.

But with Eddie? He'll get into the cramped backseat and love it. All day, all night, because he gets it now. He understands, wholly. The thrill of feeling like they are sneaking around, of getting by with something, even if they have other places to be together in private other than an abandoned dirt road.

They could hole up in Steve's big, empty house. Or at Wayne's place when he's gone at work all night. And they have. Make-out sessions that leave them both gasping for breath, needing, wanting.

Jeans, underwear sticky from coming in them as they pushed each other over the edge.

But this is different. Illicit and thrilling. He could take Eddie to a bed, he has every opportunity. Instead, they're here. Pulled off along a dead end dirt road.

And it's good. The shared breaths, the confined space, all of it.

It's a heady mix of lust, and love. Steve's fallen fast, and hard. Just like he always does. He'll never learn, and he knows he's probably headed for another heartbreak after Eddie's wrung out everything he wants from him, leaving the rest. 

Tonight they've kissed so much, so hard, Steve's sure his lips are bruised at this point. But he can't get enough of Eddie. He'll never get enough. He almost lost him before he'd even found him, and he's not gonna waste another minute more.

For as long as this lasts, he's all in. He's gathered up the pieces of his broken heart before, and he could do it again. Would do it again, for Eddie. 

It's worth it. Eddie's worth it. Love, too. He's probably hopeless. Robin would definitely say so, but he wants it so fucking bad. To be loved. To be someone's first pick, to go in the first round, to build a dynasty together. 

Okay, maybe the sports metaphors are a bit much, especially for Eddie, who wouldn't appreciate them. But Steve feels like he's been drafted to the future he wants, if he can only hold onto it, long term. 

Eddie is everything he's been looking for. He loves him. He's sure of it, even if that's never been spoken between them. 

Steve pulls back to suck in a quick breath, all panting and soft eyes, "Hi." 

Eddie smiles, lips swollen and red, "Hi." 

And Steve dives back in. Pressing his lips to Eddie's neck, his tongue sneaking out to taste salty skin. All he wants is this. To lay here and kiss, and grind, and just be close to each other. Nothing else to worry about other than this minute, and the one that follows after.

It might last a month, a year, or a lifetime. Tonight though, he's drunk on the feeling of Eddie under his body, the way they can't seem to get enough of each other. Hands roaming, bodies crushed together.

Steve hasn't felt like this in a long fucking time, if ever. This attracted to someone. Just being with them because you can. 

Because you want to. 

And Steve? He wants to be with Eddie in all the ways.

"Here. Let me readjust," Eddie says, and Steve lifts up his hips, as Eddie sticks his hand down in his jeans, under the waistband without unbuttoning them, into his boxers. It's fucking hot, for some reason.

To see his whole hand disappear, knowing what he's doing. Steve wants that to be his hand. To close around the hard, silky warmth. To feel the weight against his palm. To see if holding another man's cock in his hand actually feels any different. He bets that it does.

Eddie makes the adjustment he needs to make, then pulls his hand back out, and Steve re-lowers himself again to reestablish contact.

Goddamn, now Steve can feel even more of his length. Hard and ready, under him. 

He wants to put his mouth on him. Use every ounce of knowledge he has from girls sucking his cock, and apply them to doing the same to Eddie. Take all the best tricks and move forward, and leave all the worst ones behind in the past. 

He rolls his hips, and Eddie moans, in response, and it makes Steve smile.

"Like that?" he asks, keeping up the same soft, slow roll of his hips.

"Fuck yeah, I like it," Eddie answers, breath catching in his throat, his hands finding Steve's hips, not forcing him to move any faster, nor any harder, just holding him, desperate to feel the motion they're making together.

To hear the sound of the rough denim scratching together in the quiet of the car. Steve had turned the key to accessory mode to keep the radio on, but that went off long ago, now. And he's glad. He just wants to hear the sound of Eddie's breathing, and the rustling noises of their bodies moving together.

They haven't shed a bit of clothing, but they don't need to. This is so good on its own. 

He likes the cramped space, the feeling of being cocooned with him, like they are the only people on earth that matter at this exact moment in time. 

Then, Eddie is twisting under him, and seems to be all knees and elbows. But he squirms, and Steve leans back to see where this is going. He's unsure, but vows to just stay out of his way, and let it play out. He'll follow Eddie's lead, no matter where he's headed.

Surprising Steve, Eddie rolls onto his belly, bumping and jostling Steve the whole time. And Steve watches, trying to let him get situated, just enthralled as Eddie's hands are clearly moving beneath him. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Then he's pushing his jeans down onto his thighs. Plaid boxers still covering his ass. 

Steve grips his hips, unsure. 

Steve's not even sure what Eddie needs. Or what he needs. He's never had sex with a man before. He's willing, and he wants, oh, he wants, but he can't ask for what he's never had. He doesn't have the words. 

He's not sure Eddie does either. 

But he's pretty sure they can't fuck in a car. He doesn't know much, but he thinks he knows that. 

He's satisfied with this, he'd be satisfied with anything, when it comes to Eddie.

Steve unbuttons his own jeans, pushing them down, and then presses his underwear-clad dick right against Eddie's ass. And presses down, testing, trying it out. He makes small thrusts against him, finding a rhythm and it must be right, because Eddie moans beneath him. 

"Goddamn," Steve breathes out. 

Steve's pretty sure Eddie wants this, maybe more, by the way he's providing the counterpoint. Pushing back, helping keep the rhythm. 

He's never been with a guy before Eddie, but he's been with plenty of girls, and knows horny when he sees it. And Steve wants to fuck him. Wants to slide into him, feel their bodies connected and Eddie all around him. 

Hell, he wants to rub off on him, just like this. Anything. Everything. 

He just wants to make Eddie feel good. He wants them both to feel good. 

"Is it good?" Steve breathes out. 

And Eddie nods. Hair moving. Shaking up and down. 

Steve takes a hand from one of Eddie's hips, and brushes the loose hair from his neck, and then bends down, kissing his slick skin. 

Then, he wants to at least see more. 

So, he pulls down Eddie's boxers, revealing the shock of white skin. He's so pale. Even here in the dark. Maybe even more now that he survived the bats. Like all that lost blood never quite returned to his circulatory system. 

There are jagged scars on his hips, and Steve is familiar with those himself. But they are somehow opposites. Steve's sides still look webbed with streaks of white on tanned skin. Like they were able to heal, but not disappear. Only fading with time. In contrast, Eddie's are dark against his pale skin, still reddened.

They're different, but the same. A matched set, both having survived the same terrible version of hell together.

They made it. Just not unscathed. 

And that's okay. 

Then he grips both of Eddie's ass cheeks, and spreads them apart. It's dark in the car. Nearly too dark to see, everything hidden in shadow, but what he can make out by the moonlight is enticing.

He digs his fingers into Eddie's ass, kneading a little, and then lines up. Cock bumping against Eddie's asshole through the remaining layer of Steve's underwear, and it sends Eddie scrabbling at the leather seats, with no way to find purchase. 

It feels good for Steve, and it clearly does for Eddie, too.

"Fuck me," Eddie whines, begging. 

Steve can't fuck him. Can't just slide inside. No matter how much he wants to. Eddie's not slick and open and ready like a girl, even if he's just as willing. 

But Steve brushes his thumb against his opening, then pulls his thumb back, licks it, getting it wet and sloppy with spit, and does it again. Pressing against his hole, but not trying to push inside. 

Eddie arches off the seat, moaning. 

Steve wants to eat him out. Eating pussy always got him going. Got his dick hard, and ready. He's absolutely certain eating Eddie's ass would do the same. 

He doesn't know how they could possibly make room for that in here, though. 

They'll have to do other stuff. 

Steve presses himself upwards. As close to upright as he can get in the backseat of his car, his head and neck crammed against the roof, the soft lining tickling the back of his neck, as he unbuttons his jeans and wrangles them off his body, struggling with the lack of room.

But getting them off. Tossed out of the way.

And he knows shouldn't, but he does. He pushes his underwear down under his dick, and slides the head of his cock right against Eddie's hole. Pressing against him. Steve's leaking, because he's been leaking all fucking night, making a wet spot in his underwear, but now that helps slick the way.

Not enough to fuck, but enough to glide against him, definitely.

"This okay?" Steve asks. 

"Yes, yes," Eddie answers, "fuck yes."

So, Steve takes his cock in hand, and rubs the head right against Eddie. And Eddie whines, and pushes back. 

Another bead of precum slides out, right against Eddie's warm skin. 

Maybe they could rut here until he finishes between his cheeks. Come splattering his hole. Fuck. The thought. 

But there's more he wants to do first. 

"Flip," Steve says, and with some sloppy, slightly dangerous maneuvering, Eddie does. Again on his back, looking up at Steve. 

Steve pulls his own underwear back up, but forces Eddie's jeans and boxers down even further, until he can slip them off one of Eddie's legs, leaving them dangling off the other. 

Then he heaves Eddie's legs over his shoulders, bumping them on the roof of the car, making Eddie fold himself nearly in half to make the angle in this limited amount of space work. 

Eddie's cock is hard, wet and dripping at the tip, laying back against his belly, begging for attention. But Steve bypasses it. Instead, nudging behind Eddie's balls, and swiping his tongue against his hole. 

Eddie keens, letting out a wild noise that makes Steve's cock throb in his underwear. Getting even wetter.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Eddie whispers, mainly to himself, Steve thinks. 

He looks fucking hot all contorted like this, spine bowed, hands in Steve's hair. Pulling. Tugging. Clawing. 

And Steve keeps licking him, before pressing the tip of his tongue inside, making Eddie gasp. He wonders if he could eat him out enough to loosen him up to fuck.

He'd definitely be willing to try. It's musky and earthy, and not at all bad, even if he feels a little naughty doing this. Especially tasting the salty traces of himself there. As if he's staked his claim. As if the taboo-ness of it makes it even hotter. 

Steve pulls back, and spits on his fingers. This isn't ideal. They can't go from zero-to-fucking, but that seems like exactly what they'd both like to happen tonight. 

But he presses the tip of one inside alongside his tongue.

"I've never," Eddie groans, "uh, never even, oh fuck, gotten head. And Steve Harrington is eating my ass. What is happening?" 

Steve stills at that. Well, leave it to him to skip a few bases. 

He scoots forward, pressing his chest against the back of Eddie's thighs.

"Can I? Can I do that?" Steve asks, searching his eyes.

And Eddie nods, emphatically, "Fuck. Yes. Please. Anything. You can do anything." 

He sounds shocked and borderline hysterical, but in a good way. A really, really good way. 

Steve feels like maybe Eddie's gonna be his undoing. And isn't that a hell of a drug to have rushing through your veins?

Steve wants to slide into the floorboard, but his driver's seat is too far back. 

He can fix that. He lowers Eddie's legs, and leans over the seat, reaching the lever, scooting it up as far as it'll go. 

Then he wedges himself down on the floorboard, and cups Eddie's bare hips. Sliding the still dangling clothes off Eddie's leg, and tosses them up front with his own, out of the way. Eddie's still got his shirt on, but so does Steve, and that's okay. Kinda hot, even.

He takes in the sight of Eddie laying there, cock hard, the base surrounded by wild, dark hair. Even his cock looks like it belongs on Eddie, somehow. 

He's gorgeous. 

"You're gorgeous," Steve tells him, meeting his eyes. 

"Stop," Eddie whines, looking embarrassed. He shouldn't be. He is gorgeous. How nobody else ever did this for him, how they never wanted to see him looking like this, is actually insane. Crazy. 

Steve presses both thumbs onto the dips of his hips, "If you actually want me to stop, say so. If not, I'm gonna eat you alive."

Eddie's dick jerks and bounces at that promise, and Steve grins, "That's what I thought." 

He wraps his hand around Eddie's girth, sliding, giving a slow stroke, before pushing his hand down towards the base of his dick to keep his pubes out of the way, and out of his mouth. Then he lowers his head, sliding the head of Eddie's cock between his lips. Eddie's never gotten head, and Steve's never given it, but they're in this thing together now.

And Steve couldn't be happier about it.

He glides his mouth up and down, not going too far, definitely not brave enough to take him very deep. Eddie doesn't seem to mind, with all the noises he's making. So, Steve keeps it up. Finds a rhythm, using his mouth, his hand, and it doesn't take long. 

Steve feels Eddie's dick harden further, knows that tell-tale sign.

"I'm gonna," Eddie says, and Steve nods, squeezing his hip with his free hand.

And Eddie does. Comes in his mouth, and Steve doesn't know what to do with it. He holds it there for a few seconds, and then lifts his shirttail, and spits in it.

Maybe not the first choice, but it worked, and Steve pulls his now wet shirt over his head, tossing it away with their jeans.

Eddie claws at him, pulling him towards his face, and Steve kisses him. Over and over. Hoping he's tasting himself on Steve's tongue.

Eddie tilts his head, pulling back, and Steve lets him go.

"I. I need," Eddie says, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"What do you need?" Steve asks, hand brushing the hair off his forehead, to get a better look at him. He'll give him anything.

"I need you to eat me out some more," Eddie says, head twisted to the side, not looking at Steve. As if he's embarrassed to ask for this.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, surprised, but happy.

And Eddie nods.

Steve maneuvers his body backwards towards the other door, and then gets Eddie's legs up over his shoulders again, and goes all in. Licking, pressing in with his tongue. Eddie's whole body is loose from his orgasm, and sliding the tip of his tongue inside is a little easier, now. So, he licks, and presses his tongue flat against the furled skin, loving the sounds Eddie makes. Breathy moans, heady whines.

"Steve, Steve," Eddie says, "Can you? Can you fuck me?"

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's sweat-slick skin, "Are you sure? We don't have to do this now. We can wait. Do it right."

"Do it now," Eddie begs, "do it, do it." 

Okay, Steve will do it now. If he can. If he has anything to make that happen. He digs around in his bag on the other side of the floorboard, and comes up with a strip of three condoms. But nothing to use as lube.

The condoms are lubricated, and he opens all three, sliding one on his dick, and then getting all the lube off the others as best as he can. With that, and the foreplay, he thinks it just might be enough. 

It's not a lot of lube to work with, but he's finally knuckle deep, and Eddie's making good noises. Which he finds encouraging. 

"Have you ever?" Steve asks, twisting his finger, and then adding a second. Eddie groans, and presses back against his hand. And well, he's not acting like this is the first time something's been in his ass.

"Only to myself," Eddie says, and Steve puts that on the list of things to try alone, now. To see what it feels like. Steve wishes Eddie were slicker, but this is what they've got to work with. 

He'll have to see if it's enough, now.

"If it hurts, let me know. We'll stop." 

"I like a little pain," Eddie admits. 

"Well, if it's bad pain and not the good kind, speak up," Steve tells him. He definitely doesn't want to hurt him. What a shitty first time that would be.

Eddie nods, and Steve starts pressing the head of his cock against Eddie with steady, solid pressure. Not rushing, but not pussy footing around, either. He's not scared of sex. It's one thing that he feels confident about, and he can't see why that'd change today. 

But it's not slick enough. Eddie doesn't give under him. Not at all. Fuck. 

He pulls back. 

"What? No," Eddie says, reaching for him. 

"This is gonna hurt like this, there's gotta be something in here we can use," Steve says. 

Because there has to be something. Anything. 

And he hits the jackpot. A bottle of aloe vera in the console. Left over from summer, he's sure. When the girls wanted to get oiled up to tan faster, and Robin just burned. Badly. 

He squirts some on his fingers, and presses one inside Eddie. The sound Eddie makes is something he'll take to the grave. It was that good. 

Once he has him slicked up and even more open, he's gone a little soft from the concentration, and when he tries to get filled out and the condom back on right, it tears. Fuck. And he used all the others he had trying to get some lube off of them.

He crawls on top of Eddie, putting the bottle down by his head, "Please tell me you have a condom in your wallet. 

"I don't," Eddie admits. 

And Steve punches out a breath, cupping Eddie's cheek, "That's okay. Next time."

He presses his mouth to Eddie's, tongue sliding back in. Eddie wraps one arm around his back, and tilts up his hips. 

Then he takes his other, working it between them, guiding the tip of Steve's cock right against him. 

And Steve moves his hips to rub against him. 

"Oh," Eddie breathes out, "Oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck. Goddamn." 

Steve grins, "That's what I like to hear." 

And Eddie laughs. Steve likes to hear that even more. 

"Fuck me," Eddie says. 

"I don't have-" 

"And I don't care right now. I've never been with anyone, so this is your call." 

Steve's good. Eddie knows it, too. Robin made them all get tested at some event in Chicago, where she was stretching her little lesbian wings, both of them just along for the ride. 

They shouldn't. But they could.

"Steve." 

And Steve nods. 

He inches in, head of his cock popping past that tight ring of muscle, then letting Eddie adjust. Even as it feels like a fucking vice grip on his dick. He wonders what it feels like to be on the receiving end. He hopes he gets to be on the other side of this, and soon.

"I can't wait until I get to do this," Steve says, because he can't. He wants it. He wants it all. 

"I'm almost ready, I think," Eddie answers, and Steve screws up his face, thinking. Finally realizing. 

"Not that," Steve says, hands running down Eddie's thighs, loving the feel of the hair there, tickling his palm. He's so fucking bisexual that he isn't sure how he ignored it until Eddie. Like, it seems absurd, now. 

"Not that, take all the time you need," Steve says, reaching his hand down, touching where they are connected. "This. I can't wait until you fuck me. If you want to. Do you want to?" 

"Fuck, Steve," Eddie says, "of course I want to. But if you keep making me think about that, I'm gonna come again before we even get started." 

Steve might just have the same problem. He's never been inside anyone without a condom before, and he's never done anal at all. He's overwhelmed, overstimulated, in the best way. 

Steve chuckles, stroking Eddie's skin, laying a kiss on the inside of his knee, then resting his cheek there, eyes still gazing towards Eddie's face, "Okay. I'll quit." 

"Thank you," Eddie teases, rocking back just a little, clenching down on Steve. 

Testing. Trying it out. And even if it's hard to stay still, so hard Steve swears he's about to break a sweat from it, he lets Eddie go at his own pace until he's sliding up and down on Steve's cock.

It's over fast. Before it really starts, honestly. They just barely get a rhythm going, Eddie fisting his own dick, then groaning as he clenches down on Steve as he comes. That's all it takes, Steve has to make a decision, "In or out?"

"Are you crazy? In," Eddie demands, tightening his legs around Steve, punctuating his answer. Steve thrusts a handful more times, uneven and hurling towards the point of no return, before following him over the edge. 

Coming inside Eddie. 

Goddamn.

After he catches his breath, he slips out, watching, and slides back into the floorboard, knees against rough carpet, and immediately presses his tongue to Eddie's cock-loosened hole. 

"Oh, fuck. I died. I died, the bats got me, and this all in my poor, oxygen deprived head," Eddie rambles, and Steve pulls back to laugh. That's when he sees that Eddie has the back of his hand on his forehead, like he's in fear of fainting. 

He's ridiculous.

"I'm hypoxic."

So ridiculous. 

"Not likely." 

And Steve puts his tongue back on Eddie, in him, tasting himself. And the bitter aloe. But mainly himself. He's fucking his tongue in and out, just eating him the fuck out some more. If Eddie wants this, Steve's happy to be face-deep forever. 

In fact, this is gonna be his new thing. He's decided. 

He gets lost in the feeling. He only takes breaks to bury his nose in Eddie's pubes, inhaling the musky smell of him. He feels like a pervert, but doesn't fucking care. Eddie's a self-proclaimed freak, and by god, Steve's gonna be a freak right along with him.

"Steve. Steve," Eddie says, and Steve finally pulls back. Eyes heavy, and hooded.

"Oh, fuck," Eddie says, pulling on him, tugging until he slides up his body, mouths sliding together, slick.

Getting lost in just being together. Basking in the afterglow, the heady smell of sex surrounding them in the car.

Bodies grinding. And Eddie is hard again, but so is Steve. How long was he down there? And when can he go back?

Eddie starts wiggling, and rolls over, again. Like he can't stay still. But it's worth it. Now, his ass is right there. Pretty, used hole looking right back at Steve. 

He's gonna put his tongue in it again. 

"Again," Eddie says, and Steve doesn't need to be told twice. He moves to scoot down, but Eddie whines, "Your dick. Not your tongue, even if that's gonna be the star of every wet dream I have from now until my inevitable demise." 

"Okay, okay," Steve says, smiling at his weird, but endearing, rambling as he slicks himself back up, squirting more aloe on Eddie, watching as he jumps, "Sorry. Cold, I know."

Then he slides right back inside. No resistance now, all slick give, and soft moans. Hole gripping him, sucking him in, as if it wants him there as much as he wants to be there.

Fucking him for real this time. The edge off, so he's able to actually set a rhythm. And in the moonlit car, he watches his cock slide in and out of Eddie. 

Then he slides all the way out, and rubs the head of his cock against the warm, welcoming opening, the place he's meant to be, just teasing Eddie as he gets to watch. The sight of Eddie stretching, opening, as the head of his cock finally slips back inside, is so fucking hot. 

"I wish you could see this," Steve says, then adds, "because, fuck, I love…this," Steve says, catching himself, pivoting his words, and Eddie laughs, which makes him clench around Steve.

"I love you, too," Eddie says, not letting him get by with it, and Steve presses in all the way, stopping. Chest heaving, tears burning his eyes. 

"You do?" Steve asks, desperate for that to be true. 

"Don't be obtuse," Eddie says, and Steve's not exactly sure what that means, but he gets the message. Loud and clear. And then Eddie doubles down, and it's music to Steve's ears, hearing him say, "Of course I love you." 

Steve pulls almost all the way out, and slams back in. A punctuation, as he says, "I love you. I love you, too." 

And he fucking does. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and follow along with the filthy fun! 💦

[milksnake-tea]

hello! congrats on your 1k followers, u deserve it! may i request for dan feng + fluff prompt 9 … maybe smt similar to ur dan feng fic? vidyadhara!reader?

this ask might be late and u don’t need to do the suggestions but i’d like to say that your writing always makes my day, keep it up! 💗 and again, congrats!

thank u!!

❀ ˎˊ- prompts: It's raining outside, and when you see them completely drenched, you immediately offer them shelter. ❀ ˎˊ- 1k followers event ❀ ˎˊ- character: dan feng ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: none !! ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: AIYEEE THIS WAS SO CUTE GOT ME KICKING MY FEET AND ALL <33 also thanks for the congrats !! sorry this was so late lol, i hope the fic makes up for it! also context, dan feng and reader are friends here, but reader is a different reader from under the lotus leaves <3

Rarely does the Luofu see rain.

As an artificial planet, a man-made home that basked in the light of an artificial sun, the weather was very closely monitored and controlled. For a sudden storm to arrive either meant that someone higher up was having an off day, or the A.I. had decided that perhaps the Luofu was a tad bit dehydrated.

Still, it doesn't make it any less irritating to you, a civilian who wasn't informed of this sudden decision.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. Of course it had to rain on your day off. You'd planned to have a nice, easy day outside of just strolling through Aurum Alley, but that plan was now out the window.

Oh, well. Nothing you could about it now.

Gripping your grocery bag closer to you, you held your free hand towards the sky. Water swirled around you in a mystical dance, the rain droplets stilling as if frozen in time. Soon enough, an invisible umbrella formed above your head, your hand keeping there in place.

It was times like these that you were grateful for your cloudhymm abilities. You stepped out into the drizzle, perfectly dry amongst the crowd.

As you neared your home, you faltered when you saw an unexpected figure taking shelter under one of the many overhangs.

"Feng'er?"

The man in question flinched upon hearing your voice. Immediately, he turned away, embarrassed to be found in such a disheveled state.

"I... I'm fine," he stuttered. "Just... caught off guard."

You sighed, taking in the sight in front of you. Dan Feng's robes, so pristine and regal, were plastered against his body, soaked beyond what you'd thought was possible. His hair plastered against his skin as he wrung out what he could.

"Feng'er, with all due respect," you stepped closer, "you look anything but fine."

Dan Feng glared at you from the corner of his eye, but you weren't intimidated. You worked in customer service, after all.

You held out a hand. "Come here, my house is nearby. You'll get sick if you stay drenched like that."

Fire swirled in his eyes as he looked at you, wavering between pride and safety. Amongst the pouring rain, that turquoise hue glowed like flames, an ironic contrast to his abilities.

Eventually, his desire to get out of the rain triumphed over his pride. He reluctantly took your hand. You pulled him under your makeshift umbrella, your hand held high above the both of you as you led him to your home.

The walk there was quiet, save for the soft patter of rain and the curses of those caught within it. Left with nothing but your thoughts, your eyes began to wander. Soon, they landed on the hair of the High Elder, still wet and glossy despite Dan Feng's efforts to dry it.

"Hey, Feng'er," you spoke out into the silence, "can I ask something?"

Dan Feng contemplated it for a moment. "You may."

"You also wield cloudhymm. Why not use it to dry yourself off instead of, well..." You didn't need to go on.

The tips of Dan Feng's ears lit up in red. He quickly averted his gaze, but your eyes were quick enough to catch the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I..." He coughed into his fist. "Yingxing, he claimed that I couldn't go a day in my life without using magic."

"Ah." You couldn't help a snicker sneaking out, but you were quick to disguise it as a cough. "Is that right?"

"Yes," Dan Feng sighed in exasperation, crossing his arms. You smiled. His ears seemed to burn brighter now.

"To think you'd take the words of a short-lived so seriously," you mused. "Your stubbornness will be the death of you."

"Better to die than to let that arrogant mortal insult me so carelessly."

"Right, right, of course," you nodded. "We can't let the dignity of the High Elder be tarnished."

You felt a hard blow to your back, not hard enough to hurt you but certainly enough to make you stumble. Looking behind you, you saw Dan Feng's tail dart out of sight.

"Feng'er."

Dan Feng closed his eyes, evidently choosing to block you out. You rolled your eyes.

"Try that again and I'm leaving you next time."

Your friend chuckled.

"No, you love me too much to abandon me."

You kicked him into a puddle.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[pinkaditty]

Perv!Asmodeus Thoughts (Obey Me: SWD)

hihiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii this was totally 100% self indulgent it's just me thinking about Asmodeus if he was just a little more unhinged

summary: you're so innocent. he's quite the opposite.

a/n: can't really 100% say that this was inspired by anything ive just been thinking about Asmodeus and wanted to give him a little appreciation. admittedly perverted characters just... do it for me. my guilty pleasure lol <3 anyways anyways!!! answering more asks by the weekend or tmrw it depends on how much free time I have!!!! and am almost done with pervert pt 3!!!!! woo!!

cw: perverted behavior, creepy behavior, no penetration/sex but sexual acts mentioned, masturbation, non-con (no r*pe or anything just really weird scenarios in which one party is oblivious), cum eating, and other weird things that i don't really know how to tag, not proofread.

MINORS DNI AS PER USUAL!!!! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY!

You're so innocent. And god, it drives him crazy. Your eyes make the most perfect alluring expressions, your lips curve into the most perfect smiles, and your body shaped so wonderfully… he can't help it if he feels a little wanting.

At first, he attempts to stifle it… keep it under wraps as much as he can. Sure, his eyes wander, but as soon as he starts imagining what you may look like under those clothes, he quickly tears his eyes away and censors his thoughts as much as he possibly can. Unusual for the Avatar of Lust, but he knows once he starts, he will not stop.

Saliva collects in his mouth so much he has to gulp it down as he watches you eat, teeth tearing and tongue licking and lips slurping. It makes him wonder, would you treat his flesh the same? Biting, licking, and slurping, leaving marks in your wake, swallowing down whatever juices spring forth from him before he is wrung dry? He often finds himself palming himself at the dinner table, completely enamored by your idle consumption of food, leaving his plate to grow cold from neglect. Even watching you walk is pure torture. He watches as the fabric hugs and rubs against your thighs, your ass, your torso, and your waist especially… He imagines how easy it would be to tear it apart, to simply lose control and throw the useless fabrics to the side, caring much more about the skin underneath. Sitting behind you in class proves to be a challenge, much more so when you're wearing that perfume he recommended. He bites his thumbnail until it bleeds, gripping his uniform pants, trying his hardest to resist the alluring scent of your perfume. The perfume is fine on its own, but mixed with your natural scent, it tears him apart.

As far as you are concerned, Asmodeus is a close friend, one you can come to in any scenario. He's proven himself worthy of your trust in your eyes, so you find it fit to spend time with him. Little do you know that while you suspect Mammon is going through your trash to sell things, it's actually Asmodeus, stealing this morning’s finished coffee to lick off the remnants of your saliva on the rim of the cup. While you suspect Belphegor of stealing your pillows, it's actually Asmodeus, humping into them at night, creaming to the thought of you sleeping on the same pillows he's used for personal pleasures. While you suspect Satan of nicking away your magazines, it's actually Asmodeus, taking note of which pages you licked your fingers to turn, carefully licking those edges. While you suspect Beelzebub of stealing some of your open snacks, it's actually Asmodeus, jerking off pointed directly at them, leaving his essence there for you to enjoy but be oblivious to. While you suspect Lucifer of taking your pens on occasion, it's actually Asmodeus, writing on his body how much he craves you, and then using that pen to pleasure himself, leaving his scent all over it. While you suspect Leviathan of stealing your underwear, it's actually Asmodeus, burying his face in them at night, wearing them, jerking off inside of them, all until he sees fit to return them to the wash. He just can't stop. He especially loves it when you visit his room with your guard down, having no idea how much of him you've consumed, touched, and felt just from doing your daily activities.

He's on cloud nine with how deeply you trust him, enough to feed you various snacks during your weekly spa session. He watches as you lick the icing off a pastry, oblivious to how most of it is his cum, simply enjoying the sweet-salty contrast. He is impressed with how much you'll let his hands wander as he gets a general feel of your body while you're in a robe. He's choosing the cutest outfit he can think of, but first, he needs to get a feel for your body to know what looks good on you, which is a total lie. He's letting his fingers drift awful close to your chest, dragging his fingers as they gently graze over your waistband, and pausing for an unusually long time when his fingers reach your ass. He's hard as a rock, but who can tell?

When you leave, having used his body products - to the point where you smell like him - and having consumed various amounts of his bodily fluids, he dreams of you laying on a pillow that he used to masturbate, eating snacks that he's creamed all over, using pens to doodle that are covered in his essence, reading magazines that he's licked every corner of, and having no idea about it at all.

You're just so innocent. And god, it drives him crazy.

a/n: this is short but regardless I enjoyed writing it. if I have any more insane thoughts about perverted characters ill post more.

reminder that i love likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! tell me how much you liked it or ask for more! I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3

[rashoumon-homo]

Subtop Atsushi x Reader

Atsushi x Male Reader, NSFW

-> Content Warnings: mild pet play (collar and leash), biting, overstimulation, blood mention

-> 900 words

Request from @pleniluneg4ze

Author’s note: woo I’m back in my smut era ✨

NSFW CONTENT AHEAD - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Atsushi might have been shy about topping at first, but there was no trace of that hesitancy in him now. Earlier, you had to kiss the corner of his mouth to get him to relax as you buckled the collar around his throat and attached the leash to it. He’d paused several times while fingering you open to check if you were okay; needed constant reassurance. You’d gotten onto all fours on the bed, presenting your ass to him. He’d kissed your shoulder blades so gently before slowly easing his cock inside of you and waiting for permission to move. You thought you’d be the one urging him to be rougher.

And now, his fingers gripped your hips so hard you could already feel yourself bruising as he fucked into you hard and fast. It was desperate; sloppy. As soon as he’d started moving, it was like an insatiable demon had taken over and refused to let him go until every last drop of pleasure had been wrung out of your bodies. The saddest, most pathetic little noises fell from his mouth; grunts and breathy whimpers from between clenched teeth. He was thrusting so hard his balls slapped loudly against your ass, echoing in the room and accompanied by the slick, wet sounds of him driving deep inside you. His eyes were screwed shut, brows furrowed as he strained to fuck you harder still.

“Atsushi,” you said sharply, or as sharply as you could manage with your prostate getting repeatedly abused by the head of that fat cock. He couldn’t seem to hear you, too drunk on the feeling of your ass clenching around him, so you yanked on the leash. The clinking of the chain, or perhaps the way it tugged on the collar around his neck, shook him out of his daze.

“Feels good…” he whined. When you looked over your shoulder at him, he licked his lips and you could see a flash of slightly elongated canines. “So fucking good… can’t stop… m’sorry…”

His nails, now more like claws, were just shy of breaking the skin on your hips. The pain sent shivers of arousal up your spine. You tugged on the leash again in vain. “Atsushi… slow down…” you groaned. Your thighs were tensed as you squirmed in his grip. “Too much…”

Atsushi whined again, the sound ending in a sort of snarl. He moved one of his hands to your upper back, just below your shoulder blades, and shoved you down, hard. You yelped as your arms folded in and he pushed you into the mattress. The new angle he was pounding into you at was even more unbearable than before.

“Fuck!” you cried. The muscles of your lower abs spasmed, a flush of tingly warmth creeping up your lower back from between your hips. “Gonna- unh!” Your orgasm hit you like a fucking bus, leaving you writhing under Atsushi’s grip as you spilled onto the sheets. And he just kept fucking into you, not slowing down for a second.

“So good, so tight…” he whimpered. “Wanna bite you, wanna cum…” He leaned over and you could feel his hot breath on your shoulder. “I can’t-” he whined, voice hitching in a dry sob. “Gonna bite you now, m’sorry-”

You registered the feeling of his sharp teeth sinking into you before you registered the pain. Even then, the feeling was outweighed by the overstimulation of him pounding your ass through your orgasm. There was something warm and wet dripping from the bite, but you didn’t know if it was saliva or blood.

“Please,” Atsushi whined pathetically.

You tugged on the leash again, just lightly to remind him who’s in control. “Please what, baby?” you managed to groan. “Use your words.”

“Please let me cum,” he begged. His hips were stuttering with each thrust now, sharper whimpers and breaths punctuating the steady flow of sound.

“Don’t come inside me,” you reminded him. “You gonna remember to pull out?”

You felt him nodding frantically behind you. “Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, just let me cum,” he sobbed.

“Gonna be a good boy? Alright,” you said. “Cum for me, Atsushi.”

He quickly pulled out and jerked himself desperately. With a loud, broken cry, he came across your back. Even as his thick cum ran down your spine, he continued moaning and shaking through the orgasm. Finally, he collapsed beside you, panting hard. He was sweaty and exhausted, but he looked happy.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, reaching out to move his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. ��Here, let me take your collar off for you.” He let you unhook the leash and unbuckle his collar, setting them on the nightstand. “Let’s lay here for a minute, then we can get cleaned up, okay?” You brushed a stray tear off his cheek. “You okay?”

Atsushi nodded. “Felt… incredible…” he said between heavy breaths. “I’m sorry for getting… carried away.”

“Hey, no no, none of that,” you soothed. “If it was too much, I would have used the safe word. You did good, I promise.”

He burrowed into your arms, not minding the sticky mess of cum and sweat. “You sure?” he asked, voice muffled.

You pet the back of his hair and held him close. “I promise.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Tag list: @suru1990, @little-miss-chaoss

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[sturniololoco]

My little cousin's (they can't use Tumblr) - can you do a SLS protective but like she got cheated on so they comfort her and talk to the boy (if you can't that's fine ik it's kinda weird they are weird)

Cheated On

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) x The Sturniolo Triplets

SLS’s POV

I don’t know why I ever agreed to come to this party with, my boyfriend, Jack, especially if he’s my even going to hang out with me.

My brothers dropped me off at Matts house, after I promised that he would drop me off by 12 o’clock tonight. Little to my knowlage, Jackhad planned to go to a party.

Where there was drinking involved.

I’m only seventeen, and I’m not stupid enough to go and mess around with things that could get me into trouble.

Jack was the complete opposite.

As soon as we got there, he took his hand off my waist and found some of his friends, and a cooler.

I went ahead and stood in the corner, drinking a Pepsi in a solo cup. This went on for another hour and a half, but I didn’t mind. This gave me an excuse to people watch. And Jack was having a good time, so I didn’t want to ruin his fun.

But it was getting late.

I pulled out my phone, texting Jack that it was already 11:45, and I needed to get home.

About 10 minuets later, I got no response.

across the room, I saw Henry, one of Jack’s friends. I walk over to him, and pull him aside from his beer pong game. He looked mad until he realized it was me.

“Where’s Jack?!” I half yelled over the loud music, screaming, and talking.

“He’’s upstairs, dunno why though.” He’s slurred with blood shot eyes. I rolled my eyes and quickly made my way up the stairs.

Trying to find my way around this mansion was harder then I thought, but I checked all the rooms but the one in the back.

Tired of searching for Jack, who should have been with me in the first place, I harshly push the door open.

I found jack to say the least.

Sucking faces with our high school whore.

They both looked up. The girls face lit up in a fake smile as she or off hi lap and brushed past me, going back to the party, leaving Jack and I Alone.

I didn’t move. Just standing there, not. Knowing what to do. Jack stood, and made his way over to me, grabbing my wrist.

“Baby, I-“ I ripped my hand from his grasp, readjusted my purse, turned from him, and walked out the damn door. I could hear him trying to catch up with me as I walked downstairs, out the front door, and halfway down to the next block over.

My eyes were dry.

“Baby girl, would you just stop and listen for a second, It wasn’t what it looks like! I-“ he started to say, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around.

“Really? Because what I saw was you making out with a girl who wasn’t me, and that’s a pretty hard thing to mistake.”

Jack stood there, moving his mouth, but no sound came out.

But I wasn’t staying any longer to hear his excuse.

“Bye Jack.” I turned the corner and walked down the street. Jack must’ve finally got the message, because he didn’t other following me.

Then it hit me.

The pain.

Tears began to fall and my throat began to ache. I sat on the curb with my face in my hands and began to sob.

Once my breathing was somewhat controlled, I pullout my phone. To call Matt.

It wrung once before he picked up.

“You’re Late SLS/N.” He said when he picked up. Glancing at the clock, It read 12:08.

“I-I know, I’m sorry. I really need a ride.” I say, my voice cracking.

“SLS/N, are you okay? Why are you crying.” I could hear him standing up ad grabbin the keys, telling Chris and Nick to get in the car.

“MattI’m fine. I just need a ride. I’ll text you my locations.” I finished, hanging up the phone, before I break down again.

It’s not long before I see head lights and Matts car pull up. I quickly scramble into the backseat next to Nick. Matt begins to drive away.

“Hey what’s wrong, sweetheart?” Nick asks, rubbing my shoulder.

“Nothing.” I say, wanting to forget that this night ever happened. Wanting to forget what I saw when I walked into that bedroom.

“Really, because that mascara shit all over your face says something different.” Chris says, eyeing me through the rear view mirror. Matt is quick to slap him on the arm while still watching the road.

“SLS/N, you can’t just call me, past your cerfew, crying and looking like shit and expect me not to worry.” Matt says, not doing much of a better job than Chris.

At that I crumple into Nicks side. He pulls me o him while I cry, shushing me while I couch and cry onto his shirt.

-

We get home and we walk into the house. I held Nick’s hand, not wanting to be alone. Mat, Nick, and I all go in and sit on the couch. Chris goes to the bathroom, and comes back with a warm, damp rag. He neels in front of me and whiles the mascara streaks off my face.

“Goddamn, what is in this stuff?!” He says, still scrubbing my face, though a little bit harder. I laugh through my tears and sniffle, regaining my thoughts and ready to talk.

Chris sits on my other side, and they all await my answer to why I was so upset.

“Umm. I-I…Jack cheated on me.” I say blankly, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me again.

“Aw SLS/N.”Nick says giving me a hug, which I gladly accept. “Can I be honest?” He asks me.

I nod.

“He was a fucking douchebag and I hated him anyway.” He states, not breaking the hug. I giggle, squeezing him tighter.

While this was going on, Matt and Chris look at each other. Giving each other a knowing stare.

“Guys…?” I say.

“Hey!” Nick says, snapping them out of it. “Why don’t we have a little movie night to get the sprits back up. Hmm? That sound good?” I nod, standing up and going to get a drink and some candy from the fridge.

Nick’s POV

I waited for SLS/N to walk into the kitchen before I spoke.

“I’m fine with whatever you two do, but if you get arrested, I’m using your own money to bail you out.” I say.

Chris and Matt smile at this and get up, Matt grabbing his keys, and Chris starting to head to the car before SLS/N came back.

I hear the car pull out of the drive way, knowing that they’re on their way to Jacks house.

SLS/N’s POV

I walk back into the living room, only to see Nick, and no one else.

“Nicky? Where did the boys go?” I ask.

“I uh… I think they went to get some more candy. They said we could start the movie without them.” He says, patting the seat next to him for me to sit down. I grab a blanket from the basket in the corner and snuggle up with Nick.

Chris’s POV

Matt and I walk back into the house, me with bruised knuckles and Matt with a cracked lip.

In the living room, Nick and SLS/N are asleep, a show playing on the TV. Matt walks over and gives SLS/N a kiss on her head, then says,

“Im going to bed, Man. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gives me a half hug, then heads to his room.

I lay on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when I hear movement from the other side of the couch.

“Chris?” I hear SLS/N say in a sleepy voice, sitting up and rubbing her swollen eyes.

“hey kiddo. C’mere.” I say, opening my arms as she crawls over to me. She lays her head in the crook of my neck, and I rub her back. She sighs softly and falls back asleep. I kiss her in the head and drift to sleep myself.

-

Matt’s POV

I woke up around 630 today and went out in the living room to wake SLS/N up for school. She was laying on Chris, who was scrolling through his phone. She groaned when I told her we needed to go so I could drive her to school. -

Pulling into the school, I could tell she was getting nervous. I grab her hand and give it a little squeeze.

“hey, don’t worry about him. Everything’s gunna be fine.” I say. She nods, giving me a smile.

“Call me if you need anything.” She nodded again and leaned over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, before getting out of the car and going into the building.

SLS/N’s POV

Walking into school, I immediately felt better, especially when I saw Jack with a black eye and a busted lip.

My brothers are crazy I thought to myself, shaking my head and smiling. I snapped a quick pic behind Jacks back and sent it to our siblings group chat, then went about my day.

Idk y this was so hard for me to write 😂 I fell like it sound corny! Keep at it with the requests tho!!!

[acciojaeyun]

all about you ; jay park smut

pairing: park jongseong / jay x fem!reader genre: smut

this year, the high-end fashion magazine run by park jongseong is taking a new leap in terms of couture writing as it explores the ebbs of fashion in different avenues. but jay – the company’s editor-in-chief – needed a new turn in couture; one that is exciting and alluring, how were you able to present that when you were distracted 101% of the time because of the eic himself?

warnings: inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, dom!jay, ceo!jay, innocence kink, slight voyeurism, a bit of perv!reader if you squint, spanking, oral (f receiving), dry humping. heeseung is mentioned here in this fic for the plot and of course, jongseong’s jealousy lol. minor mentions of insecure!reader but it’s in jay’s perspective. let me know if i forget something! words: 3,331

The moment you zoned out of the meeting, you should’ve known. 

You should’ve known you were fucked when, instead of the usual formal wear, your boss, Jay, opted to discard his long, brown Prada trench coat just to walk around the building in his black turtleneck, black chinos, and black shoes – with the only silver necklace breaking the overall dark ensemble.

Everyone in the building was always in awe of Jay, maybe that came with him being the editor-in-chief of the leading fashion magazine across the globe, maybe he had to live what he was expected of. But Park Jongseong is Park Jongseong. No matter what he is doing, nor where he is at, he will always exude high-end fashion.

You were kind of glad that you somehow shared the eye of fashion with your boss, hence, you were included in the Art department. But being in the Art department meant you had to work overtime, having to have endless amounts of caffeine streaming through your body while racking your brain with different ideas and concepts for upcoming shoots for the magazine and editorials for the journalists.

And as you are in the Art department, that meant you were working under Lee Heeseung, your manager. Heeseung always brought you to their meetings because he did see you as a fiery soul who has an eye for beauty and fashion. Whenever Jay wanted something from Heeseung, he always ran to you, asking you for opinion and recommendations since for the man, you are almost well-versed when it comes to Jay’s taste. But if there’s one thing, Heeseung would tag you along, but he would do the talking in meetings.

But somehow life was testing your confidence of some sorts, as Heeseung had taken a week-long leave prior to the scheduled meeting the Art department had with the EIC. Yes, you were nervous, but it wasn’t because you were unprepared – no, you were nervous because Park bloody Jongseong had to have worn that ensemble, of all days when he had to.

You couldn’t help but swallow when Jay drank from the glass water goblet, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip – plump and a bit chapped at the centre – making you squirm slightly in your seat. Your eyes travelled down to his wrist, with the sleeves of his turtleneck jumper rolled up slightly as he wrung his wrists in a stretch. His hands were very pretty, you must admit, and sometimes, when the time deemed you desperate, you can’t help but imagine how it would feel when it were the same hands that would wrap around your neck as he pounds into you.

Ah, here is one con about being artistic: you tend to be imaginative. And it doesn’t stop from glimpse of images flashed in your head; you get lost in your own headspace; you get sucked in your zone. There were countless of times when Jay would hit his palm on your desk whenever he would pass by you (his office was at the same floor as your unit), reminding you that “daydreaming would bring you nowhere.”

Today is no exception, it seems; because you’ve failed to notice that the same Park Jongseong had been calling for your attention for the third time, until you realised everyone already had their eyes on you.

“Miss Y/L/N, while I do appreciate your artistry and acknowledge that your art came from wild imaginations,” he said as he glanced a look at his laptop before turning the projector off, “I would do appreciate if you rather not do it when everyone’s expecting your undivided attention.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt yourself shrink down in your seat. Widened eyes and disappointed tuts were witnessed in the room as Jay dismissed the team. You bit your lip as you scrambled to open the document of the prospect designs and mood-board you had prepared for the latest issue – you were determined, because this is issue that has been assigned to you. Heeseung had entirely given one hundred percent responsibility to you, since he said it was about time for you to be the Creative Director of the project.

“Mr Park, sir,” you said as soon as the last person of the Marketing department had shut the door, hoping to not have fully blown the chance to present your ideas to Jay. 

Jay rolled his eyes and shut his laptop, “Miss Y/L/N, this has been what, the nth time I’ve caught you zoning out during office hours? I wasn’t lying when I said that creativity stems from focus and imagination, but when I need you, please do respond accordingly.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have –“

“But you still went with it.”

“Sir, just give me five minutes to explain this, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Five minutes and it’s not guaranteed that I’ll be considering your proposal.”

“I’m willing to take my chances, sir,” you pleaded, unwillingly biting your lip at your desperation. Jay’s eyes have faltered down quickly to your lips, and he inevitably gulped at the sight. 

“All right, then,” he shrugged, pulling his chair before taking a seat on it, pushing himself far away for you to take the floor. You smiled and thanked him before placing down your laptop. And as you tried to make things quick as time was ticking, you were failing to connect your laptop to the projector, making you mutter out profanities at how things were seemingly not going your way.

Jay sighed as he stood up from his seat, walking over towards you and crouching down on your laptop to connect it to the Bluetooth projector. From the proximity, you had a faint waft of his DIPTYQUE Paris, making you swoon over his scent. 

This was not what you needed right now.

After successfully connecting your laptop to the projector and Jay returning to his chair, you had immediately started with your presentation. Indeed, you had taken a very wild risk, for the concept that you had for the next month’s issue was as sensual as it could get. Dark, magenta hues and lingerie of La Perla danced across the screen, and it was nerve-wracking how Jay never exuded interest nor dislike to your presentation. As someone who found easiness in determining the emotions of your panellists during your thesis presentation back in University, Jay was an undeterminable man. 

“You are fully aware that this,” he motioned at the screen, “is a huge risk to the company’s usual branding, don’t you think?”

“I’m well aware,” you timidly responded.

“Then what makes us different from Playboy?”

“Our magazine provides fashion even at the expense of the most intimate items, sir. We promote fashion that is inclusive while at the same time, high-end. As you can see –“

“What else can you show me that is not in the presentation?”

“I – what?”

“You heard me. As the Creative director of the November issue,” he says as he swivels in his chair, “you surely know what else is there to show.” 

You gulped, “I –“

Jay smirked at your lack of response. Somehow, Jay already had the hots for you. The moment you have walked with Heeseung in the conference room at the last July issue, he found you very attractive – and not just that, smart too. If only you could show a bit more confidence in your magnetic field, but then again, you were already attractive on your own, and being confident in yourself would mean more people getting attracted to you.

And Jay couldn’t have that, of course. Not when you’re his.

“Sir, I haven’t – um –“

He stood up again, walking towards you in such slow speed that had you stuck in a trance. Jay’s fingers ran through the hair that was past your shoulders, pushing it back with one finger before ghosting your neck with his fingertips that made goosebumps appear on your skin, “Haven’t what, Miss Y/L/N?”

“I d-don’t know,”

“Then how are you supposed to present this idea to the Marketing team if you don’t know?” 

You could feel your legs losing its ability to make you stand up straight, the tension was apparent, and it was too much. You could feel his gaze scanning over your whole body, and it did not help that you could feel his touch on your hair, playing with it by tucking and straightening out your hair every chance he could get.

“I’m willing to learn,” you whispered as you gazed up at him at your side.

Jay’s eyebrows raised and hummed, fazed by your response by showing it through a smirk, “Oh, you are?”

You nodded and bit your lip at the expression that Jay had exuded. It was different. Stern, strict, yet sultry. A look that you haven’t seen on Jay, but you should’ve whenever you helped direct photoshoots and you try to help the models do what Heeseung was trying to visualise that time.

“What, Lee Heeseung’s not teaching you well?” he scoffed before holding your jaw, making you face him as his thumb traced your bottom lip. You shook your head, which make Jay tut in faux disappointment.

He playfully pouted and leaned in slowly, “You’re going to let me teach you?” 

A faint yes was heard between the both of you, making Jay groan as he pulled your face towards him for a kiss. His knees almost buckled because – finally – he finally had a taste of your lips. The lips he had often so thought of late at night as he jerked off in his master bedroom, thinking how it would’ve been better if it were your hands squeezing his thick cock with your mouth sucking on his reddish-pink tip.

Jay pulled your face closer to his as he leaned on the wooden table of the conference room. He spread his legs wide open and pulled you between them, encasing you with his long legs as you made out. His hands immediately went down to your arse, and he squeezed them, making you squeal into the kiss. 

“So fucking sexy,” he breathed out with a string of saliva connecting both of your lips. He held your hand and placed it on his lap, slowly rising before reaching his erection strained against his black trousers, he smirked and bit his lip at the gasp that has elicited from your lips. 

He pulled you in again for a kiss, this time, with his tongue swiping over your bottom lip, but with the way that your mouth had sealed shut, he almost came at the thought that you were more inexperienced than he thought. 

“Open your mouth, baby,” he said, and you obliged, tongue immediately wringing around as you were pulled closer as if it were possible by his hands pushing you closer to him. He groaned into the kiss before breaking it and immediately going for your neck, licking before sucking on the sensitive area below your earlobe.

“Make some noise for me,” he whispered as he noticed you were trying to contain your moans. You nodded and pulled him closer by wrapping your arms around his back, “Sir –“

“It’s Jay,”

You nodded and whispered his name when he spanked your bum after kneading it. His mouth was simultaneously licking, kissing, and blowing air on the skin below your earlobe, making you squirm as you tried to palm him in his position against the table.

“Ah, that’s right, baby, feeling what you’ve caused, yeah?” he said as he unbuttoned your white blouse, pushing it away, and not long after, his eyes widened as he took in the bra that you were wearing. “La Perla,” he smiled and winked at you, “you’re a fucking menace.” 

His hands quickly unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere in the room, he stood up straight and switched your positions, hoisting you seated on the wooden table before diving his head to your breast. His teeth grazed on your sensitive nipple, making you whine at the contact. He smiled and played with your perky nipple by pulling it and wriggling it with his index before placing his mouth around your areola, his eyes never leaving you as you watched intensely.

Eyelid droopy and gaze infused with lust, you could’ve sworn you could come right then and there as Jay took his time sucking your breast as if he were a man starved. You whined and moaned as he took alternating turns between your breasts.

“Jay,” you moaned as you had your hands on his hair, biting your lip at the stimulation you were receiving. If you were already this sensitive by the feeling of his mouth on your chest, you weren’t ready to feel him down there. 

The man was having the time of his life, and before you knew it, he was blowing air against your sore nipples, making you squirm in your seat as he stood up to his height again. Jay smiled proudly before caging you in between his arms as he leaned against the table. Your hands immediately pushing his hair away from the frame of his face, the gel almost gone at how sweat has broken through it.

“You haven’t been touched before?” he asks as he meets your gaze, and you nodded. “I’m not sure if you’re ready for the real thing,” he chuckles as he motions at his throbbing cock. You laugh and Jay swears it was the most beautiful sound he has heard ever.

“Perhaps the next time, yeah?” he winks at you before pulling your trousers down, “Today’s all about you.” 

Immediately after your trousers, your matching knicker followed suit, making Jay smirk because you’ve worn the most beautiful pair from the latest collection. “It’d be a shame if I rip this off of you,” he says as he plays with the black lace trim of your red lingerie. 

Jay’s hands immediately went to your clothed clit, rubbing you over the silk material that covered your cloth. “Seems like the pay check’s worth it if it means you get to wear this type of sexy shit, baby.” 

You moaned in response, back arching as you tried to balance yourself on the table. You closed your eyes, but Jay was quick enough to call you out for it, “Eyes on me,” he directs, immediately making you lock eyes with him at the sternness of his voice, “’atta girl.” He praises before immediately inserting his middle finger on your dripping hole, his stance immediately adjusting to the side of your body to make you lean against his free arm.

“Ah, shit,” you moaned, looking at how his finger thrusted in and out of your hole as you held your knicker to the side to make it easier for Jay. “Your hand feels good, Jay,” you whined, hiding your face at the crook of his neck, your body spasming against him as he increased his speed, now adding another finger inside, the thenar of his hand rubbing against your clit, doubling the stimulation. Sooner enough, Jay’s fingers were scissoring inside of you, switching back and forth between thrusting his fingers, curling it upwards, and scissoring you.

“Fuck this,” Jay says as he pulls his fingers out from you. He rolls the sleeve of his turtleneck jumper up to his elbows as he crouched down, his lips kissing the expanse of your inner thighs sensually. You could feel your clit pulsating at the intensity as he drew near your throbbing pussy. It was a sight that you didn’t expect to happen: your attractive boss in between your thighs in the building’s conference room. You swear it was all imagination until you feel your lingerie being pulled to the side for Jay to peck on your clit, your body jolting at the sudden feeling on your most sensitive area.

“Too jumpy,” he chuckles before pulling down your knickers down to your ankles, he then pulls you closer before pushing your body to lay flat on the table. He hooks his arms around your thighs as he manhandles you closer to him, his warm breath tickling your core, making you yearn for him more.

Jay kisses your clit once more, before starting to lick on it and eat it out, his finger prodding your entrance as it plays with your labia. He hums at your taste, pleased. Consequently, Jay spreads your labia, giving him more access to your clit and stimulating your pleasure to a tenfold. 

“Fuck, Jay – oh!” 

Two of his fingers immediately pushed inside your vagina, a “come here” motion being done inside you as he brushes against your g-spot every time. You couldn’t control the way your body reacted, you wanted to close your legs, but Jay was too strong, his arm strength was truly undeniable that the only thing that was left for you to do was to succumb to his ministrations. 

That was until you feel the coil in your stomach forming, a sudden rush of butterflies and whatnot as Jay seemed to never falter in his intensity, “Jay, Jay, Jay,” you pleaded as you wanted him to stop, “Jay, what is –“

“Are you close?” he asks as he meets your gaze, your juices making his lips and chin glossy as it dripped down from his mouth. You nodded and squealed, trying to contain. “Gonna come soon, pretty girl? Then come.” 

And the moment Jay says that, the intense feeling that you felt at the pit of your stomach broke loose, and Jay never stopped even though he was welcomed by the cum that was spilling out from you. Instead, it made him hornier if that was even humanly possible.

“God, shit,” he says, his eyes almost rolling back to his head as he takes in your cum, licking you clean before pulling you to stand up. “Baby, I’m asking you to do one thing for me, alright?” he asks you as you nod, “If it’s not enjoyable for you, tell me.” 

He turns your body around and makes you crouch over the table, and soon enough, you felt the crotch of his trousers rubbing against your pussy from the backside. “Fucking shit, can’t wait to fuck you so much,” he says before humping on you. At this point, Jay doesn’t mind if he destroys his trousers, he could always buy another one – but this? He doesn’t know whether you’ll be having one of these intimate moments again; hence, even though you were not entirely ready for the real thing, he will milk it as much as he can.

Both of your moans enveloped the room, with his hand pulling your hair from the back for a better angle of feeling your drenched pussy against his cock. “Baby, gonna come, gonna come – shit,” he says through humping, and not long after, Jay comes inside his Calvin Klein boxers, seeping through his trousers without any remorse.

“Shit, fuck, goddamn,” he mutters as he feels his legs wobble in weakness, keeping you in place. He brings his hand over his eyes as he tries to regain his strength from what has happened, both of your pants were now the only audible noise throughout the conference room.

Jay stands up straight, ignoring the sticky feeling in his boxers as he scrambles for your knickers and trousers, helping you out in putting on your clothes and smoothening out any wrinkles from it. He brushes your hair and pats it back down, and when he meets your eyes, his heart warmed throughout as he was met by your genuine smile. Pretty, so he thinks.

“Thank you, sir,” you blushed.

Oh, how he wishes you’d drop the honorific in a place other than sex. But Jay knows, it will take more than just one intimate occurrence in the most unromantic place and situation for you to do that. Right now, he was contented by the genuine smile that he knew he was the reason for.

He brings your hand to his lips, where he kisses the back of your hand, no words uttered. 

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about Bear!reader who is was more hairy than price, and way more taller than him too. And plus reader being the most gentle guy Price has ever met for someone being in the military.

Thinking about Bear!Reader who would fuck Price so agonizingly slow and talk Price through the whole thing until Price is just begging for Reader to move faster because he can’t take it anymore had has to come.

Or

Thinking about Hybrid Bear!Reader and Hybrid Dragon Price during the winter when Reader is just eating out Price before he gets too tired and goes to bed. Readers tongue lazily gliding over Price clit, dragging the most lustful moans and groans from Price every time Reader runs his tongue over the right spot.

Thinking about Price who’s just about to come only for Reader to tap out because he too sleepy and promises to make it out to him by letting him rid his cock while he sleeps.

-🐇(I wanna eat Price out so bad😞😞😞)

SUGAR BEE WHAT IF I KITHED YOU RIGHT NOW if there’s something i absolutely love is someone caring for price and he’s all reluctant saying he doesn’t need any of that huffing and puffing when you take it slow bc you don’t want to hurt the other man but he just rolls his eyes and bounces back onto your cock?

Okay but you know how bears go into deep slumber during winter thinking of price sneaking into your place during that period of time, shuffling under the covers and working his hand on your soft cock, stroking and rubbing it til it thickens in the palm of his hand before he uses a bit of spit to line with his already stretched ring of muscles and riding your dick all while you’re completely oblivious and although you’ve probably discussed this before telling him he’s welcome to use you he still feels naughty just riding your cock going round after round til his cock is wrung dry, and leaving like his ass isn’t dripping with your cum

[forever-rogue]

Hello, hello lovely 💜 congrats on your new milestone!! I saw those new stills from Pedro back in that 90s commercial and imagined a young Joel 🥺 So could I request something with young!Joel x reader who has a huge crush on him? Unrequited love i think its called? Cause she thinks theres no way he could feel the same. But maybe he offers her his jacket when she's cold and it's all fluffy and cute 👉👈

AN | Please, this was such a cute little concept 🥰 

Pairing | Pre-Breakout!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel Miller. 

You sighed wistfully even at the mere mention of his name. The women in your bookclub loved gushing about the handsome, hardworking, single-father at the end of the cul-de-sac. You never joined in - oh no, you weren’t reducing yourself to that just yet - but you listened intently to what they had to say. 

Sure, he’d caught your eye when you first moved into the neighborhood a few months ago, but you hadn’t exchanged more than a few words here and there. The last time was when the two of you had been leaving for work at the same time and you somehow managed to make a comment about the weather. The weather. What were you, fifty? Either way, he was sweet in response and still gave you saccharine smiles whenever he saw you. He had a lovely smile, all toothy and eye-crinkling and dimple displaying. 

Stop. You needed to pull yourself together before you got too lost in your little fantasies and spilled your secret in front of everyone. The secret that maybe you were a little in lust with him, even though you barely knew him. A girl could dream, right?

“What about you?” the question snapped you out of your thoughts as you turned to look in confusion at the woman, Emilia, to your right. You opened and closed your mouth a few times in confusion before she laughed softly, “what do you think about Joel?”

“Joel…” you repeated, throat dry and mind racing with embarrassment. Had you somehow managed to voice your thoughts out loud?

“Asking him for some help with the neighborhood barbecue next weekend?” oh. Relief flooded your veins as you offered her a tight lipped smile, “he’s quite handy. He’s a contractor, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” well, that wasn’t an image you didn’t need in your mind. It didn’t help your daydream fantasies to think about all hot and sweaty and - yeah. You wrung your hands for a moment before nodding, “that sounds like a lovely idea. The more help the merrier, right?”

“Right you are,” Matilda, the head of the bookclub and resident one-woman welcoming committee agreed, “you don’t mind going over soon and asking him, right?”

“Oh, I-I c-” no, no, no. This wasn’t what you had in mind at all.

“Thank you so much, you’re such a sweetheart,” apparently you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “I’m sure he can’t say no to a sweet thing like you.”

“I really…”

“He likes apple pie,” another one of the ladies winked. Oh. Oh. Apparently this was a double ended errand - they would get the help and set you up at the same time, “just as a side note.”

“Of course,” you were screaming on the inside, wanting to run away, “I’d love to.”

“Perfect!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I can do this,” great. Now you’d resorted to talking to yourself out loud openly. It was the stress. It had to be. You swallowed thick, pacing up and down Joel’s driveway as you contemplated going to his front door to ask him for help. You’d never forgive the rest of the book club ladies for this, “it’s just a quick, simple question. Get it together.”

“You wanna come in?” you hadn’t even heard the front door open but when you whipped around, you saw Joel Miller leaning against the doorframe, watching you expectantly. Your heart fell into your stomach as you looked at him in shock, opening and closing your mouth a few times, “or were you planning on walking up and down the driveway for a while? In which case, don't let me interrupt.”

“Oh! H-hi,” your feet slowly shuffled in his direction as you held up your hand in a meek little wave, “ummm…I-I can go. Is this weird? It’s weird, isn’t it? I’ll just-”

“Hang on there for a moment,” he reached towards you and wrapped a hand around your forearm, gently tugging you closer to him, “relax. It’s okay - you’re okay.”

“I…” you looked up at him and met those big, brown eyes, looking at him in surprise. His lips twitched up in amusement, “okay.”

"Okay?"

“Okay,” and there was that winning smile that you’d been on the receiving end of many times. You relaxed slightly and quickly vowed to stop making a fool out of yourself any further, “hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated and you laughed nervously. Yeah, no, this wasn’t the business at all. Luckily Joel didn’t seem to mind at all, “is there something I can help you with? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah - yes,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “the ladies of the book club would like to kindly ask if you would be able to assist with the barbecuing for the neighborhood block party next week.”

“They did, did they?” he asked as you nodded shyly, “and they asked you to come and ask me?"

“They sure did,” you tried to read his expression to see if he considered this a bad thing or a good thing. You were currently plotting some form of revenge because you were currently dying on the inside, “umm…sorry?”

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart?” oh. You liked the way the moniker fell from his lips. He made it all too easy. The wonder of what his lips would feel like momentarily crossed your mind. Get it together.

“I don’t know,” you confessed nervously, “I just…this is not how I pictured this going in my head.”

“How did you picture it going?” 

“Smoother than this,” you confessed softly, “I was kind of just hoping to ask you, maybe flirt a little, and call it a day.”

Fuck. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud at all. Your mouth was absolutely not cooperating with your mind. Joel’s smile only grew as you tried to hide your face in your hands. He put a quick stop to that and pulled your hands away so he could see your face. 

“Don’t hide,” he whispered and pulled your hands away, “let me see that pretty face.”

“Joel-”

“I’d love to,” he added before you could say anything further, “I’d love to help. You just let me know what you need and when you need it, and I will be happy to help the lovely ladies of the book club.”

“Thank you,” the smile on your face was enough to let him know that he had said the right thing, “that’s really sweet of you Joel. The ladies will be beside themselves.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” he shot you a wink and your knees felt weak.

“You’re like the neighborhood dilf,” oh yeah. You were never going to allow yourself to speak again. That might have been the most embarrassing moment of your life, “I…oops?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed softly and that was enough to jostle you into a small fit of giggles too, “it’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Well,” you wrung your hands nervously, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “thank you again. I’ll umm, I’ll see you around?”

“I hope so,” he agreed, giving you a very interested and hungry once over, “see you soon, sweetheart.”

“See you soon, Joel.”

-─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You smoothed down the front of your dress, pausing momentarily to question if you should go back inside and change. You felt so exposed wearing this pretty little sundress but it was also hot as hades and the idea of jeans and a t-shirt made you cringe. 

This would have to do, and you were sure you could probably get away with an Irish exit at some point. 

Everyone was starting to come out and socialize, tables lined up and filled with snacks, treats, and other baked goods. There was even a small lemonade stand at the end of the block, commandeered by several eager kids. You enjoyed the sense of community and enjoyed the smell of the barbecue even more. The man at helm was even more of a delicious sight.

He was wearing a fitted white t-shirt and jeans that hugged him in all the right places. He was definitely too good looking…no wonder he was the resident dilf. None of the other men came close. The man in question must have felt your gaze on him, despite all the other people and noise around, because he looked up and immediately found you. You looked like a deer caught in headlights as his face lit up with a megawatt smile. 

Before you could make a fool out of yourself again, like the last time you’d seen, you turned around and made your way over to the lemonade stand. Perhaps a small gaggle of children could serve as a good distraction. It was worth a shot anyway…

But it turns out that in the end, it didn’t really matter. As soon as you got to the little stand, you felt a warm body right next to you. You looked up and found Joel Miller grinning at you. Without missing a beat, he snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you slightly into his side. 

“Two of your finest lemonades please,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a generous tip that he put in their money bucket as the kids poured two solo cups of lemonade. You each took one but he still refused to let go of you.

He guided you over to one of the tables that had been set up, while you tried to navigate your internal freakout. How was he being so casual about this? How?”

“You look really nice - beautiful,” he let go of your waist but held on to your hand as he helped you to sit on the top of the table so you were almost eye to eye. His hand smoothed down your side, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of your dress. Pleasant shivers ran down your spine, “I like this dress.”

“T-thanks,” you managed to choke out as you tried not to make a comment about how it was great for easy access as well, “I haven’t worn it in a while and I figured it was a good time.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in content as he got up and sat next to you, his thigh pressing against yours, “it’s nice that you came. Everyone really likes you.”

“Everyone?” you snorted in amusement as he nodded, leaning into his side without even thinking about it, “I don’t know about that. But I figured I’m part of the neighborhood and it would be nice to meet everyone. I baked some pie - apple pie.”

“I love apple pie…”

“I know,” you looked at him tentatively, nervously, “the bookclub ladies told me. That’s why I made it.”

“For me?” his eyes were even more beautiful up close, different shades of honey and chocolate that you wanted to commit to memory. You hesitated for just a moment before nodding shyly, “that’s really sweet. No one’s done something like that for me for a long time.”

“It’s nothing much,” you shrugged, trying to ignore the pitter patter of your heart and the butterflies in your tummy, “but I hope you like it. If you do, I’d be happy to make you some any time.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” he picked up his lemonade and playfully clinked it against yours. You both took a drink before almost gagging on it; it was nothing more than sugar with a hint of lemon, “well then…at least they tried. Maybe next time will be better.”

“I feel a little bad for thinking this terrible since kids made it…but this is terrible,” a bit of laughter flowed between the two of you as he set your cups down, “hopefully you won’t be saying that about my pie.”

“I don’t think that’s even in the realm of possibilities,” he insisted in a way that suggested he was talking about a lot more than pie. You really liked this man already, and part of you was already excited about the possibility of spending more time with him and getting to know him better. You must have had a daydream look in your eyes because Joel brushed his knuckles along your jaw, causing you to snap out of it, “what are you thinkin’ about?”

“Honestly?” you whispered and he nodded, “I’m thinking about you kissing me.”

His momentary silence caused you to panic and wished you’d either lied or never been born. But before you could panic entirely, he smiled in and leaned a little bit, leaving almost no space in between your bodies, “I can do that. If you’d like.”

“Yes,” you squeaked, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling inside, “I’d like that.”

And then he kissed you. 

Luckily that was only the first time of many.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

I have one fantasy that I will always fall back on if I have a hard time… enjoying myself. Picture this.

You live in a village tucked far away in the mountains. Your home is surrounded by a dense forest filled with dangerous and ravenous beasts, phantoms used to fill children’s nightmares and offer caution to rebellion. There are very few defenses in place against this threat, but one manages to be the most efficient. Whenever someone comes of age, they must leave an offering for the woodland monsters in order to secure their safety for another year. And it must be valuable.

So you wait, watching as time moves up until your 21st year when you are considered an adult. And you are terrified. You barely manage to make ends meet with work produced by your hands and the generosity of other townsfolk. But you can’t rely on them for this. It has to be your offering. But what can you give when you have nothing?

With no more time to spare, you come to a disheartening conclusion. The most valuable thing you have to offer is yourself. So you take the gamble. After all, the worst outcome is death and without protection, it would happen anyway. You spend the day making yourself presentable, dressing in something to highlight your tasty features and dowsing yourself in some sweet fragrances. Of course you don’t know what forest dwelling beings like, but you do your best.

Finally, the hour is upon you. Not wanting people to look into you too closely, you bundle up and bunch up a blanket to act as your “gift” and make your way out of down and into the darkness of the woods.

You jump at every chirp and crackle that echoes around you. You know your imagination is rather active, but you could swear there are a host of eyes tracking you as you follow the dirt path towards where the “alter” lies. You see the trees part in an unusual circular clearing with the massive stump of an ancient tree at the center. You can feel your legs shaking beneath you as you approach. Unfurling the blanket, you lay it down across the smooth wood as your (potential) last bed. With another breath, you unclasp the cloak and let it fall to the ground before crawling onto the platform and settle on your back.

You don’t know how long you lie there, staring at then canopy of leaves framing the starlit sky. It’s anxiety inducing to imagine what will happen to you and how stupid this whole plan is. But it’s better than locking yourself away in fear and shame. Might as well look at your death head on. Despite the nerves in your veins, you manage to close your eyes and drift to sleep.

Somewhere in your slumbering consciousness, your imagination steers your dreams. You see tall shadows emerging from the tree line to approach you. They examine you curiously, sniffing and prodding you with long taloned fingers. Slowly their curiosity gives way to boldness while they nuzzle against your skin. Tongues and hands covered in fur and rough scales caress every inch of you, marveling at your body.

You jolt as you feel something wet and firm press between your legs. The shock pulls you out of your sleep and you look around to see multiple creatures surrounding the stump. Muzzled mouths lick your fingers and an unidentified face nuzzles against your sex, devouring you with hungry fervor. You gasp, leaning back into strong arms that cradle you through the pleasure.

The night continues and one after another, new hands and appendages exploring you in ways no man ever can. They are at least merciful, allowing you to breathe in between intense orgasms for a few minutes before the next round begins.

When the sun finally rises, your body has been wrung dry and you are left a trembling mess atop the stump. A few of the friendly beings remain behind, assisting in your recovery before slinking back into the woods.

More than happy and satisfied yourself, you tidy yourself up and walk back to the village, waving to the eyes watching you. You know what your gift will be next year.

.

[gofishygo]

[PRIDE MONTH- WEEK FOUR] : through green hydrangeas (my heart lies) price x ftm reader (part 2/2) - UNFINISHED

(i will complete this once i am unsuicidal and motivated)

[PART ONE] | notes: medical settings, description of injury, should have a good ending but like rn its not necessarily very bonita for either of them

The next time you and Johnathan price meet each other is indeed, in Burningham.

The doctors treating you had come with a prognosis- a puncture to the intestine. Through the whole eight hours of the surgery, the whole two weeks of an induced coma, he’d shadowed it behind a glass window. His now practically immune to the scent of disinfectants, the lemon-stained chemicals burning at his nose until the chemoreceptors in them saw nothing, felt nothing. He compares it to a black hole, how his sensory limbs have dulled since his career; his ears are now half drowned, all noose shallow and diasporic, left behind at a botched mission in 2002 Moscow. The keenness of his nose now snuffed by a recent disaster with chemicals. His body is trying and failing, pulling the weight of the world on its shoulders and inside the gaping voids of his chest, always consuming, killing, but never truly settled. Never truly sated.

And now his eyes have resulted in you being eaten, now his ears have resulted in you being ripped at your core. His body has chewed you and, and was left to spit out your body, just like Johnny-

He is scared of looking into closed eyes-they remind price too much about him. So, he leaves the living pearls alone, refuses to peel the skin back to see your colours. He never wants to chew again, not after this.

In every other world be should have stayed attentive, should have yelled at you to not mount the doorframe. But now you are here, bandage wrapped vice-tight below your own scars under your chest and blanketing part of your tattoo, and guilt and pity and some dark festering emotion he couldn’t pinpoint layer and boil like bile in his kidneys. Threatens to spill over into his throat and all over the bed when he is finally allowed to take the compression off. It reveals the shooting star of a wound, crusted tail stretching and expanding into arms that seem to try reach across your skin, to take more of the body it had infested. And he fears you will meet the fate of Johnny- that the wound had claimed your soul instead of your life. And it was an early death too, for the man he had met, for the private who’d body he thought he’d fully memorised a decade ago. The short-lived life of the man who smiled with his whole face for the woman who couldn’t. He knows you have changed, have grown up and out of your past life.

But he can only hope that now; you are strong enough to live through it.

On the nineteenth day of your bedrest, John seems to notice that the slow trickle of bouquets and cards of condolence had been wrung dry, petals brown and crusting on the small bundle of roses that Gaz had left on the bedside since the beginning of your stay in the hospital. The colour of the wilt now matched his increasingly darkening eyebags, crow’s feet near buried, shallow dents in the corner of his peripherals. Pads of his fingers rest atop your forehead- and he knows no matter how dysregulated your internal temperature was since the mission, the number of degrees in your body would always be more than the amount of “get well soon’s” you were given. Some stone of pity seems to snowball at the tip of his tongue and lodge in his throat at the lack of a similar last name on any of the unopened cards left to collect dust on the table. Perhaps, since you’d dropped your original name, the people who’d carried your last refused to see you. And maybe, the idea that the number of degrees your body temperature was also outmatched the number of times you’d seen your relatives since your transition. And maybe, you had been alone for that stretch of years, without familiar flesh to grip onto or a face to share your ashtray and lighter with.

(When long-abandoned lawns are left unattended, they seem to flourish. Rainwater fills the cracks of pavement, toadstool and wildflowers sprouting between the roots of household weeds. In miracle, you had thrived in your isolation.) With one of your eyes slightly peeled open and fixed towards him, and voice barely gathering into the creak of a tree deforested, you ask what is wrong. Price swallows: and he replies with silence.

But even in your quarter-dead state, the captain can’t seem to stomp out the embers of your stubbornness. You’d always cared for him, affection growing teeth and latching onto him with a grip near impossible to pry. In warmth, it held him, in cold, it smothered him. “Put a lid on it, private,” its some form of rumbled warning, a predecessor to earthquakes that would split continents open. “Laswell called. All six targets got taken down, thanks to the work of you and the ULF. Another mission cleared, another day of living.” The dynamics of your exhale sound oddly like a rendition of price’s puff of a cigar. He can faintly recognise the lethargy, energy seeped out of your injuries, clearly exasperated by the way he slams shut at your prying. “You don’t need to worry about me,” But you’re attentive, even in your indigence, and notice how his eyes are not focused on the explosion of scab across your torso, but on the scars that adorned the underside of your chest. “Or is there something else on your mind?”

Price- he truly does hope that you register his stifled grunt and the widening of his eyes as shock instead of horror. Your words catch him off guard, a bear trap that ensnares his tongue instead of his legs, and he is left thrashing in desperation for new words. “no, it’s not- its not that you’re transgender. I don’t care for that. Why didn’t you contact me? What made you think that I would despise you, just because you changed? Just because you were happier?” did you think I could ever hate you for that? “no, its not your fault kid. m’ mistake.”

Silence from the only person who’d dared to raise their words to match all his own, isolation from the man whose touch anchored you down to the ground of the earth and the heat of his skin- it’s smothering him still, a phantom weight that chained the both of you to the bones in your knees and the cuffs of your necks. (If love Is liberation, maybe you two could have been set free-)

[bardic-inspo]

Midnight Chimes

Chapter Eight: Creature Comforts

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

Next Chapter (Coming Soon!) ✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

“All I want is a bit of fun,” he huffs, exasperated. “Is that so hard to ask?” Good, she thinks. It wouldn’t do her any good to go believing otherwise. To believe that drivel he pours could’ve come from somewhere earnest, instead of some purple-prosed paperback with the spine bent as often as a whore’s. But it could feel good, to be broken in by him like a tome left too-long untouched. To yield to someone else’s touch again. Better to ache with it after, having been opened and known again, than to ache alone. “You mean sex.”

Chapter CW: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT. NO LONGER EVENTUAL. 100% CONSENSUAL.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

Naomi wakes from a sleep without dreams to find her feet without shoes.

Stiffness lances through her shoulder blades. Gingerly, she shifts from her propped seat against the tree trunk, frowning at the threadbare blanket she finds tucked around her bare toes. She shivers with the chill that nips her neck, shrugging the blanket closer.

Serves her right for falling asleep in a place so stupid. In such sparse clothing, no less. Her nightgown seems far too sheer in the sunlight.

But then, whoever thought to leave her a blanket should’ve thought more about what one measly bit of cloth would do. Absolutely nothing, in these elements. She’d need a half-dozen more layers, at least, to stave off the cold that creeps in on autumn nights.

Sure, the days are warm enough. But only by the grace of a sun that burns as much as it comforts the cold away. The Underdark has its own volatile elementals and fitful lava fields. But not weather beyond ‘dry’ or ‘damp’. Certain reaches of her homeland are said to be cold, but Naomi’s never known them. For most of her life, she’s only known consistent warmth and heady humidity.

Up here, the air’s thinner. Flexible. Ever changing. 

It’s a change, to be so immersed in it. In her prior travels, any inn she came to would offer room to a bard who would work to earn her keep. They hadn’t heard of her, sure. But then, they heard her with a fiddle and forgot whatever qualms they had about welcoming in a strange drow.

In the company of a snapping hearth, from the safety of a window, Naomi had seen the sky heave and sob. Every time a storm rolled through, the heavens stomped their feet like a wailing babe. Water leaked from the clouds like a wrung sponge. Such a messy, miserable ordeal. Snow, at least, sparkles on the way down. But all in all, she’d rather not be soaked in any such nonsense.

Perhaps her companions would think her sheltered. Pampered. Soft.

But none of them know how to weave through bibberbang without breathing it in. Probably, none of them can tell the difference between torchstalk and timmask. Well, maybe Gale can. But no way can he gut a bulette without wasting any of it. He’d probably still make a halfway decent stew out of it, though.

Naomi never knew the comfort of her own room with a featherbed before she’d known the surface. Astarion isn’t so cushy, and not nearly so warm. But his company was comfort enough, it seems, for Naomi to stumble into sleep.

She clears her throat, glancing sideways, but already knowing the elf must be long gone. She must have him to blame for the blanket. And, apparently, the boots.

Tentatively, Naomi reaches for the shoes left in Astarion’s stead. Her fingertips follow the bright blue stitching on the sides, curling into leather that’s been carefully polished free from age and wear. He didn’t find them like this, she’s sure. 

She’s also sure he’s flighty. Dangerous, when the mood strikes him. More because of his tongue than his teeth. He’d sell her to save his own hide if he had to. If they stood in each other’s shoes, and the Gur had come for her, perhaps she’d be in chains right now.

Maybe Astarion’s never known the comfort of having someone watch his back. That, at least, was something Naomi always had back home. Maybe that’s why she finds herself taking her tentative alliance with the vampire to heart. Or why she’ll indulge in his flirtations, even as he plucks the lowest hanging fruit she’s ever heard. 

She feels sorry for him. The notion squirms in her gut. Oh, he’d loathe that. But he’d love that it’s only half the truth.

The other part is that he’s funny. She laughs at him as much as with him. But, still. When he giggles like a fountain, it’s hard to down the sound with a straight face. 

And he’s beautiful. His lips are sly and snide and smirking, but they’re plush, too. And there’s something about the too-perfect set of his snow-white curls that curls her knuckles here and now. She leans her head back against the tree with a soft sigh. Her mind mills with thoughts of raking her fingers in his hair, while that wicked mouth of his melts against her own.

Perhaps all he’s really out for is blood, and her body is just a consolation prize. But it’s nice to feel wanted. Even in some shallow sense.

Naomi slips into her new shoes with a fleeting smile, flexing to feel they fit just right. A little comfort could go a long way. For her and the vampire both.

Wrapping the blanket tightly around her for some semblance of modesty, if not pride, Naomi tiptoes back into the cave where they’ve made camp. The scent of broth swells to her nose, setting her mouth watering. Gale tends to breakfast. Shadowheart, Wyll, and Karlach talk in warm tones that blend with the crackle of the cookfire. Naomi ducks behind the tents, keeping to the fringes until she can safely tuck inside her own. If anyone catches a glimpse of her, they have the decency to keep quiet about it.

Naomi keeps her tent neat and orderly; even while staying in the inns, any urge to sprawl recoiled to the memory of her temple matrons scolding her for not keeping tidy enough in her youth. She’d shared a room with so many others, then. It took some time to be able to trance on her own without their soft chorus of breath swimming in her ears. She’d never known, before, that quiet could be so deafening.

And lonely.

Her pack rests near her tousled bedroll. Naomi eyes the tent’s other occupant warily as she rifles for a change of clothes. Alfira’s lute lurks in the corner where the tent’s drapes of blue-gray canvas loop around the pole holding them aloft.

Gale concluded Alfira’s instrument isn’t cursed after all. After that valiant effort, Naomi hadn’t had the heart to tell him she never learned to play the lute even a little. She can return it to the tieflings today, at least.

Cursed. The notion rolls in her mind, restless like a stormcloud. Restless, like the purpling shadows beneath her eyes. Naomi scowls into her tarnished pocket mirror and stuffs it back into her pack. 

She can’t keep on with so little rest. She needs to trance again, properly. Even if it means another meeting with the devil. Devils deal in contracts more than curses. It makes little difference; they’re all C-words, anyways.

Including that hag.

Dirge singer. Death bringer. Though, the hag could’ve called her ‘sunflower’ and made it sound like she murdered a puppy.

“Ouch!”

Naomi flinches sharply. Her hands retract from her pack on instinct. She turns her palms over, but finds no sign of what stung her. And the crawling necromancy stains that darkened her arms the day before have almost faded entirely. 

Thrrrum.

A sudden chord snaps like a rubberband, strummed harsh and fast and then gone. Naomi hisses, ears aching even as she rubs them.

Thrrrrum. THRRRRUM. 

The sound skewers through her skull. Naomi cowers. 

THRUM, thrum-THRUM, THRR--- 

Swallowing hard, heart hammering, Naomi whips her head towards the lute.

It’s just as lifeless as the girl who used to play it.

Birdsong filters through the camp alongside the crackling fire. The sounds are just as smoky sweet as they were before. As if nothing sour interrupted them at all.

Naomi lets out a tight sigh, massaging the fresh lines forming on her forehead. Those few discordant notes, they sounded familiar. For a split second, she thought she could make something of them. A melody, maybe. She can’t think of how it goes. Her jaw clenches as she braids the loose hair around her face back into her bun.

She trades her tunic for her leather armor, even though it still needs tending, and even though their travels today will take them back to the safety of the Grove. They’ve a habit of stumbling into monsters at every turn, after all. She gathers up the borrowed blanket and sets off to return Astarion’s brief affliction with kindness. 

Well, part of it. She’s keeping the shoes.

She finds him pouring over some moldering text. Even squinting, she can’t make out the title on the cracked leather binding. Astarion doesn’t even lift his head as she hovers. She clears her throat pointedly.

“Good morning, darling,” he murmurs, distant. Reluctantly, he peels his eyes from the fresh page he turns to, wearing a practiced smile that grows smug as he soaks in the sight of her. “You’ve gotten your beauty sleep, I see.”

“Thank you,” she says, holding out the blanket to him. “For this.”

Metal clangs behind her. Naomi stiffens. Gale spews curses as he fumbles with the lid of the stew pot. “Oh, for the love of--”

Astarion scowls at the blanket, and then at her, one elegant eyebrow arched.

“And for these,” she adds, shifting her heel so he can admire his own handiwork. The blue stitching arches bright against the dark leather. She finds herself staring, too. And babbling like a brook to fill the weighty silence. “You picked a nice color. Almost makes me think of--”

She stops short, mouth suddenly dry, eyes flitting back to his face to find him surveying her with a sly smile.

“--home,” she finishes quietly.

He wanted it to, she realizes. Astarion knows how to get what he wants. And he wanted her to think of him and home in the same blink, every morning, as she takes her first step into daylight. 

The sun suits you as well as the stars do, darling. 

He wants to be threaded through her head, inextricable, like the steaming waters she waded into as a child, the songs drifting from the temple, the warmth and wet of the Underdark itself. He means to sink teeth into her memories and add his fangs to the ones she treasures.

Naomi swallows thickly. She wouldn’t mind offering her neck for another night. With the dirt rough beneath her. His body pressing, taut, against her own. She wouldn’t mind it at all, now that she knows where all that blood goes.

Raw heat sweeps her skin, just like the kind that furled from the lake she showed him in her memories. Astarion’s gaze slinks over her, sheer and silky. She feels bare beneath it.

Until he utters some chiding, knowing sound, low in the back of his throat. Then, she feels sweaty. Balmy. Grimy. And sheepish. She shifts her weight between her feet.

It’s more likely, maybe, that he just doesn’t want to owe her anything. She’s helping him flourish, after all. Astarion’s not the sort to be dirtied with debts.

“But of course,” the vampire croons. “We need our fearless leader in tip-top shape, after all.”

“Your leader?” She repeats incredulously.

Astarion turns his head one way, then the other, making a show of looking about. It’s all dramatic effect; his pout of confusion easily reverts to his signature smirk a second later. “Do you see anyone else stepping up, darling? When you open those lovely lips, lovely things seem to happen. Either our enemies fall, or they fall in line.  We’re all inclined to let you keep doing it. Besides, it’s been so much fun to watch.”

She’s fully aware her slack-jawed expression only feeds the gleam in his eye. It’s not the lewdness of his implication that catches her off guard, but the pragmatism of it. The faith in her that he and the others apparently share. 

The goblins were easy to bring to heel; they nearly bent over backwards at the mere sight of a drow, anyway. But even after the incident with Alfira, and her escapade with the hag…her companions still want her to take the reins.

Naomi’s stomach knots. They’ve seen her use her tongue like a whip or a chain, and somewhere along the way, without her even bidding them too, they decided to fall in line as well.

Dimly, she hears Gale falling over his own feet somewhere behind them. Or, maybe he’s choking. Hard to make heads or tails of that strangled, scuffling sound. When she half-turns her cheek, the wizard’s face is ripened red, but he seems no worse for wear. Astarion takes her attention again. 

“And if the shoes fit,” Astarion hums merrily, “well, it’s really all decided then. I do have more of that thread. But it would be better suited if you dyed those leathers we took from that dead drow, first. I imagine they’ll fit you perfectly.”

There wouldn’t be much left to the imagination at all, if she wore what little clothing he spoke of. Much as she might loathe everything else to come from Menzoberranzan, begrudgingly, she knows the garb would look good on her. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says evenly, forcing the blanket firmly into his grip.

His lips twitch, but he takes it, cradling his book carefully in one hand, while holding the blanket at arm’s length in the other. He stalks off with it pinched between his fingers, held at bay from his body as if it were sopping. Gale lets out another strained noise that sounds suspiciously like a screaming kettle.

“Are you…all right?” She asks him, eying his unkempt hair. His knuckles must’ve worried it into disarray. The stew bubbles fitfully beneath the wizard’s furrowed brow.

“I am simply stupendous,” he promises, but it sounds pitchy. “Never better!”

The grove opens to them readily, with praise and thanks heaped like confetti upon their heads as they pass the tieflings’ caravan. Wyll and Karlach drink in the accolades, doling out kindness in equal measure, as if serving up helpings of Gale’s nightly stew. The wizard himself struts a little taller as he basks in their gratitude. Even Shadowheart seems moved to the slightest smile -- one she might actually admit to, if pressed.

Astarion’s mouth morphs between a smirk and a sneer. One moment, he hovers near Naomi’s shoulder. The next, she turns to find he’s tucked tail, lurking near the rear of the party like a cat that keeps circling but won’t quite settle.

Naomi finds a stature fitting of a hero-by-happenstance, accepting Zevlor’s coin and offer of camaraderie with the right words and the right thanks. The kind a good person might give, with the kind of performance that a good person might believe. It earns her a sideways glance from Shadowheart and Astarion both.

Naomi doesn’t shy from their scrutiny. They’re the same in this, she’s sure. At least, she’s not so sure she would have spared the effort on the tieflings’ behalf, if the search for a cure steered them elsewhere.

The real prize is a spoiled fruit; Halsin doesn’t have the cure they’d dared to hope for. But he has information. And he makes good on his promise to share it. The burly elf waves a hand in greeting as they approach him at the heart of the Grove.

“I hear there’s to be a celebration this evening,” Halsin says. “Well-deserved, after all your efforts. I hope you relish the chance at revelry. It may be some time before you’re afforded another such night. There is much to be done. And I promised I would help you however I could.”

“You did,” Naomi replies, leaning back to survey the rather sturdy length of him. “We'll make our plans now so we can make merry later.”

“I’m certain a cure for you can be found at Moonrise Towers,” the druid asserts, “but it’s…complicated. The journey, specifically -- it’s extremely perilous. Though, it seems you’re well-accustomed to navigating danger. To get to the Towers, you’ll need to pass through a terrible place -- a cursed place.”

Naomi stifles a sigh. There’s that ‘C’ word again. Cropping up like a stubborn weed. What else did she expect, really?

Halsin tells them of the shadow curse shrouding Moonrise and the surrounding region in darkness and decay. When Naomi wonders aloud how the Absolute’s forces could withstand such conditions, the druid doesn’t have an answer.

“Perhaps it’s the tadpoles,” Astarion muses airily. “Our wriggling friends might shield us from the curse entirely.”

“Only the Absolute’s elites have them,” Gale says with a shake of his head. “Their foot soldiers don’t. They’d need another method to move en masse.”

“You could go overland, along the Risen Road or through the mountains,” Halsin suggests. “But you’ll run into the shadow curse eventually. You could also go under. There is a tunnel in the ruined temple of Selune. It leads to Moonrise Towers through the Underdark.”

Naomi doesn’t meet any of the eyes that snap, at once, to her. She fixes her gaze, instead, to the scenery just past Halsin’s broad shoulders. Even without the tadpole, she knows they all share the same thought.

Wyll gives voice to the question hanging over them. “Is there any chance such a route might carry us near your home? Would you know the way?”

“No,” Naomi answers flatly.

“That’s a shame,” Astarion murmurs beneath his breath, the sound teasing like a breeze near her ear. “Truly. I would’ve liked to have seen it in person.”

Naomi stiffens. She feels his presence prickle along her neck again, even though he’s feet away. A memory of his bite. One bite out of her memories, and he thinks he has her story figured.

“You would’ve seen a pile of rubble,” she says without inflection. “That’s all that’s left of it, now. Boulders and bones.”

“A shame,” he says again, gently enough, her jaw softens slightly.

“But I do know the Underdark,” she says, rolling her shoulders back. “I know what we might find down there. How to navigate underground.”

“And if what we’ve heard from some of the tieflings is true,” Shadowheart adds grimly, “there’s Githyanki along the other route. Strong odds they would’ve had our heads even with Lae’zel in tow. Without her, it’s not a wager I’d like to take.”

One unanimous nod of assent from the others, and it’s decided, even before Halsin tells them further of Ketheric Thorm’s fabled fortress. The mention of her goddess lights Shadowheart like a candle. Before their eyes, the devotee of darkness positively glows.

Naomi wonders, ruefully, if the Sharran will have the same demeanor a few weeks into a moss-and-mushroom diet. Perhaps she’ll need to teach them how to gut a bulette, after all.

“Well, go on! Get in there with them!” Karlach blurts, swaying in time to the lively tune brightening the hollow. Her mug of beer sloshes, spilling over with the overzealous shimmy of her hips.

Naomi winces, back turned to the band as the crowd claps to their rhythm. “I was never good at being that sort of bard,” she shouts above the crescendo.

“What, fun at parties?” Karlach scoffs. “What other kind is there?”

“I’m a riot at a funeral.”

Karlach’s back bows as she glugs, streams seeping from her lips. Naomi watches, briefly fascinated, as the beer sizzles on the surface of Karlach’s broiling skin. It steams off of her in a sweet, wheaty aroma.

“It wassss sssbeautiful,” Karlach murmurs, sobering even as she slurs. “What you did for Lae’zel. Even though she despised you. You sing too pretty to stand around and pout about it!”

Naomi smiles, in spite of herself. “And your mug is too empty for you to still be standing around, talking to me.”

“Fine. Fine,” Karlach heaves an overdrawn sigh, stumbling off reluctantly. “But you’d better break out that fiddle they gave you in our next fight. I wanna hear this riot of yours!”

Flickering silhouettes stutter across the orange glow bathing the clearing. Naomi’s left alone again among so many of Zevlor’s caravan, those they saved from certain death at the goblins’ hands. Song rakes the air alongside fluttering flakes of ash and buffeting laughter. 

Naomi watches the festivities like she would a sunrise; they’re a gorgeous spectacle, to be sure. Something she can see, that can wash over her, but she isn’t part of it, even standing here, adrift in the middle of it. 

Alfira should be. 

She hadn’t wanted to accept the fiddle Zevlor had handed to her in exchange for Alfira’s lute. Well, she’d wanted to accept it. Whether she should have is a moot point now. It stays stowed in her tent for tonight. Still, she thinks of it wistfully.

It’s a beautiful, breakable thing. But it fit like a glove, in her grasp, beneath her chin. In a way that so little has.

“Do you ever tire of denying yourself?”

Naomi offers Astarion a sideways glance. The vampire offers her wine, straight from the bottle. Tentatively, Naomi reaches for it. Their knuckles brush against each other on the neck. The touch is gentle, and yet it feels like flint to steel the way it lingers, sparking, in her fingertips.

Astarion’s eyes shine like the glass in the firelight as she lifts it to her lips for a swig. 

The wine is sharp at first, and then it smooths to velvet on her tongue. Rich. Red. And--

“Awful, isn’t it?” Astarion mutters critically while she hands it back. “Vinegar for wine is hardly a fair consolation prize for all of our blood, sweat, and carnage. I think you deserve something sweeter, hm? A taste of what you’ve been staring at. Perhaps we both do.”

Astarion’s gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to her neck. She’s sure he can see the flush of it, even in the darkness, even by firelight.

 “A little…levity,” he whispers, and it sounds like a promise. “I was right, of course. Those leathers do suit you.”

Naomi swallows, abruptly warm even in such sparse clothing. Astarion’s eyes cut the angle the leather does, down between her breasts, to the lacing at her navel. It would only be one step to close the distance between them, yet, that space weighs her ankles; the notion of moving even an inch feels like wading through waist-high water.

“Yes, I’m tired of it,” she says, eyes peeling back to the party around them. Wistfully, she watches the sway of the bards, their fingers flitting over flute and fiddle. “No, I’m not sure I deserve any different.” She takes a shallow breath, forehead creased, discordant worry whittling in the back of her mind. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten something very important.”

“You have, haven’t you?” He says, head tilted. Naomi blinks up at him wordlessly.

“Pleasure, sweet thing,” he shakes his head, pitying. “I could feel it when I was lost in your neck, you know. You’re positively starved for it? Aren’t you?”

Yes, she thinks at once, an ache panging in her chest. Of course I am. She doesn’t--

“You don’t need to say anything. I already know how you feel,” Astarion rasps, daring the inch closer she couldn’t take herself. His slender hand darts out swift as a dagger. 

Naomi tenses for the touch that doesn't come. His fingertips only ghost over the hairline scar slashed across her nose, tracing its path, but never once grazing it. 

“I know what your last lover left you with,” he says. “And I know better, darling.”

The back of his hand curves down with the column of her neck in a could-be caress. Naomi’s throat bobs, and Astarion’s gaze flits to the motion, fixated. All at once, the fireside is sweltering. 

Intoxicating. The scent of him floods her, crisp and spiced even above the smell of the smoking flames. She hadn’t noticed before, even with her head against his shoulder. But one breath closer, one breath away, and it takes her mind away from anything else.

“I feel it too, you know. This…connection between us,” he says beneath the snap of kindling. 

It feels just as frail, this tentative thread winding them closer. So close, she thinks. He’s so close that, for the first time, she can see his chest is perfectly still without a breath pulled through it.

What might it feel like, to be still for a moment? To lay her ear to his ribs and hear nothing at all? Silence without solitude. Sanctuary without…history.

Pleasure, instead of pain.

He’s so close. He’s so hungry, with the wolfish gleam in his eye, and the edge of fangs in his smirk. But it can’t be a tether he longs for. 

“What do you want Astarion?”

His brow twitches before it settles again. “You know,” he purrs, “I’ve been very good, too. Playing the hero of all things. Hmph.”

“That’s not an answer.” Her snicker sours his expression to a scowl.

“All I want is a bit of fun,” he huffs, exasperated. “Is that so hard to ask?”

Good, she thinks. It wouldn’t do her any good to go believing otherwise. To believe that drivel he pours could’ve come from somewhere earnest, instead of some purple-prosed paperback with the spine bent as often as a whore’s.

But it could feel good, to be broken in by him like a tome left too-long untouched. To yield to someone else’s touch again. Better to ache with it after, having been opened and known again, than to ache alone.

“You mean sex,” she says, his slow-spreading smile a mirror of her own.

“The kind you’ll never forget,” Astarion drawls, voice gaining gravel again. “We could steal away once the others are asleep. Take the night for ourselves and forget all this madness. I know where we can find our own little piece of nowhere.”

Astarion’s eyes are crimson as the wine he hands her. His fingers curl cool, around hers, as she takes his offering a second time. The sip tingles on her tongue, brimming with promise.

The vampire wets his lips. “So what do you say, lover?”

Damp grass tamps down beneath her feet. Naomi shivers, free of the fireside’s warmth, and -- she confirms with one last glance over her shoulder -- free from prying eyes. The night’s crisp, cool, and quiet but for the dull croak of creatures who call the brush their home.

Between the bottle brush pines, she glimpses a sky alive with simmering stars. It’s beautiful. Resplendent. She could stare at those heavens for hours, neck craned upward, her chin in her hands.

Naomi comes to the crest of a small incline. The forest thins. There, across tall grasses, leaned lithe against a tree, she sees him. When she blinks again, the moon, the stars, and the faint blush of the astral sea seeping from beyond are all dull, faded things.

“There you are,” Astarion’s whisper is coarse. He presses from the tree. Naomi can’t quell the hitch in her breath. Moonlight slinks with him, liquid silver cloaked over his bare shoulders.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, closing their distance with long, lazy strides as her own steps cease. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

Pristine, moon-bleached curls frame his face. She knew she’d find that knowing smirk on his lips. But the heady lust in his eyes is tempered with a softness so different from the silky way he speaks and stares. Like sand through her fingers, it feels so fleeting.

“You've been waiting to use that line,” she says, but the barb lacks any sting. “And besides, I know it was murder on your mind that first time we met. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Briefly, his eyes narrow before his expression smooths to match his tone. “Oh darling, all I wanted to do that night was taste you.”

The spiced scent of him swells with her hammering heartbeat. Naomi’s eyes wander, unbidden, to the curve of his lower lip. The barest tips of his fangs dig into the plush of it.

“I think you want to be tasted,” he says with certainty. “I think one bite wasn’t enough.”

“You could be right,” she whispers back, eyes half-lidded.

Gently, he lifts her chin with a pair of his fingers. “I think the night we met could’ve gone something like this.”

The crush of his lips is velvet; his mouth is soft as it catches hers, rougher as he keeps it. She drifts into the kiss, weightless, lost to the slow, deliberate, inevitable way he coaxes her open.

His hand on her hip is a sudden anchor, his fingertips pressing imprints of sweet pressure. She parts for him readily; her legs shift to accommodate the nimble fingers working her free of her laces, her lips allowing his tongue to soothe the ache he made. 

She thinks of those same skilled hands, working open a lock with an expertise that would have earned anyone else calluses. He always pinches the pick so precisely in his grip, the blue veins in his pale wrists flexing with instinct but only the barest effort. With just as much ease, the leathers crumple at her heels and he bears her to the night. 

Abruptly, he parts from her. Naomi pants, chest heaving. As he steps back, she steps forward out of her clothing piled in the dirt. 

Red eyes rake down her body, burning from her neck to her navel like wine down her throat. He dips with fluid motion, doing away with his trousers before he straightens. Her own gaze flits low as anticipation clenches between her legs. Her teeth catch the inside of her cheek, muffling the noise she knows would only grow the girth of his ego.

There’s so very much of him to anticipate.

Strong arms loop around her waist, ending any distance between them with firm pull. She gives to his grip, catching her breath as the chill panes of his chest press cool against her breasts. When his lips have hers again, and his hands weave reckless though her hair, he casts the cold away entirely. At least, she forgets all about it while he’s tugging her hair loose from its bun, and tugging her lower lip between his teeth.

For a moment, she sways dizzy, eyes shut to the world. He’s her gravity. Astarion hitches her legs over his hips, hard grip buried in her ass, and lifts her, spinning her round. 

Her back scrapes rough against the tree bark. It’ll sting in the morning. But his tongue teases at the roof of her mouth and all she can think now is more, more, more.

More of that pleased sound rumbling low in the back of his throat as her hands clutch the nape of his neck. More of that blissful mouth she gasps against. More of his skin smoothing like satin over hers. More of the taste of him taking her mind and emptying it of all else.

Naomi’s fingernails drag tender against his scalp, silver curls threading through her fingers. Astarion tilts his head back into the touch. She takes the opportunity to graze them down the delicate edges of his ears, too, satisfaction stoked by the sound of his ragged snicker.

“Good girl.”

He mutters the praise feather-faint on the heat of her tongue. Any purchase she had falters to the needy, tightening coil of want drawn suddenly taut inside her. As if he said the words to the lips between her thighs instead of those he claims with his own.

Her legs quiver when her feet find the dirt again. Astarion cups her breasts, rolling a pebbled nipple between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. Naomi groans into his open-mouthed kisses, into the exquisite, electric pleasure he plies from her tits. Her heels drag back into the soil, but it's her own needy noises that ground her.

Until the rigid length of him, the only warmth he has, grinds against the meat of her thigh, and her mind blanks but for the answering ache inside her cunt. 

Her footing wavers. She stumbles forward, shoving firm against his hips. Abruptly, Astarion’s eyes fly wide. She smears a kiss and a stifled breath against his collarbone. Then, his grip tightens, and they’re falling together, down into the dirt.

Astarion breaks her landing with a dull huff. Her own snickering snaps the quiet like twigs underfoot. It can’t be helped. And she can’t help but bask in that dazed look he wears as he watches her, laughter and moonlight gleaming in his eyes without a trace of reproach. 

She’s got a perfect view of that gorgeous face, so she can see what it does to that self-assured smirk of his when her trailing hand reaches its destination. Naomi shifts, straddling his thighs, one palm painting over the lean spread of his chest. The other smooths up the side of his leg until she comes to the crux of what she longs for, the inspiration for all the slickness she has waiting for him. Her fingers wrap lithe around his shaft and stroke.

Astarion shudders out a breathy, contented sigh.“I was right about you,” he pants, head lolling back against the ground while his hungry eyes roam her body.

“What’s that?” Naomi asks, her voice saccharine as she tilts her head, the twist of her wrist anything but innocent.

“You are stunning in silver.”

She follows his gaze, turning her attention downward to the curve of her tits, rising with the shape of her own breath in her lungs. Past her collarbone, her dense freckles thin out over the pale twilight shade of her skin, like stars dissolving in daylight. Her lilac-gray pigment fades, too, into ethereal blue by the light of the moon. Every inch of her is alive with it. Even her hair, falling loose and tousled over her shoulders, takes on the shimmer of fresh snowfall.

She swallows, the motion rippling through the flat of her stomach. Last night, Astarion said the daylight suited her. She replied in kind. But tonight, she said to him, you don’t have to pretend with me, and she meant it. He didn’t say it back. Maybe he meant it, anyway. He watches her so intently, now.

Tonight, he says she’s stunning. Tonight, beneath her, he tells the truth. If only for a little while. The daylight suits them fine enough, but they're creatures of the night, the pair of them.

Her breath snags as he sits suddenly upright. The motion shifts her, too. She’s still spread over his lap, but her grip is gone. A cunning smile curls on his mouth. Firm hands press against the small of her back, pulling her flush against the hard ridge of his cock. Every slow rock of his hips sends pleasure stuttering through her stomach. Every thrust across her cunt has him more and more slicked with her.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. He draws a hand through her hair, tugging back with a gentle hold. Nonsensical noise tumbles from her mouth. Her pulse pangs in her throat, bared to his lips.

“And you’re so very eager,” he says, the words tingling against her neck. “Aren’t you?”

She braces for the bite, for the piercing pain that will yield to delectable numbness in a moment’s time. But there’s no trace of his teeth. Instead, his mouth merely drags delicately along the path of his favorite vein, throbbing just beneath the surface of her skin.

“I’m not the only eager one, it seems,” she says in a husk of what her voice used to be.

“Mm,” Astarion rumbles in reply, “we’ve both waited long enough.”

He pushes hard against her shoulders. Naomi’s back thumps against the gritty dirt. Astarion is smooth marble as he crawls across her, knees bracketing her own. On instinct, her hips lift, straining towards his hardened cock looming, glistening, above her cunt. 

He chides her with a click of his tongue. A forceful palm pins her back down beneath him. But her punishment is short-lived. He threads a hand between them, licks his lips, and dips just one finger between her slick folds.

Breath stammers from her lungs. Astarion circles her clit like circling prey. The black look in his eyes is calculated, distant, and pierces straight through her. Like he hardly sees her at all --  only the dirt beneath her body, the ground he could fuck her into, the little deaths he could bury her with. His wrist flexes with the arch in her back. He buries his soaked finger inside her heat. 

And just like that, he has her curled around it. Naomi’s not sure what language keeps leaving her tongue. It’s known to no one but the two of them. It’s filthy as the wet, clicking rhythm of him playing with her cunt. 

He blinks, brow knitting briefly, and the set of his jaw seems to ease. She catches the flash of his fanged smirk behind her slitted lids before he leans forward and laps at her trembling tits. Naomi’s eyes shut tight as the whole of her squeezes with touch of his tongue against her pert nipple. Her cunt clings, needy, around his finger, but she doesn’t have to beg; he slips in a second, granting her that perfect stretch she so desperately seeks.

“Gods--”

The seal of his mouth breaks abruptly with a lewd pop. Naomi jerks from the ground, bucking to the sharp but fleeting reproach of his fangs against her swollen nipple. He leans higher, nosing at the crook of her neck. His breath sends a shiver across her skin as a low growl seeps between his teeth. 

“The gods aren’t the ones giving you this.”

His knuckles crook inside her cunt, and like she’s any other lock, Naomi’s lips open at his whim.

“Ah--Astar--star--”

“Better,” he snickers darkly, “as in ‘surely you can do better’.”

Somewhere in the feverish flurry of her thoughts, she feels a swell of victory, knowing her critique of his charms left such an imprint on him. A second later, he kills her breathless laughter, swiping his tongue against the slanted edge of her ear. Naomi chokes around the sweetest shudder. It’s his name she mangles in her mouth as she comes hard and sudden, spasming around the pair of fingers he used to turn her to putty in his hands.

Astarion eases back, sitting up on his knees and giving her room to prop her chest with her arms. The look in his eyes is a predatory one as he rubs his cunt-slicked fingers across his lips. A long, steaming sigh leaks out of him.

“My bittersweet treat,”  he drawls, “you’re so very flushed for me.”

“Can’t I treat you, too?” Naomi asks, lashes low as she leans her head to the side, an open invitation to her open neck. Her fingertips trail over the stretch of it, skimming the flare of her collarbone down to the swell of her breast and teasing at the nipple he’d toyed with before.

Surprise floods his face, stoking the grin on hers. It’s too perfect. He’s too perfect. His carefully coiffed hair is riled into picturesque disarray, his eyes rounded wide. He recovers in a blink, grasping her thigh, angling her ankle over his shoulder, and pulling her tightly to him.

“You generous little thing,” he croons, his mouth descending down her leg. He drops to his forearms, sucking a path of fervent kisses along the tender flesh of her inner thigh. “But I’ve only just started, darling,” he pants, his breath furling across her cunt. 

His tongue dips through her folds, mapping the heat of her with languid, deliberate strokes. Like he means to take the spread of her in his mind as much as his mouth. Commit her to muscle memory in the same manner his long, elegant fingers can nock a new arrow without a glance at his hands.

And she thinks, with a cry breaking like glass in her throat, he could have her in pieces just as easily.

The vampire’s yet to let his teeth sink in. Every drop of blood Naomi came to the woods with stays within her veins. But Astarion doesn’t need his fangs to have her in a boneless puddle beneath him; his lips alone have that managed. 

He devours her all the same, drinking in her writhing whimpers as he slips a finger inside again, groaning his approval as she takes another and clenches tightly around him. Sweat flares across her forehead with the forceful fit of her orgasm thrumming through her cunt. 

She chases after her breath, awash in Astarion’s embrace, in the sprinting thunder of her own heartbeat slamming his ribs while he climbs back over her. He strokes away the hair plastered to her cheek, and a lightweight, dizzy feeling flutters in her chest.

Realization snaps with her pulse, the back of her mouth growing suddenly dry. There’s no answering echo pounding back beneath his skin. His heart is silent, his chest cool and soothing to the touch. 

He’s quiet. Not the lonely kind of silence. But a deeper, richer shade of it. The kind of quiet that eases whatever wayward, nuisance of a noise that lurked in the back of her head. She hadn’t even known it was there until she’d known its absence. Until Astarion laid bare against her body, and she heard nothing at all inside his chest.

 It’s…nice.

“Are you still with me, darling?” The vampire searches her face, eyes narrowed by the barest hair, his curls aglow in a moonlit halo.

“Y-yes.”

“But don’t you look dazed,” he muses, putting on a pout that’s all for show. “If you still want me inside of you, you’ll have to say so, lover.”

“I do. Want it,” she answers at once, sparking a keen glint in his eye. She swallows, downing the hoarseness in her throat.

“Then say the words,” he coaxes, hovering taut above her.

Naomi tilts her head back, a sultry smile hanging slack from her swollen lips. “I want you inside me, Astarion. And I want you to have your fill of me while you’re filling me.”

His gaze dulls over, drifting down to her throat, his pupils blown wide. His voice is rich and dark as he whispers roughly, “So be it, my sweet.”

He seals the vow with a chaste kiss and the slow roll of his hips. The head of his cock nudges, warm and thick against her entrance. Instinct and anticipation have her cunt gripping around a panging nothingness. His fangs graze the pattering pulse-point in her neck. 

Naomi doesn’t know she’s held her breath until Astarion sinks into her with cock and fangs both. The exhale bleeds from her body in a heady rush.

“Isn’t that better?” He growls against her ear, the tang of her blood and sex mingling on his breath and in her nose.

Dimly, she’s aware of the prickling punctures in her neck. But then, his mouth soothes them again, sucking with a hard fervor, and she melts into the blend of his cock smacking wet against her cunt. 

Into the blend of blood and sex and sweat that takes her like a tide. Into the crash of lips and hips that has her writhing, riding on a climbing crest of pleasure. Every prod of his cock against that perfect place deep within her cunt drowns her in permeating bliss.

She could fade into that feeling entirely; dissolve into nothing but the crash of her own breath and the length of him wrapped within her. Just when she thinks she might, Astarion peels from her throat. He kisses her with groaned urgency, pulling a moan from her mouth into his. 

She comes apart that way, sealed with him, with a hard, lightning tremor shooting from her cunt through her chest. Astarion grunts, his teeth catching her lip with a sting that sends sparks simmering down through her toes. Her cunt convulses, wringing his cock through his frantic, shuddering thrusts.

Astarion parts from her mouth, face scrunched. He pours into her with a ragged groan. Absently, she strokes the dangling curls from his face, watching, rapt, as his brow trembles with the rest of him.

And then he pours from her, his body spilling into the dirt beside her, his cum seeping from her throbbing cunt. 

Cool, lonely air licks the sweat from her skin. Naomi shivers. 

Then she flinches; a flurry of fabric drops over her in a dark shadow. Gingerly, she takes the blanket, eying the swirling, pristine pattern of the stitching. It’s not the same as the one she woke up with this morning.

Astarion lies on his back next to her, still and silver as a statue.

“We can’t have you cold,” he murmurs faintly, as if miles away, “now, can we?”

A/N: THEY FINALLY FUCKED!! WOO HOO! Naomi: He's not even that good at flirting lol but it is entertaining.

Naomi five minutes later: It would be real stupid of me to think he means any of this lol we're totally just having fun it's casual

Naomi ten minutes later: Where's the cuddles though 🫠 Super excited to share Underdark happenings, lots more Naomi lore, and some Astarion POV about what just happened here next chapter! Divider credit for before and immediately after story text to @firefly-graphics. Divider credit for scene breaks and banner below to @saradika-graphics. *Tag List: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate, @mancsunite, @marlowethebard,

@ayselluna, @wingsy-keeper-of-songs, @vixstarria

*I'm sorry if I missed you, I'm new this tag list thing! Lmk if you want to be added!

[bellafragolina]

Can i have a cute warden ingo with his S/o havign a nice bath together? Idk if in the alabaster iceland or idk beach or in a lake? Up to you something cute man needs to have a good time and relax hahaha

Relaxing bath time coming up on your left!!

🍓🍓🍓

“Just relax,” he murmured into your temple, carefully cupping hot water to pour down your back, “I’m right here. I’ll take care of everything.”

Endless days and nights alike stretched you far thinner than Ingo would prefer. He understood your need to get things done as soon as possible, as he was as desperate to go home as you were, yet he feared you would stall, you would break, overrunning yourself without proper maintenance in between. So, using the soft voice and softer smile he knew you were so weak to, he invited you here.

The hot springs held everything you needed to finally, properly relax. The water’s temperature sapped away at any stiffness still clinging to your sore muscles, and particularly stubborn knots easily folded beneath the firm caress of Ingo’s calloused hands. You could melt into goo like a Goomy, but Ingo kept you together, huddled into his lap to kiss and to hold and to caress.

You needed this. Even with the distraction of work, of dangerous Pokémon threatening to tear you to mere ribbons, you missed this. Ingo was like a beacon in the darkness, a comforting fire to curl up next and feel seep into your weary bones. He was as tired as you were, wrung dry by the harsh environment you lived in, but he was home.

Ingo’s hands lifted from where they rolled into your hips when you twisted. You turned slowly, water splashing in gentle waves around you, until you were settled back into his lap, this time facing him. Ingo voiced no qualms with the new position, merely wrapping his arms around you as he peppered careful kisses into your hairline.

“I love you.” You whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the world moving around you.

“I love you.” Ingo said right back, a certain kind of insistence threading into his voice. His kisses became harder, lingering on your skin for moments too long. You tilted your head back in silent question. “I love you very much. Please. . . don’t leave.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. “I won’t.” Your head lowered back down, carefully nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You laid gentle kisses where his adam’s apple quivered. “I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not. We’re in this together, you and me.”

Ingo sighed, low and long like he was deflating. “Good.” His fingers danced up your spine, carefully feeling, mapping, memorizing. “I’ve forgotten so much already. I don’t want to forget you.”

“I’ll make sure to leave a permanent imprint on your mind then.” You teased him, nipping at the column of his throat. Ingo laughed airily, so you settled again, relaxing into the serene moment you shared. “We’ll be okay.”

“Of course.” Ingo murmured. “Any track you conduct can only lead to success.”

You just smiled, and promised yourself to get him home, no matter the cost.

🍓🍓🍓

I’m so sappy for this mannnnnnn

~Renee

[shibaraki]

WHERE I WANNA BE ┊ REIGEN ARATAKA

tags: NSFT, GN reader, friends to lovers, resolved sexual tension, fluff and smut, dry humping, coming in pants, premature ejaculation, clothed sex, what is plot, don’t look at mekasksksks

wc: 1.6k

The invitation was made with only good intentions. Reigen’s apartment flooded after a pipe burst and he needed somewhere to stay. Serizawa offered, but your place was closer to the Spirits and Such Agency, and living alongside his own employee seemed inappropriate, temporary or otherwise.

The choice was easy. It was for the sake of convenience. And yet, you’re not sure exactly how it had come to this.

“You good?”

Reigen had sunken back into your couch cushions with an unnatural effort. You’d never seen someone try so hard to look relaxed. The corner of his eye twitches at random intervals, fingers wrung tightly into the fabric of your shorts.

At what point had the accumulated longing — built steadily over years of bizarre friendship — crested?

“Not sure what you mean. I’m fantastic,” he quips, flashing you a strained smile and giving a flippant wave of his hand. In the dark of your living room, illuminated only by the cool toned glow of your TV screen, he appears a little withered. Nervous. “Totally fine! Are you?”

Your legs are folded beneath your body, settled either side of his hips. The plot of the movie has been long forgotten. You take the opportunity to watch him squirm under your avid gaze. Reigen looks softer out of his typical work suit. Dirty blonde hair stuck in all directions and mussed. He’s wearing his muted purple pyjama set: a bear printed on the chest, crew neck loose around his collar but tight around the wrists. The bottoms are cuffed just above his ankles because his legs are a little too long. You laughed gleefully when you first saw them.

There was underlying meaning. He was comfortable. Maybe not in himself, but with you— in a way that makes you want to touch him. To keep him. You walk two fingers along his collar and feel each step echo through his body. Pelvis twitching helplessly under your weight, the stiff outline of his cock presses up against your ass.

“We can stop,” you intone gently. As exhilarating as it was to have him so reactive and malleable you knew he had a habit of overestimating himself; pushing his own boundaries for the sake of proving validity or worth. “I wouldn’t be upset. This is all moving pretty fast”.

Reigen worries his lip between his teeth. There is already a sore indentation left from earlier in the evening, after dealing with a particularly grueling call from his insurance company. Your knuckles brush across the new, uneven stubble on his jaw and he takes a sharp breath, grasping tight at your thighs.

In lieu of a response, he tentatively encourages you to grind into his lap again. You follow his lead and murmur leisurely at the whine that falls from his open mouth, arms snaking around his neck. Elbows rested against the back of the sofa, your fingers thread through his hair, playing with the fine strands at his nape.

Your name is whispered between heaving breaths, not quite knowing what he wants to ask for. Hands twitch at your hips with bruising pressure, undecided as to whether he wanted you to stop, slumping down into the cushions as sense gradually leaves him.

You hum appreciatively as his eyelids flutter, “Didn’t know you were this sensitive. Got me all wet and I’ve barely touched you”.

Reigen shudders and bites down a whine, head tipping back to bare his throat, breathing sharply out of his nose. Struggling to speak, his assertion falls flat, “I’m not—ah. Not usually”.

A sweet blush spreads warm across his cheeks and kisses the tips of his ears, dark in the dim lighting. You undulate your hips, chasing your own pleasure as well as his. “Don’t stop,” he pleads with a strangled noise, pawing at your waist and guiding you over his cock in dissonant rhythm. Pure desperation. “Please don’t”.

“Yeah?”

“Yeaaa—!” the vowels drag on his tongue, drawn out into a long moan when you push deliberately into the cradle of his pelvis, pleasure prickling under your skin. His arousal saturates the and eases the motions. Slack jawed, the bridge of his nose scrunches up as he clings to you. “Fuck. Wanted you like this for so long. Wanted… I wanted to do it the right…”

His interminable rambling comes to an abrupt halt. He realises his admission— you watch the panic trickle into his otherwise pink expression, his thighs quivering in the effort not to buck up again. To save face. Hot, blood rises to the surface and emanates against your palms. Slowing the rhythm to a stop, you gently take his face into your hands. “Arataka?”

“Sorry,” he blurts. Reigen pats awkwardly at your knees, eyes wide and darting along the length of the sofa as though seeking an escape route. “Sorry. My big mouth. Damn it, I’ll—”

Before he can formulate a clever excuse to leave, you squeeze the soft fat of his cheeks together, hard. It puckers his lips into an exaggerated pout and forcing him quiet. “You’re overthinking”.

“Overthinking? Me?” he tries, that well crafted, flippant mien fracturing under the movement between your bodies. “Never”.

You release, and his expression startles with the sharp flick of a finger. A faint pink mark blossoms at the point of impact, right between his brows, and they pinch tight into a petulant frown. Rubbing at the spot he complains, “Do you usually physically assault your guests?”

“Stop that,” you mutter.

Feigning ignorance, “Stop what?”

Reigen blinks, swallowing thickly as you gently grasp his wrist. Punctuating the words with a kiss to the palm of his hand, the heel, the quickening pulse, “You can’t bullshit here, Arataka. Not to me. Your body is a little too honest for that”.

He wheezes, “Could you be merciful for once in your life?”

You cradle the back of his head as it falls forward to rest against your shoulder and his hands slide up your back, clutching your shirt. He groans pitifully, “This is worse than the time I confessed in middle school with my fly open. I’m about to cum in my pants. I haven’t done that in years—!”

The way he holds you betrays him. Grip tight around you as he speaks, squeezing to settle the nerves and keep you close, afraid you’ll leave despite his own urge to flee. You coo as you feel his cock throb and the restraint falls away for a fleeting moment; he turns, open mouthed, and keens into the juncture of your throat.

“You know I want you too, right?” you rasp, repositioning your knees and building the pace, grinding down into his lap, spurred on by the wet hiss beneath your ear. “Feel that?”

Crossing his arms around the small of your back, as if to tether himself, Reigen tries to mirror your rhythm. Bending at an awkward angle, you hook your fingers beneath his chin and force him to look at you, never faltering. You take it in— Reigen isn’t conventionally attractive by any means but that somehow played to his charm. Now, with his pupils blown, lashes damp and clumped into little spikes, hair clinging to the thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, you have to admit the view is quite a good one.

His lips part for breath, tongue peeking between his canines. There’s something intense in his gaze and it looks like a plea that you want to instinctively chase, hyper aware of how simple it would be to kiss him. You keep him there a while longer, mouths brushing with each rise and fall of your hips, until a whine breaks the tension.

“Please”.

You meet in the middle in a free fall. Crude wet sounds reverberate throughout the room. You think you can taste the lingering flavour of peppermint as you pluck your name from his throat, mapping out the grooves of his teeth, directionless and sloppy.

With surprising strength he holds you tight to his front and anchors your hips to begin frantically rutting up into your heat. His eyes roll back and close, lashes casting a thin shadow over his red cheeks. You watch in awe, mumbling disjointed praises as he surrenders to it; his surroundings fall away until you’re the only thing left— trapped in his clutches, being humped like a pillow.

Reigen shudders. He moans unabashedly and the hair on your arms stands on end as it frissons through your body, throbbing between your thighs. You rock forward with the force of his hips, gasping at the sudden bang behind you where his feet kick out and hit the coffee table. Years of pent up arousal spills into his pyjama pants, saturating the thin fabric enough to feel it sticky through your shorts.

“Holy shit Arataka,” you mumble, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead as you lean back and look where your bodies align— where he’s still slowly grinding against you, hissing through the sensitivity. “Wait. You don’t need to—”

“I can keep going,” he insists breathily. While his voice is weak and unconvincing, his expression is set into familiar false confidence to bury what is likely embarrassment. You knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking. Probably suffocating in unfounded embarrassment and scorning himself for not following some self implemented rule of making his partner cum first.

His slow, purposeful friction is hard to ignore. “Okay,” petting his cheek with one hand, you concede. The other descends his torso, a finger slipping under his waistband, grazing the hair leading down his navel.

“Take these off first”.

The choice is easy.