#and very quickly spiralled out of control

[ellecdc]

Hi ✨️💖✨️ congratulations 🎉 i'm here for the drinks and was wondering if i could have super indulgent polymoonwater w barty comforting reader who is insecure about her small boobs please ☺️

Yes!! Thank you for playing 🫶

So I feel like, especially if regulus is cis-gendered in this scenario, neither he nor barty are going to really understand what it feels like to be self conscious of their appearance? Black’s are notoriously gorgeous, and though canonically Harry suggests regulus isn’t as pretty as Sirius (though the poor sod spends so much time talking about how attractive Sirius is that I don’t think he’s a reliable narrator), in my universe, he’s also gorgeous

Regulus immediately sort of shuts it down, ‘there’s nothing to be shy about, amour, none of us care?’ But like, that’s not the point you stupid beautiful man, yk?

Remus is sympathetic and offers knowing looks and loving smiles

Barty immediately starts trying to untangle the worry “well…are you upset that I don’t have big boobs?” - “well, no, but…” - “then why would I be upset that you don’t? Remus and Reg have even smaller boobies, but you don’t hear me complaining about that, do you?” - “it’s not the same, Barty”

“Okay” Remus interjects, seeing that the conversation is quickly spiralling out of control. He knows Barty always means to say the nicest things, they just never translate that way. “Barty has a bit of a point though, yeah? We all find very different things attractive, and having big boobs isn’t something we ‘require’ to find you attractive. You’re our beautiful girl.”

You let out an unconvinced sigh and lean back into your chair. “I love your boobies. They’re my favourite.” Barty proclaims. - “yeah?” You ask shyly, he looks at you like you’ve asked a sort of ridiculous question. “Well, yeah. I get to put them in my mouth?”

“Barty…” Remus chides tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose as regulus offers a simple “ditto”, causing you to snort a laugh and Remus to start scolding everyone in Welsh, even though none of you know what he’s talking about

[roguelioness]

pas de trois

Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Aymeric de Borel/Alyzen Kaide/Estinien Varlineau Rating: E Words: 6931

(Read on ao3)

The water is hot, near-scalding, but Alyzen prefers it that way. It forms a steam shield against the blizzard outside currently ravaging Ishgard, and fogs up the windows that would inform her how brutal the snowfall it. Which suits her just fine - she wants no reminder of the journey she is to set off on.

She’d been annoyed that Count Edmont had planned a soiree on the eve of her departure. She hates socializing even at the best of times, even less so when there are missions to be undertaken. All she wanted was a quiet evening spent soaking in a bathtub, and that had almost been denied her – until Aymeric stepped in and offered the use of his manor.

A foolish move, to be sure. Though she might be the Warrior of Light, though she might be a ward of one of Ishgard's great houses, she is still an outsider, and the local populace would not take too kindly to the fact that she was spending the night at the house of one of Ishgard's most powerful (and sought-after) men.

"There is naught to fear," Aymeric had soothed with a smile, "I will be meeting with Estinien, and will spend the night with him. None shall know you occupy the mansion. Your privacy shall be guaranteed, I assure you."

A chance to be alone? Fully alone, in a place that wasn’t in the middle of some wilds, with amenities that offered a chance to unwind? Well, how could she turn down that offer? And so she's stretched out in a marble tub, soaking in water that will never turn cold – Garlond's new engineering marvel of course – the scent of incense and sandalwood heavy in the air.

Her eyes slide shut, and with a soft, luxurious sigh she slips deeper into the water, letting herself relax, pushing all the memories of the past into the background.

A quiet, quiet creak has her tensing.

Someone is in the room with her. She can sense their presence, that awareness prickling at the nape of her neck. The alarm that should follow is absent; considering none save one knows of her being here, it can only mean… "I take it your meeting was cut short, lord commander?" she teases.

"We came to an agreement sooner than I expected," is his casual, noncommittal response. The smirk threaded through the syllables has her alert.

"We?" she questions, turning at last towards the room's new occupants. Or intruder, as it were, for standing next to Aymeric is Estinien, his steel blue eyes glinting so sharp even in the muted light of the room. Both men are dressed casually, in soft breeches and loose-fitting shirts, their hair the kind of flat and mussed that comes from wearing a hat. They make a striking contrast standing next to each other - though both are tall and muscular, Estinien is lithe and wiry while Aymeric is broad-shouldered and sturdy. They’re both handsome men in their own right, and the sight of them together, like this, so comfortable and relaxed, short-circuits her brain for a few seconds.

Estinien’s mouth lifts up into a smirking half-smile. 

Her gaze narrows. "What is the meaning of this?" she asks, harsh and blunt, sinking below the level of the foam that covers the water's surface. Estinien's expression, though she cannot decipher it entirely, is unnerving, and ignites a lick of flame in her belly – though she'll never admit to it.

"I believe we have some negotiating to do."

"This hardly feels like the time or place for such a thing."

Aymeric’s voice is perfectly even, as though he’s commenting on the weather. "Not so for the proposal I have in mind."

She presses her lips together tight, teeth gritted together as she tries to avoid looking at Estinien. What could he possibly mean? "And what proposal would that be?"

The grin on Aymeric’s face makes her quirk her brow, so wide and satisfied it is. She’s seen his cat sport a similar expression  at mealtimes. His gaze is darker; there’s a glint of something baser, untamed, lurking in those cerulean depths. "You want to fuck Estinien."

The coarse word, spilled so casually from a man who is otherwise so elegantly eloquent, has her starting, the lick of heat stoking to a full flame. Then the rest of his statement catches up to her and her jaw drops. "I beg your pardon?" she stutters.

Aymeric moves towards her - prowls, really, his stride measured and slow, as though trying to keep from spooking her – and drops to his haunches by the side of the tub. Resting his elbows on the edge, he once again smiles at her, so calm and assured it has her stilling. "You do not have to hide from me," he murmurs. "How you look upon him has not escaped my notice.”

“I don’t know what you mean–”

“The signs are easy to miss, were I not actively searching for them. The stiffness of your spine, the way you clasp your hands behind your back. The flush on the tips of your ears–”

"That's– he frustrates me!” she sputters. “He's an annoying little shit sometimes–"

"Come now, that is not entirely true, is it?" Aymeric reaches out to wind a stray lock of deep copper hair around his finger, gives it a gently chastising tug. Lowering his voice, he adds, "Would it make you feel better if I told you he feels the same way?"

"What?" It slips out soft and strangled. Her face, already flushed from the heat, turns scarlet. 

“Estinien would like to bed you.” Again, it’s such a casual remark she gapes at him.

Finding her tongue, she scowls, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Am I to believe he so readily confided such a thing to you?”

“Believe what you’d like,” Estinien drawls, resting one shoulder against the doorway. His silver hair is illuminated by the lights in the bedroom and forms a kind of feathery halo – ironic, since he’s certainly no saint. 

“This is ridiculous,” her face feels like it could burst into flame at any second, “you can’t just waltz in here and– and– say something like that!”

“Why not?” Aymeric glides his fingers through her hair, gently untangling any knot he encounters. Aly’s keenly, intensely aware of the fact that he’s just inches away from her, and very clothed in contrast to her nude self. She’s not self-conscious by any means – a life on the road means that anyone she travels with gets the occasional eyeful – but it’s never bothered her as much as it does this moment.

With these two.

“What am I supposed to do with that information?” she gripes, though it doesn’t have as much heat as it could. 

“Ah, I’m glad you asked.” Aymeric leans in, presses his lips – chapped and cold from the wind outside – to her forehead. “Would you like to?” The emphasis on you is clear.

She’s not usually so slow, but this is– new and unexpected territory and she’s very, very apprehensive. “Would I like to what?”

“Fuck him.” Again, that small smile, that knowing look.

This must be some kind of trick. They’re clearly pulling a prank on her. “Aymeric. Be serious.”

“This is no jest, Alyzen.” When her eyes flick over to Estinien, he nods once, sharp and sure, his face carefully devoid of all expression – save his gaze, which is like that of a winter wolf in front of fresh meat.

Throat dry, mouth as arid as the Sagoili desert, she licks her lips, attempting to piece together a coherent thought. “Let me get this straight. Estinien wants to take me to bed, and he told you as much, and you’re asking me if I want to?” She shakes her head. “Why would you– is this some twisted Ishgardian way of ending–” she trails off, a deep furrow between her brows. What exactly is there between her and Aymeric? Neither of them have defined the boundaries of their relationship. “If you would rather not… not continue our tryst,” she says stiffly, hating him just a little for making her use the word tryst, as though she were a cheap and tawdry thing.  Her heart is a rapid hammer against her ribs as she continues, “then all you have to do is say so. You do not have to– to make a mockery of me, my lord.”

Aymeric makes a soft, distressed sound, his face clearly displaying his dismay. “No, no, you misunderstand me,” he begins, but is cut off by Estinien.

“What he means to say,” the dragoon unfolds himself and stalks to her side, crossing his arms and staring down at her. Even though she’s fairly well-concealed by the bubbles, she still feels vulnerable and too-exposed, and her fingers curl into her palms in the water. “Is that we would both be fucking you.” Alyzen chokes, coughing as she tries to steady her breathing once more. Estinien smirks, one brow arching into a pretty point. “Only if you’re amenable to it, of course.”

She glances from his face to Aymeric’s, waiting to see if they have anything more to add. Surely at any moment now, one of them will laugh, and declare it to be a fine joke. When the minutes tick by silently, their expressions unchanging, only then does she realize that they’re serious.

“I–” she sighs and sits up straighter. The slope of her breasts breaches the water’s surface. There’s a measure of satisfaction in the way Estinien’s gaze drops to them for a split second before returning to hers. She can’t deny she’s had indecent thoughts about Estinien, has wondered how it would feel to have him touch her. How it would feel to touch him. She’s seen the way he’s looked at her, out of the corner of his eyes, how it pulled something molten into the pit of her stomach. She should refuse – she should send them away, should be indignant that they came to her with such a proposal, but instead… “How would this even work?” she asks, internally groaning at the look of utter smugness on the dragoon’s face.

He was going to be insufferable.

“What are your concerns?” Aymeric’s hands, with those long, elegant fingers, rest on the rim of the bath. Alyzen finds herself distracted, remembering the way the calluses rasp pleasantly against her skin. He clears his throat, drawing her focus back to his face, and to his credit he doesn’t tease her for her wandering attention. 

“I–” she throws her head back and groans. “Twelve take you, Aymeric. This is most certainly not the place to have this kind of discussion. How am I meant to think when I’m naked and the two of you are not?” It’s said with the intention to shock and startle, to maybe bring them to their senses – herself included, because Nymeia help her, she’s actually considering this, which means there must be something wrong with her.

It doesn’t work as expected.

“That can be remedied easily enough,” Estinien smirks. His hands move to the edge of his tunic and in a smooth, fluid motion, he pulls it off, revealing an expanse of planes and angles and muscles that she desperately wants to map with hands and mouth. Aly lets out a startled yelp and turns away sharply, straight into Aymeric’s amused face.

“‘Tis too late to play the shy maiden,” Estinien drawls from behind here. “There’s naught here you have not seen before.”

“I beg your pardon?” she whirls towards him, outraged enough to forget her compromised circumstances. “What in the fucking void do you mean by that?”

“Only that you’ve surely seen a man in the nude. Or have you not been keeping the Lord Commander company?”

Furious, she makes to stand up, but Aymeric’s hand on her shoulder keeps her in place. “Fuck off,” she snarls, but before she can curse him out some more, he quirks a brow. “I believe that was the purpose of this discussion,” he smirks.

“Estinien.” Aymeric interjects, clearly exasperated. “Would it overtax you to be more diplomatic? As I recall, you did not hesitate overmuch when I spoke to you of this proposal.”

Baffled and as irritated as a clam loaded with grains of sand, Alyzen clears her throat, chooses her words with the utmost of care. “For all this… talking, neither of you have attempted to explain the intricacies of such an arrangement.” She glances from one man to the other, wishing she could read their minds. “I do not want any misunderstanding, nor would I want jealousy to get in the way of old friendships and working relationships.”

“Your forthrightness is most appreciated,” Aymeric says, a touch of praise in the way he speaks. 

She rolls her eyes. “The sooner we finish this discussion, the sooner I can get back to what I was doing.”

Aymeric smiles and brushes his lips across her temple. “Estinien and I are indeed old friends,” he says. “We do not begrudge whatever happiness the other might find; it would mean all the more if we were to share in each other’s joy.”

“You understand what you’re asking,” she says carefully. “We set out to travel soon. I’ll be away from you for days, weeks even, while he will be there–”

“And I trust the both of you to keep the other safe. Should you find pleasure in the cold nights, I will be glad of it.”

She stares at him, taking the measure of his response, trying to find the smallest ilm of hesitation. She finds none. He returns her searching gaze patiently, his expression open, the hand on her shoulder steady and sure. “You really do mean that,” she murmurs.

His palm moves to cradle her jaw. “I would not be dishonest, not with you.”

Catching her lip between her teeth, finding herself oddly shaky, Alyzen turns to Estinien. Bare-chested, with his arms crossed, his posture is guarded, and it makes her tense. “If I desired to spend my nights with Aymeric alone, would you be amenable?”

“Aye,” he nods.

“What of–” she hesitates. “Are the two of you truly comfortable with this?” She hates that she sounds nervous and uncertain, like an sheltered young maiden, but she must know. Most of her relationships – if they could even be called that – have been fleeting, a quick match struck at midnight, gone with a bare breath. This – whatever this is – is not love (not yet, her mind whispers) – but neither is it merely a kind of itch to be scratched. And while this proposal intrigues her – she’d like to know where it leads – she values their friendship and would rather not risk losing it.

Aymeric senses her struggle - she sees it in the tenderness on his face. “Were either of us discomfited by even the smallest degree we would not be here, I assure you.”

Nodding, she turns to Estinien, startled to see something fond and gentle on his features. “Aye,” he rumbles. “He speaks true.”

She huffs. “And if I had been offended by your suggestion?”

“We would have apologized with utmost sincerity,  spoken no more on the matter. and made no allusion to it.” Aymeric’s eyes twinkle with mischief, pulling a short sigh of laughter from her. “However, I confess I had every confidence you would be amenable, or I would not have made the suggestion in the first place.”

“Presumptuous,” she swats his chest. 

“But not incorrect,” he gives her chin a playful tweak.

Alyzen sighs. “What now?”

“Considering we are all in accordance, I see no reason to move forward with this arrangement,” Aymeric brushes his lips against her temple, smiling against her skin at her sigh.

“Hold a moment,” Estinien’s gravel tones are deeper than normal. “I have a concern I wish to have addressed.”

Alyzen tilts her head, waiting for him to continue.

Estinien’s eyes are warm with something she cannot unravel. “Can we agree that there shall be none but us involved in this arrangement?”

“Yes, of course,” Aymeric’s reply is surprised, as though he had not thought it needed to be stated.

“Well, yes, I would hope so,” she arches a brow. 

“Good,” the dragoon declares, then takes the two steps required to close the distance between them, drops to his haunches by the bathtub, and curls a hand around the nape of her neck.

Aly’s skin breaks out in gooseflesh.

Estinien leans in close to her, closer, so close their lips are but a hair’s breadth apart – but he doesn’t kiss her. His breath, warm and wine-scented, washes over her face, his fingers twitching against her skin. He waits, patient, his eyes sharp and focused. She’s pinned by the force of it, her breath caught in her throat, unable to look anywhere else, even as Aymeric presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

“Eager, aren’t we?” what was meant to be mocking comes out as a low, soft exhale.

His reply is a rumble in the space between them. “Would you rather I leave?”

She responds by closing the gap and pressing her lips to his.

Half a heartbeat of hesitation before Estinien plunders.

His kiss is greedy and rough, indelicate but in a way she likes, his teeth gently rasping against the delicate flesh of her mouth. Behind her, she can feel Aymeric shift, his hand moving from her hair down the side of her neck, his fingertips skimming over her collarbones, lowering beneath the water’s surface to seek out her breasts – and when his thumb grazes over her nipple she gasps into Estinien’s mouth.

Aymeric laughs softly, amusement curled in the sound, and repeats the action over and over. Aly blindly reaches out, grasping Estinien's shoulder with one hand, her other moving to cover Aymeric's as he strokes her breasts. She moans, pulling away from the heated greed of the dragoon's mouth, her head tipping back to explode the column of her neck.

Estinien wastes no time in taking advantage of this new expanse of flesh, pressing his mouth to the thin skin that covers her pulse, setting his teeth and sucking a bruise into her flesh that she will struggle to cover come the morn.  Aymeric’s hand slides lower, to her sternum, fingers lightly brushing over the smooth, raised chainlink scar there, down to her belly button, and even lower, till he’s at the cusp of her mound, before retracing his steps back to her chest. 

They’ve barely begun to touch her and already she feels like she’s wound up too-tight in her skin.

“I think she’s been in that bath long enough,” Estinien grumbles. “What say you, lord commander?”

Aymeric takes her mouth for a slower kiss; the taste of him beneath the spiced wine he’d been drinking heats her blood to magma. When he moves away, she follows with a soft sound of protest, and he gives in and kisses her again, making her feel like an expensive indulgence, something to be savored. She shifts, squirms, and when she starts to rise from the water Aymeric leans away, looking very satisfied with himself. “I believe you’re right, Estinien. Why don’t we help her out?”

No sooner than he says the words than Estinien slides his arm around her chest and under her knees and hauls her up with an ease that shouldn’t surprise her but does. Aly’s not a small woman by any means - an adventurer’s life means her muscles are dense from combat, but Estinien makes her feel petite, almost fragile. 

The cold air of the room swats at her, causing her to break out in gooseflesh. Thin, gossamer threads of fine white mist rise in in delicate trails from her skin. She shivers, and so does Estinien, his gaze drawn to the droplets of water dotting her body, lent a deep golden hue from the hearth’s flame. He leans in and touches his tongue to her collarbone, licking a stripe up the curve of it, nipping the place where it meets her throat.

“Estinien,” she grumbles even as she trembles from that caress, “I’m cold.”

“Forgive me,” he drawls. Striding rapidly to the bed in the adjacent room, she’s unprepared for how abruptly he dumps her onto the mattress; she gasps indignantly, moving to sit up on her knees. “You voidbitten ass, what was that for?”

“You said you were cold - surely you must be dry now.” The smirk at the corner of his lips is far too endearing for her to stay mad at him. Beside him, Aymeric sighs, tossing a large towel onto the nearby chair. “Could you not have waited a moment longer?”

“For someone who proposed this, Aymeric, I’m surprised you’re not more impatient.” Estinien might be talking to the lord commander, but his attention is on her, and Aly can’t help tucking her lip between her teeth as he starts to undo the ties to his breeches. When he catches her looking, however, he hesitates, fingers stilling on the waistband.

She doesn’t want that. She wants the assured, certain Estinien, the dragoon with the sharp tongue; she wants him to want her, and to know that he wants her - this reticence of his puts her on edge. Aly leans up, one hand on his shoulder, and moves to kiss him - but stops short of his mouth, acutely aware that Aymeric is right there. 

Suddenly, Estinien’s hesitation doesn’t feel so strange.

“Kiss him, cherie,” Aymeric orders, his voice husky.

She does. Slow and languid, she kisses him delicately, relishing the groaned whine he spills into her. Her hands move to his breeches, and she finishes undoing the ties but stops there - it’s his decision to pull them down, to let them pool around his feet, to step out of them and onto the bed.

Alyzen breaks away from his lips and turns to look at Aymeric, keenly aware that Estinien is settled next to her, that his broad fingers are splayed against her sternum, that his silver hair falls over her shoulder. “Meric,” she says softly, calling to him, calling for him; his face lights up in a fond smile, his cobalt eyes aphotic and coveting. He undresses quickly, precisely, placing each article of clothing across the armrest of the couch to keep it from wrinkling, before joining them on the bed, the mattress sinking further to accommodate him. Cradling her jaw between his hands, he takes her mouth, his nails lightly digging into her scalp as he sinks his fingers into her hair.

She trembles, and Estinien laughs, a dark, greedy sound, before he starts to feather kisses down the column of her neck, skimming his lips over her tattooed shoulder. She lets them move her to their liking, till she’s trapped between them. They work in tandem, a strange kind of coordination to how they caress her; Estinien’s welcome roughness has her arching into Aymeric, and his meticulous touches have her melting into the dragoon. The two extremes send her head spinning, render her skin sensitive, every nerve alert and receptive. Heat builds up in her flesh, a familiar ache between her legs, and she can tell from every uncontrolled rock of her hips that they’re as affected as she is.

Aymeric sucks at the swell of her breast, dragging his teeth along the curve of it before taking her peaked nipple into the warmth of his mouth and Aly hisses, attempting to arch into him but his arm around her torso keeps her in place. She squirms between them, desperate to be touched, desperate for a release from the tension wound up in her belly. Estinien chuckles, low and sly, one hand pinching her chin and holding her gaze to his as the other strokes along the inside of her thigh, soft, teasing brushes of skin against skin, getting closer - but never quite touching - that place where she burns with a wet heat. “Eager, aren’t we?” he echoes her taunt from earlier, but his voice is gravelled with lust and the sound of it makes her moan. “How should we begin, then?” His attention flicks to Aymeric. “Do we take turns?” he asks, before dropping his eyes back to her flushed, sweat-beaded skin, lips curling into a devilish smirk. “Or do you want your pleasure first?” He punctuates the offer with a slow glide of his fingers up her folds, offering her the most feather-like, unsatisfying strokes against her clit.

Aly pants into the air, desperately attempting to shift her hips to seek out more of his touch, but once again she’s thwarted by Aymeric’s hold on her. “Please,” it bursts out of her – she’s not sure what she’s asking for, but she wants – she needs – more.

Estinien’s smile grows wider, near-vulpine. “You beg so prettily,” he praises in a low, elated croon, reinforced by Aymeric’s lips pressed up against her temple. He coaxes her knees  further apart, stroking her thighs, scraping his nails along her thighs and the back of her knees to pull a whine out of her before dipping his fingers into her folds. Aly jerks at the sudden stimulation, a deep moan pushed into the crook of Aymeric’s neck as Estinien eased his fingers into her.

“Fuck,” he groans at the feel of her, both awed and amazed.

“Please,” Alyzen begs again unashamedly, rolling her hips, trying to get him to move, to give her the friction she needs.

Estinien presses deeper, curling his fingers, and she cries out, loud and wanton. Aymeric’s hand trails along her side, his knuckles brushing the sensitive undersides of her breasts, before his long, calloused fingertips land on her clit.

Aly whimpers. It’s so much, too much, being touched by them both; and then Estinien starts to fuck her, a slow, curling push-pull of those combat-honed digits while Aymeric strokes her clit even slower, much, much lighter than she wants, than she needs, and her brain short-circuits and she can’t think of anything except the pleasure building up, turning her blood to syrup, her mind to mush.

She gasps something out - no words, just garbled sounds, her head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, an arm twined about his neck, fingers grabbing onto stray strands of his raven hair, gripping onto them like a lifeline.

Aymeric presses harder, firmer against that sensitive nub and she cries out, making sharp, quick little pants, straining against their hold as her body starts to shake. 

“Look at me,” Estinien demands, hoarse, gruff, desperate, and she’s helpless to do anything but obey, fighting to keep her eyes open and on his face as her nerves, already alit with pleasure, flood with ecstasy as he crooks his fingers against her walls. Aymeric’s free hand moves to wrap around her throat, keeping her head upright, his fingers resting against her hummingbird pulse.

Estinien’s focus on her is absolute, his attention almost tangible with how intense it is, and it is that concentration, that stark desire on those bladed cheekbones and within that honed gaze that breaks her and tips her over, a high-pitched cry falling from her as she climaxes.

Aymeric’s fingers on her clit gentle, drawing out her pleasure; she shudders with oversensitivity when Estinien pulls his digits from her cunt. For several moments it’s all she can do to catch her breath and regain her bearings. 

“All right?” Aymeric asks her, examining her face closely. 

She nods, shifting her release-heavy muscles to face him. He’s propped back against the veritable mass of pillows, his cock, erect and beaded with precome, resting on his stomach. The sight of it fills her with renewed heat - she knows how it feels in her, and she wants it. Wants him. Wants to watch him take his pleasure from her. The core of her starts to ache with that need. “I believe it is my turn, is it not?” she teases, her voice husky, as she crawls over him.

“Are you certain?” he asks. “We do not have to do anything–” he breaks off on a choked gasp as she slides her wet slit against his length, rocking back and forth, coating him in her slick.

“Do you want to stop?” she asks sweetly, relishing the deep, guttural groan he makes.

Estinien grips her hair, tugs gently to tilt her head back. “Stop teasing the poor man,” he murmurs against her lips, “and fuck him.” His face wears an tenebrous smile, his fingertips massaging her scalp as she feels Aymeric position himself against her entrance, and as he hilts himself in her - sure and certain, with a single, fluid thrust - Estinien kisses her, swallowing her moan, taking away the last of her air so she’s breathless.

Aymeric plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts upwards, knocking a cry from her, setting a slow, measured pace; each time he fucks into her, Estinien guides her down so she takes all of Aymeric’s cock, so she feels all of him, so she’s filled with all of him, again and again and again, and then he adds to the exquisite torment by strumming his fingers across her aching clit, pulling a wanton, lewd whine from her that she barely registers over the frantic drumming of her heart.

Bliss burns through her; she climbs inexorably to a peak that she’s then taken past, taken higher, the tension growing till she’s all but feral from it.

“Aly,” Aymeric stutters out in a strained gasp, and she peers at him through sex-drunk lids. His face is a rictor of pleasure, jaw clenched, that plush, clever mouth taut with desperate tension; his fingers, splayed out on her thighs, dig in deeper, harder, keeping her pinned to him. She knows he’s close - she can hear it in his voice, in the urgent, stuttered way he buries himself in her and she whines, wanting to reach her own peak, bending over him to kiss his mouth, to taste his pleasure.

Estinien plants a kiss behind her ear, scrapes his teeth down the length of her neck and circles her clit with a firmer touch, and she comes with a strangled shout as he sucks a mark onto her shoulder, distantly aware of Aymeric pulling out of her a moment before his spend spatters across her stomach as he reaches his own end.

Her body limp post-climax, she’d fall onto Aymeric’s chest if it weren’t for Estinien’s hold on her. Panting, gasping, she lets him guide her off the lord commander, one arm thrown artlessly over her face. She feels the bed shift and ripple as someone climbs off; she peers through her fingers to see Estinien make his way to the chair and pick up the discarded towel. Sensing his intent, she flushes and sits up, suddenly very aware of how sticky she is. She holds out her hand and he gives her the towel; she can’t seem to look at either of them as she cleans herself off.

“Alyzen.” Aymeric’s voice, soft and filled with concern, breaks the suddenly-tense silence. She ignores him, focuses on cleaning a spot below her belly button that’s already clean, but she needs something to do.

“Aly.” Gentle fingers guide her head up to meet Aymeric’s worried expression. Next to him, Estinien is blank-faced, his eyes carefully watching her every move. “Are you all right?” he asks.

She sighs. This is silly, she thinks. We’re all here because we want to be, so why am I embarrassed?

As though reading her mind, Aymeric says, “There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” his thumb gently stroking the curve of her cheek.

“I know,” she sighs again. 

“I did not hurt you?”

“No! Not at all,” she rushes to reassure him. 

“Would you like me to leave?” Estinien asks, gruff but cautious.

“No,” her hand lashes out, whip-quick, and latches onto his wrist. “Give me a moment, will you? I– I’ve not done this before, I don’t know the– etiquette.”

Estinien smiles, if that barest lift of his lips can be called that, but she can see the relief in it. Her chest warms at the sight - he’d thought they’d hurt her. 

“Come here,” she tells Estinien, carelessly casting the towel aside. He moves slowly toward her, giving her plenty of space to pull away if she chose to. “I’m going to kiss you,” she says. “I’m going to kiss you because I want to. I’m going to kiss you because I want you to fuck me,” and she leans in, giving him time to back away if he so desired.

He doesn’t.

This kiss is soft, tender. Slow and hesitant and sweet, each taking the time to let the other get acquainted, get familiar, each better learning the shape and taste of the other. The embers of her earlier need slowly start to glow again, her skin warming with each brush of his lips against hers. Estinien shifts, curls his hand around the back of her neck, and angles her so he can deepen the kiss. She whimpers into his mouth, quiet, needy; behind her, Aymeric shuffles closer to her, trailing his fingers up and down her back, his touch soothing even as it inflames.

Alyzen lets her hands glide downwards, finally exploring the planes of his chest the way she’d wanted to. Estinien bears as many scars as she does, and she gently touches each one, silently acknowledging the ordeals he’s been through, ducking down to press a kiss to the bigger ones. He groans, capturing a hand and guiding it even lower; she takes the hint and wraps her fingers around his cock, giving him a slow, experimental stroke, gratified by the sharp gasp he makes.

Aymeric and Estinien exchange a look over her head; she doesn’t understand the unspoken communication, but the next moment Aymeric is flat on his back and Estinien drags and drapes her over his chest. Still confused, she stares down at Aymeric’s face, a puzzled frown on her face. “Sit on my face,” he says in a low voice that drips with sin, and Aly flushes bright red but does as he asks, her cunt hovering over him until he grips her thighs and yanks her down. At the first touch of his tongue against her slit she whimpers, falling forward onto Estininen, one hand gripping the dragoon’s shoulder for support. Estinien grins at her, his eyes glinting wickedly; he leans in and she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but instead all he does is whisper, “A fine throne you have, ma belle,” just as Aymeric flicks his tongue against her clit, and whatever retort she’d had melts into a strangled, choked moan.

She has her revenge when she curls her hand around his length, her thumb swiping over the moisture gathered at the tip and spreading it down. He kisses her when she starts to stroke him, his moan pressed against her tongue, bucking into her grip when she lightly squeezes. 

It’s all she can do to maintain any semblance of rhythm, especially when Aymeric is systematically taking her apart; his tongue, silvered as it is in matters of diplomacy, is practically a weapon of pleasure as it laps at her. Heat fills her veins, lightning sparks down her nerves, and she can’t help but grind her hips against his face. All too quickly - perhapy alarmingly so - she’s close to her peak, and she gasps out a stuttered, “Wait,” as she tugs on Aymeric’s hair to get him to stop.

He halts instantly, looking up at her with a crease between his brows. “I’m close,” she explains, forestalling his concern, trying to get her weak, shaky knees to cooperate with her as she climbs off him. Aymeric understands, rolling away from her as she settles onto her back, one leg hooked around Estinien’s waist.

Estinien doesn’t waste any time, taking his cock and sliding it through her slick, coating himself  liberally before pressing the tip against her entrance. He lets out a low moan as he slides in slowly, his eyes trained on her face, watching for any signs of discomfort. He stills when he hilts himself fully, waiting for her to adjust, until she grows impatient. “Move,” she demands, rocking against him. He does, setting a pace that’s hard and rough, just as she wants it, and then Aymeric’s mouth is on her breast, his fingers strumming across her clit and Aly cries out, toes curling into the sheets, the layered pleasure taking her past the peak she’d expected into something higher.

“Let go,” Aymeric murmurs into her ear, placing a soft kiss to her cheek; his fingers sharpen their torment, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves the way he knows will break her, and she does - she falls into her climax so intensely she nearly shrieks, her eyes opening just in time to catch Estinien’s blissed-out grimace as he reaches his own end.

Exhausted, her body little better than a puddle of bones, she’s content to lie where she is and catch her breath, only twitching as someone - she doesn’t even bother to see who - cleans her up. Aymeric’s scent, noticeable even through the heavy haze of sex, meets her nose a second before his warm body presses up to her side.

“All right?” he asks as he pulls a soft woolen blanket over her, and she cracks open an eye to give him a tired, but satisfied, smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The rustle of cloth catches her attention, however, and she lifts herself up on her elbows to find Estinien pulling on his pants. “What are you doing?” she asks, something knotting uncomfortable in her chest.

“I’m getting dressed,” he remarks. “It would not do for me to stay.”

That knot grows bigger. “Don’t,” she says quietly.

He stills and looks at her, something unreadable in that slate gaze. 

“Stay,” It takes every onze of her strength, but she manages to push the word out. “Please.” It comes out so quiet it barely reaches her own ears.

“Are you certain?” Estinien frowns, but his breeches still remain untied. “Were someone to hear of this, it would reflect poorly on the both of you.”

Alyzen tips her gaze away, unsure what to say. She’s been called worse things, but she would never risk Aymeric’s reputation. Any yet, she wants Estinien to stay, to have the comfort of both their presences close as she slumbered. She doesn’t know when she’ll have another chance, given her upcoming journey to the Dravanian hinterlands. She wants the comfort of touch, especially after… this. Estinien leaving, so casually, so carelessly, makes her feel a touch… used.

But she doesn’t want to cause Aymeric a scandal. Ishgard has too great a need for him, whether they know it or not. His image is more important than her petty desires…

“She wants you to stay, Estinien. Surely you cannot mean to deny her? It is a simple enough request.”

Startled, she catches a similar look on the dragoon’s features before her gaze lands on Aymeric. He looks perfectly placid, his features calm and untroubled, a small smile on his mouth.

“But–”

“No one will know of this, and if they do, well. It would merely be yet another rumor among the dozen or so that relate to my ‘escapades’. You know as well as I do how the nobles talk, Estinien.”

“I don’t know, ‘Meric. Maybe he’s right,” she says, gnawing on her lip. “It’s a risk, staying here. I don’t– there’s too much at stake. I should also go.” She moves to climb out of the bed, but Aymeric’s hand latches onto her forearm and brings her to a halt. 

“Should it not be my choice to decide whether or not this is a risk I wish to gamble on? I know full well what the hazards are, and still I want you to stay. Please, Aly.” He look over to Estinien. “You too, Estinien. Stay the night. It would be inconceivably rude to–” 

“Dramamongers, the both of you,” Estinien interrupts. “Far be it for me to keep you from your flowery speeches, Aymeric, but I’m in no mood for them. There’s still a blizzard outside–”

“You were the one who wanted to leave,” Aly narrows her eyes, her indignation rolling off her in waves.

“Aye, and seeing as I’ve no wish to wander out into the cold, I’ll be staying,” He makes his way to her side of the bed, and nudges her shoulder with his hip. “Move over.”

She rolls her eyes, but shifts to give him space. Estinien climbs in next to her, lying flat on his back, doing his best impression of a wooden plank. Alyzen stares at him incredulously, wondering for a moment just why she’d wanted him to stay as she lets Aymeric coax her back down. She’s not a cuddler - not usually - but it feels nice to rest her head on his shoulder, so she does. Her eyes drift shut to the sounds of their breathing, interspersed with the soft crackle of the fireplace, but it isn’t until she feels Estinien press up against her back that she’s able to fully relax.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbles, placing a foot atop hers.

“I would, if you stop talking,” she mutters against Aymeric’s neck.

Aymeric sighs and kisses the top of her head. “Sleep, cherie,” he says.

There’s something very, very soft in her chest, and it winds, like satin ribbons, around her ribs, soothes the snarls in her heart. Here, now, In this moment, she is warm. Held.

She is safe.

For the first time in months, Alyzen has no nightmares.

[pietriarchy]

now I’m not saying growing up on tumblr and deviantart and doing twitch made me have no shame and taught me very specific people skills but how did i just get a position of artistic director at an art house cinema it certainly wasn’t school lmao

[wispurring-moss]

i am so normal about him I Am So Normal About Him I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM—!!!!!!;;;;;;;;;;;;;

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Poltchageist's sealing abilities are incredible! Do you ever wonder if there are any broken things that even it cannot fix?"

"No, no... I find that quite hard to imagine."

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: afab!reader [no pronouns used to refer to reader]; mild condescension/verbal humiliation; implied d/s dynamic; spit/gagging/facefucking with fingers [reader receiving]; vaginal fingering; a little bit dubcon wc: 900

Sabo is patient with you, his insatiable darling, when you sulk and whine that you want him, that you need him, that you can’t have enough of him. You’re respectful of his space, of his needs, of his demanding life and limited time—but when he’s yours, you want him to be all yours, to have his heated hands and his loving mouth on you whenever you wish, to serve him and be his playtoy whenever he desires. Today is simply not one of those days when he can give you his undivided attention, however, despite your best efforts.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye while he writes, observes the way you shift in your chair, smirking at how you eye him like a weak little prey animal who believes they’re a predator, trying to lure him into the trap of your sweetness to no avail.

“Sabo, are you almost done?” you ask, trying to hide the need that lingers in your voice.

He’ll take care of you soon enough, spread you wide open over his lap and press your back to his still-clothed chest so you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart against your skin, feel how measured his breathing is in contrast with your pretty gasps and pants—he relishes any opportunity to remind you of your desperation, of how you lack the kind of control he has over himself. He’ll hook your legs over his and place a strong gloved hand over your mouth, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, nice and close so you can hear him perfectly when he tells you to stay still, stay quiet, breathe nice and deep for him as he slides his bare hand down the front of you and finger-fucks your drenched cunt until you’re shaking and spasming and pleading against soft leather, the muffled sounds of your begging like a symphony to him.

But you haven’t earned it yet, he thinks as turns to you and blinks slowly at his little mock-predator.

“The more you ask,” he says quietly, words drawn out as he speaks, “the longer you’ll wait, pretty baby.”

“But Sabo,” you pout, “you said you’d be done hours ago. I’m lonely.”

“And I’ll be done when I’m done. It’s always worth the wait, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to wait—I want you now. Please?”

Ah, there it is. Now he has you where he wants you—that little bit of backtalk will never do. With a snap of his fingers and a sharp “Down,” you slide out of your chair and drop to your knees in front of him. He bends at the waist to bring his face close to yours, his blonde hair falling and brushing your skin, and he grasps your chin in one gloved hand and clucks his tongue.

“What to do with you?” he muses, embers burning in his gaze, a grin stretched across his lips that shows you just a hint of darkness beyond the smiling mask he wears. “So needy, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you ask with a flutter of your eyelids.

“Please?” He lets out a low chuckle. “My lover says ‘please,’ hm? Is that all it’s supposed to take?”

“Maybe.” Your voice trembles a little now, realizing your impatient longing has gotten you into trouble again.

Sabo knows just what to do with a mouthy little thing like you. He taps the side of your face, soft leather brushing your skin. “Open.” His breath hitches in his throat as you slowly drop your jaw and tilt your head up towards him. Before you can ask another thing, before you can utter another weakened “please,” he slides two gloved fingers in your mouth, groaning softly as you recoil a little at the taste.

“That’s it, let’s fill that feisty mouth of yours,” he coos as he moves them in deeper, pumping them in and out with a measured, insistent rhythm, feeling himself start to grow hard in his slacks at how you moan around them, how your tongue presses up and lavishes the firm leather the same way you do to his cock. He groans long and low and shoves his fingers in deep, to the knuckle, until his fist is pressed tight against your lips, just watch you gag around them, feel how your throat tightens and spit begins to trickle out of the corners of your mouth. You don’t even try to fight him, not so much as a grasp of his arm or a gentle slap to his hand—no, you’re already too blissfully fucked out and greedy, salivating around whatever he’ll allow you to have as your arms hang loosely in your lap.

“You look pretty like this, lover.” Sabo presses his forehead to yours and sighs, shushes you sweetly before he kisses away the tears that start to trail down your cheeks as you struggle, grins at the way you squeeze your thighs together and moan even more wantonly as he roughly fucks your sweet mouth with his hand, giving you just the slightest taste of what it is you really desire. “Cry a little more for me, okay? Just a little more. Show me how much you want it, and you can have me, I promise.”

And you will. He’ll give you everything for just a few more tears—he never, ever breaks his promises.

[bunn-iiii]

coming down from a nervous breakdown isn't fun holy shit.

[diagnosed-crazy]

I am actually posting a thing that is mine again!

I've been playing with GIFs recently. This is a new one that I had an idea for and finished tonight. It was supposed to be a 10-30 minute project, but you know how it goes, so three hours later, I had THIS. It BLINKS.

This cannot be a start to an animation phase. I can't mentally handle that.

[eileennatural]

by faaarrrr the best part of hxh chimera ant arc is killua's storyline/emotional arc. havent finished it yet but. really hope he takes some kind of vacation after this there is So Much he needs to Unpack

[tacozebra051]

hi im op from the bathroom theme post and i'm genuinely LOVING that you defend the llama bathroom from 2014 accusations with the url "taco zebra"

aUGHHH not my 2012 "LoL sO rAnDuM xD" url coming back to haunt me yet again,, humiliating !!! who could have forseen this 😔

lmaoo in all seriousness tho you're right those things are Probably related 🤣🤣💀 wonder what kind of sane and normal person id be now if i hadn't thought i was hot shit for my extremely ostentatious pink and zebra print bedroom in the 2010s 🦓💞

[werewolfetone]

I'm ngl I think I'm taking my steampunk story a bit too seriously for something which originally began as a way to explore the concept of there being monster energy in late stuart britain

[immunetoneurotoxin]

Just wanna drip by and say Incendiary has made itself a permanent resident in my brain.

Your writing is absolutely amazing, every scene got me gripping my seat in excitement. Seeing someone write a Pyro-focused long fic, let alone texas toast is so so so rare, I think I've only read 3 (including incendiary) that I've liked so far.

I love this little fire guy with all my heart, and I absolutely adore how you didn't make him too much like a child like how many mischaracterize him. There's the childlike wonder in him but he is capable when push comes to shove and I like that a lot! Every single characterizations in this fic is wonderful, I would love to give Engie a little kiss on his bald head.. he's so adorable.

I'm probably rambling but I just love this fic so much. I'm dealing with semester's midterms, stressed as all hell and this fic has been keeping me going. I practically cheered when I saw chapter 10 update in my inbox lmao. I would love to maybe make some fanart when I have the time, should I just tag you on this site?

Thank you so much for writing Incendiary dude, no kidding when I say it changed my life. I can't wait for the story to unfold! Please take care of yourself and rest well. Good luck on the job hunting as well!!

Omg stranger whoever you are, I just about teared up seeing this in my Inbox -

This is the most grandest, heartfelt comment I think I've ever received in my entire writing career and my heart is GUSHING rn!!!! I was literally out running errands when I saw this and I couldn't stop thinking about it -

When I joined the TF2 fandom in like... oh god, 2014 I think, I was really shocked to see throughout the years that there weren't many Pyro-centered stories out there, which blew my mind. Like how could there not be a deluge of fanfic for Pyro, who is this extremely mysterious, multi-faceted character with so much room for interpretation?! When I first watched Meet the Pyro, I KNEW I had to write a novel about Pyro. Who they are, where they came from, and what happened to them before the events of the gravel war. Massively inspired, of course. But still nonetheless, an origin story that could very well be canon if squinted at, hehe.

This rings true for texas toast content, too!! There isn't a whole lot of it out there and it makes me so sad - I love their dynamic so much! When Incendiary is finished, I do plan on writing some more texas toast oneshots on my AO3 to fill that void. <3 One of the plans is to write a short story about their relationship during the gravel wars as well, that takes place after the events of Incendiary. (plus, Incendiary has only just started to crack the surface tension of the slow burn, and it's only a matter of 1-2 chapters away from when the texas toast really starts showing through so there is that to look forward too as well. (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ ))

also I literally hollered when I read your comment about Pyro's characterization in this story especially, because THAT is THE ONE THING I have been working so incredibly hard towards holy shit - when I tell you the amount of stories I've read that writes them off as this danger-child that needs supervision - which don't get me wrong is not an entirely bad thing!! they do have this massive childlike side to them, but there is also so much more to them than how the fandom perceives them, not taking into much consideration how they typically canonically act in the comics/in-game, and taking into LARGE consideration Meet the Pyro. I was reeling when I realized that a lot of people seemed to completely forget about that interview. I could go on a whole rant about this sdfghjkl but yes, Pyro is definitely more than capable when push comes to shove! they are in a war, after all ;)

and engineer, oh man. I love that soft Texan so much. :') I could talk your ear off about him too!

man I am definitely rambling now, but I literally cannot even express how genuinely happy I am receiving this message, it means the actual world to me. and FANART?!?! oh my god YES - you can definitely tag me here if you do make fanart for Incendiary!! I would be BEYOND honored omg

Thank you so so much for brightening my entire year with this feedback literally - I'm so honored to have you here as a reader and a fan. <3 And I'm sending you all of the luck with your midterms!! You've got this!!

[justapieceintheirgames]

I'm halfway to my goal weight!!! 🥳🥳🥳

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

the ONLY reason i have not written a william wisp fic yet is because he activates such a specific emotion within me that i cannot accurately put into words without exposing all of my own mental health issues

[sectumsempraaa]

Flames on Thin Ice

Pairing: jealous!Theo Nott x fem!Ravenclaw!reader

Word count: 2.9k

TW: cursing, jealousy, ridiculous amounts of yearning and fluff

Based on this request! Thank you :)

Summary: You and Theo Nott are something much more than friends, but just less than lovers. He would very much like to change that, as he’s no longer able to control his rapidly intensifying feelings for you. But when Slughorn’s exclusive Christmas party approaches and Draco Malfoy asks you to be his date, the limits of Theo’s jealousy are tested like never before.

“Come here, bella,” Theo smiles and gestures towards you as he strides over to where you stand, surrounded by holiday decor. He approaches you from the side, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you gently. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you hook an arm around his shoulders, placing the star on top of the Slytherin common room holiday tree.

Decorating the common room tree is one of your favorite parts of winter at Hogwarts. This year, the Slytherins asked for your help after hearing how amazing you did with the Ravenclaw tree for your own house.

Theo can’t say the same, but he’d do just about anything at this point to spend time with you. His crush on you has blossomed the last couple of months, your pull on him amplifying each day. Any opportunity he sees to touch you, help you, or make you laugh, he takes. No question.

“Grazie, cara mio.” You respond, looking down into his heavy, perfect blue eyes. You always try to speak to him in Italian whenever you can, picking up on his more common phrases. You’re the only one that goes to that kind of effort for him and he notices it. God, does it notice it.

He spins you around, earning a series of giggles from you before he lets you back down on your feet. Your hand lingers on his for a few seconds, which feels like an eternity to him. If only he could kiss you right here, right now. But the graze of your fingertips on his palm is enough for him, for now. He’ll take what he can get.

You step back, turning towards the fully decorated tree, ready to show off your hard work. He wants to watch with you but he can’t bear to when you’re looking this beautiful, this stunning. His eyes obsess over your every perfect feature, his eyes drinking in your essence. 

This might be my favorite outfit of hers. The plaid skirt, the knee-high socks, the cream colored sweater. No- the one from my birthday, when she wore my necklace…

Oblivious to his longing stare, you take out your wand, tucked into the waistline of your skirt.

“Lumos,” you say, a look of wonder and awe blossoming on your face as the tree lights up. The warm glow makes you gasp, the sudden joy jolting through you.

Your hands quickly grab his bicep, pulling yourself towards him. A squeal of happiness escapes you, prompting a laugh from Theo. His smile, your favorite smile, triggers your heart to flutter. The way you’re looking at him sends his mind spiraling.

Gods, she is perfect.

It takes him a second to recover from the profound effect your touch has on him. His skin burns like fire, his heart aching for you. 

I’ll win her. I’ll win her so she can spin around in my arms again next year.

Your soft voice brings him out of his thoughts. “What do you think? Is it good enough?” you ask, your eyes contemplating your creation.

He reluctantly removes his arm from your hands, wrapping it around your shoulders and pulling you close to his side, your head resting gently on his shoulder. In a moment of risk, he drops it to your waist, his fingers fiddling with your sweater. Your face quickly turns to his in surprise. 

His pulse stops, his breath with it as your hand slowly makes its way to his chest, resting above his heart. Your head tilts up to meet his dark stare, your eyes locking in on each other.

“It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. It is glaringly apparent he isn’t talking about the tree anymore. 

You swore his head leaned down, his lips parted slightly, his hand pressed your whole chest against his, before-

“Y/L/N! Where is that pretty little Ravenclaw?” You hear a familiar, yet obnoxious, distant voice crawling its way into the common room from the dungeon corridor. A disgruntled Theo shuts his eyes in defeat.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

He notices the look of disappointment etched in your features, it’s enough to send a pang of longing and frustration slamming into him. His heart drops as your body detaches from his, putting a space between you. His side feels colder without your warmth against it.

I had her.

Draco rounds the corner, a skip in his step as he confidently strides over to you. His eyes light up with glee as Theo’s darken, seeing red. Draco takes your hands in his, kissing each one before speaking.

“My lovely little Y/L/N, just the girl I was looking for. I’ve got something to ask you,” he starts, your eyes widen as he gets down on one knee, keeping your hands clasped with his. A quick glance at Theo shows you the tension in his jaw, the dagger-like stare he casts on Draco.

Why’s she looking at him like that? That look was for me not even a minute ago.

“I have been personally invited to Slughorn’s holiday party and I couldn’t think of a more perfect date to bring. Will you be my plus one?”

The look of hesitancy on your face prompts him to continue. “Consider it the best Christmas present you could give me.”

Normally, Draco wouldn’t even entertain the idea of taking anyone outside his own house. But the Slytherin crew has a soft spot for you, so much so that the common room door doesn’t argue when you say their password anymore.

You giggle, taking a step closer to Draco. “Well, I do love a Christmas party.”

His bright, smug smile draws you in as he stands up and pulls you in for a hug, resting his head on top of yours. “I know you do.” He smirks.

He shares the time and dress code details with you before heading off to meet up with Blaise for dinner. You look around, only to find you’re alone in the common room. Theo left, admittedly, before he blew a fuse.

—

The next couple of weeks are interesting to say the least. Theo has been pining for your attention, trying to distract you from the other boys as much as he can. But mostly, he’s been keeping an eye on Malfoy.

In one instance, Draco came to Theo’s dorm, where he knew you were hanging out, to ask what you were going to wear to the party. “Hmm, we should match, I think.” He suggested. 

Nope. Not today, mate. And certainly not in my fucking bedroom.

Theo suddenly picked you up off his bed bridal style, physically removing you from Draco’s presence before either of you could agree on an accent color.

“Theo!” You yelp, wrapping your arms around his neck and peeking back at Draco. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere that prat isn’t.” He responds with haste.

In another instance, Draco sat across from you in the Great Hall during breakfast and gifted you a pair of earrings for the event. “They sparkle almost as much as you, love.”

The gesture brought a heat to your cheeks that had Theo making fists under the table. He can’t stand to see you flustered over Draco’s pathetic attempts to buy your affection.

Thin ice, Malfoy. Thin. Fucking. Ice.

Draco continues. “My mother picked them out special. She was beside herself when I told her I was taking you.”

At this, Theo happened to “accidently” spill his tea directly into Draco’s lap, earning him a public scolding. But the words go through one ear and out the other. He remains unscathed, because Draco left, and you’re all his again. And really, that’s all he cares about.

—

The day of the party arrives, one Theo has been absolutely dreading. No amount of self-soothing could keep his mind from imagining the shit Malfoy would pull without him there to interfere.

In your dorm, Theo watches as you fix your hair and apply your makeup. He observes your every move, trying to etch each one into his memory, noting all the things you do that drive him crazy.

The way she bites her lip while putting on mascara.

How she hums Christmas carols while pinning up her hair.

When she asks me what shade of eyeshadow she should wear.

When you finish dolling yourself up, you change into your dress in the bathroom. A pout of frustration escapes you as you realize your hands can’t reach the zipper. You decide to ask for Theo’s assistance.

When you walk back into your dorm, you’re met with a completely awe-struck Theo, his tired eyes grow wider than you thought they could even go. The boy is seemingly paralyzed by you. 

Holy bloody hell.

His trance-like gaze runs over the lace neckline, down the curves of your bodice, and over the shimmering gown. He’s never seen you dressed up before, and you have him wondering why it took so long to.

“Spin.” He demands, begs. “Please.”

You slowly turn for him, a small smile adorning your face. The gown flows like water, splaying out as it twirls around you. You have to admit, both the dress and his reaction are feeding your confidence.

Nothing matters in the whole world except for her.

He stands, having noticed the undone zipper in the back. He saunters towards you, jumping at the opportunity, his eyes unwavering from your body. He places his hands on your hips, turning your back towards him.

Can I just marry her now? Can she wear this to our wedding? 

You feel his soft breath grace your neck, a whisper of affection envelopes you. “Mia bella ragazza,” he says, each word dripping with pure adoration. He zips you up with the utmost delicacy and care.

He wraps his left arm around you, pulling your back to his chest. He sways you both back and forth, imitating a slow dance.

“Y/N.” Theo says, ready to pour his heart out for you. Right here, right now. As your eyes meet his, you share a moment of yearning, his lips dead set on meeting yours…

Until an abrasive knock that could only belong to Draco breaks your stare from his.

Please don’t take her away from me now.

He, of course, opens the door without being granted entry. You slide away from Theo’s embrace, slipping on your heels and grabbing your cover-up. Draco beckons you to him, grabbing a hand and twirling you around.

The sound of your laughter plagues Theo. You link an arm with Draco, tucking into his side. Theo’s mind silently explodes with jealousy, trying to identify everything wrong with the sight in front of him.

He looks like dirt compared to her.

Draco reaches to fix one of the earrings he gave you, setting it just right. Heat begins to course through Theo’s very being.

I’d rather eat slugs than see my Y/N on his arm.

Draco leads them out, nodding a silent goodbye to Theo on the way towards the door. “I think we look rather dashing together, don’t you agree?” he asks, his ego caking each word.

Theo takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure as he’s left in silence. He vowed to himself that he would behave for you, for this one night. For your sake. 

But just before you leave his line of sight, you steal one last, desperate glance at Theo. And that’s enough to break his vow.

—

I can’t believe she makes me this stupid.

Theo thinks as he peers into Slughorn’s party from a tiny window. His feet perched on the ledge, several feet above the ground. His knuckles go white as his fingers grip the wall tightly. 

He spots you next to Draco at the table, noticing his hand covering yours. The students engage in lively conversation, mostly Malfoy telling boring stories about his father.

Though Theo tries hard to keep his focus on Malfoy, he can’t help but obsess over your breathtaking beauty.

His ears recognize the first few notes of the song you were humming earlier coming over the speakers. 

You gasp and whip your head towards Draco, your eyes lit up with excitement, your hands tugging his suit jacket. “This is my favorite song!! Can we dance?” You ask him.

He stands and offers you his hand, which you take immediately. “All night, if you’d like, love.” 

He doesn’t deserve this. He can barely carry a tune, let alone dance. 

Theo hops down from the window, using the moving picture frames as leverage. Once he lands, he finds the back entrance to the party, peering through the sheer curtains.

Good luck pulling this off, Malfoy. I hope she laughs in your face.

But that’s not what happens. In fact, it is hard to deny how absolutely gorgeous you two look together, each step perfectly placed, each twirl calculated. Everyone watches you both sweep across the dance floor with ease, like you’ve rehearsed this a thousand times. 

And even worse, it looks like you’re enjoying it. Theo’s hand drags down his face in agony.

Fuck… he’s killing it.

Theo’s inner fire intensifies as Draco’s hand moves to rest on your lower back. Too low for his liking. And the way you’re eating it up drives him mad. Draco leans in near your ear, sharing smirks and whispers with you. 

The bloody fool is talking during her favorite song instead of letting her sing.

An idea sparks in Theo’s head, one that would probably disappoint you. But he doesn’t care anymore. Especially as he watches Draco cross the final line by dipping you backwards, his eyes obviously lingering on your chest. When he lifts you back up to him, you hear a faint, boyish voice call from behind you.

“Confundus.”

Suddenly, Draco stumbles over, tripping over his own feet and falling on the floor, bringing you down with him. Slughorn swiftly strides over and accuses Draco of drinking too much champagne, despite your efforts to defend him. When he’s asked to leave, you follow him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, patting down the front of his suit jacket and fixing his hair. He rolls his eyes, shrugging you off and mumbling something to himself about how “Slughorn will pay for this.”

As he sulks away, you find yourself alone in the corridor, sighing and stepping out of your heels. A humming sound emanates from behind you, the familiar tone easily identifiable to your ears. You can’t help but smile as the pieces fall into place.

“Really? Confundus?” You joke, turning your head to the side with a smirk. Theo’s arm wraps itself around your front once again, swaying you in his slow-dance way. What you didn’t expect was the feeling of his lips on your cheek, kissing you ever so softly.

“Si, bella.” He responds, switching to kiss your other cheek. “With the way he drooled on you all night, he’s lucky it wasn’t a Crucio.”

You remove his hand, letting yourself turn to face him. He kicks your heels to the side, allowing you to step closer. Your hand reaches up to caress his cheek, your finger tracing the edge of his jaw.

“Mio bel ragazzo,” you say, lifting yourself up on your tippy toes. He pulls away, catching you off guard, grounding yourself to the floor again.

“I’ve waited forever to kiss you, Y/N. Dreamed of it, even.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his words, his finger twirling around one of your stray curls. “Let me.”

The blush on your face hits a crimson peak, nodding a silent grant of permission. Your heart races as both his hands firmly cup your face, pulling you gently until you feel his lips join yours, melding into each other.

The kiss is long and earned, his lips moving against yours with intention. When he finally breaks for a breath, you tug on his collar, quickly crashing your lips back onto his. A low moan travels its way from his mouth to yours, his hands now wrapped securely around your waist. Good luck getting this boy to let go.

You pull away, letting Theo rest his forehead on yours, a stupid smile adorning his face as he processes the moment.

“For what it’s worth, I told Narcissa I wanted those earrings. I think she almost felt bad that I had to go with him.” You laughed, playing with the jewelry on your ears.

“He’s not allowed near you- no, he’s not even allowed in the same room as you from now on,” Theo says, a shadow of the tension in his jaw lingers. “Or it’s lights out for him.”

You both break into a fit of laughter at the threat, leaning on each other for balance.

You pause for a second, his eyes brimming with unspeakable joy. Your hand finds the back of his neck, grazing it with your fingertips, feeling the resulting chills it sparks on his skin.

“There’s only one room I want to be in right now, and I’d like you to take me to it.” You whisper, Theo’s expression becoming eager as he immediately lifts you up, swiftly carrying out your order. You could tell him to burn down a city and he’d do it for you.

“Am I dreaming this, bella? Am I really taking the most extraordinary person who’s ever lived back to my dorm?” He asks, relishing the feel of your arms around his neck and the scent of your vanilla perfume encompassing him.

“Wow, the most extraordinary person? Ever?!” You giggle, your voice coated with exaggeration. “What does that make you?” You ask him.

“The luckiest.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[mrsbarnesblog]

Hi!! I love your work, if your ok with it can you do Sub! Rafe?? He basically just lets the reader top him but he starts getting all subby on her and cries bc of how good it feels.

masterlist ko-fi ao3

requests are open

word count: 2.1k.

warnings: smut, sub Rafe, p in v, blow job, unprotected sex, tying up, multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: let's fucking gooo. I have been WAITING for someone to ask me to write this because I love, love, love subby Rafe. so thank you for the request and hope you'll like this one😘

“Just let me try it one time, please.” You looked up at your boyfriend and gave him the best puppy eyes, knowing that no matter how much he refused, he could never tell you no. “You’ll like it, and if you don't, you can just say a word and I’ll stop.” 

“I won’t like it.” Rafe grumbled, rubbing his forehead in frustration. You were asking him to let you be on top, to control everything, and especially him, for the first time. He was scared to let someone do that to him, but at the same time, the smallest part of him craved it crazily. “But we can try.”

You squeaked in happiness, then reached up to hold the back of Rafe’s neck to bring him into the heated kiss. The atmosphere in the room quickly shifted when you started moaning into each other's mouths, with hands gripping whatever body part they could find. 

You slowly bucked Rafe closer to the bed, then pushed him back on the plush blanket. He grumbled again, but still obediently moved up and was laid back on the pillow, clearly waiting for you. 

With a teasing smile on your face, you took his leather belt off the floor and straddled him. “Gimme your hands.” You lowered your body, giving Rafe a quick peck on the lips, and started fixating his hands to the metal headboard. 

The position that you were in gave Rafe an amazing look at your tits, which were spilling out of your bra behind your silk robe. He licked his lips, at that moment not even caring about anything else; his eyes were too focused on your body right in front of his face. 

You pulled back, making sure that his hands were secure and he couldn’t free himself without your notice, then took a second to admire your boyfriend. Rafe was now all yours, laying under you without a shirt on and only in your favorite gray sweatpants. Your eyes trailed down his body, gawking at his shoulders, biceps, chest and abs. Just looking at it made you go into a spiral. 

“Now… I’m going to do everything that you always do with me, and if you’re being good, you’ll get a reward.” You tilted your head to the side playfully, your nails scratching his toned skin from his neck down to the belly button, feeling the way muscles twitched under your fingers. 

Rafe wasn’t fully listening to you, to be honest. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, the image of you sitting on top of him, your robe high on your thighs and almost exposing your boobs, was making him painfully hard. 

“Take it off. I need to see you.” He demanded as usual, already feeling agitated with the way he couldn’t take control of everything like he used to. 

“You’re not giving orders right now. Ask nicely and I’ll think about it.” Rafe's hands moved unconsciously as he tried to touch you, but the belt stopped him. You smirked, leaning lower until your lips were right above his chest. You kissed his heated skin while looking him in the eyes, moving lower and lower until you reached the hem of his sweatpants. 

“Baby, please.” He breathed out desperately. 

Not giving in, you trailed your nail right above his pants, making his hips twitch upwards in search of more contact. 

“You said you wouldn't like it, hm?” You arched an eyebrow, pointing to the very obvious bulge. Rafe huffed and his face was slightly flashed. He was too stubborn to admit it, but seeing the actual reaction of his body was everything you needed to know. “Ask me politely, Rafe.” 

“Touch me.” He breathed out, closing his eyes, and once again tested the belt’s hold on his hands. “Please. I need it.” 

“Mhm, so you can be nice?” Sliding your fingers under the waistband, you finally pulled his pants and boxers down his legs. His cock, painfully hard and with a leaking tip, bounced against his lower abdomen and you couldn’t help but wrap your hand around it. 

Rafe moaned at your touch, throwing his head back against the pillow and then biting on the flesh of his stretched-out bicep. The next thing he felt was your soft tongue licking him from the bottom up, focusing and swirling around his swollen head. 

“Fuck! Shit—don't tease me like this, baby.” With parted lips and hooded eyes, he looked down at you, and the image alone of you standing on your hands and knees with his cock in your mouth could send him into space. Maintaining eye contact, you used your tongue exactly like you knew he liked until Rafe couldn’t hold back anymore and you heard that pretty whining noise. “I’m close—“

As soon as you heard these words, you pulled away, leaving him on the edge and desperate for more. “Oh, I’m sorry, but you’re not getting it that easily.” You finally untangled the silk belt of your robe, letting it freely slide down your arms. Rafe drooled at the sight in front of him, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. 

Never in his life had he wanted something so desperately, like he wanted to touch you right now. It was the sweetest torture to see your perfect body right in front of his hungry eyes but not being able to feel it. 

“I need to touch you. Please, let me do it.” He mumbled, his pupils dilated and his eyes were much darker than before. Rafe pulled his hands again, making metal cling against metal, but you just shook your head. 

“You can only watch; no touching, baby.” You observed the way his eyes got shut tightly, head pushed against the pillow and he huffed, mumbling something incoherent. You’ve never seen Rafe act like this, being so open and emotional, so vulnerable infront of you. The way he needed you made you squeeze your thighs on either side of his body as another wave of arousal washed over you. “I’ll make you feel good.” 

Finally unclipping your bra, you maneuvered to pull your panties down your legs, then returned back on top of Rafe. His cock was placed right next to your pussy, just barely touching your sensitive folds. 

Your hand wrapped around him again, pumping his cock a few times, before slightly moving up and sliding the mushroom head against your pussy lips. 

“Oh fuck—“ Rafe moaned, looking down there with hooded eyes. He was leaking with precum and your movements only made it mix with your wetness and glister on his length. Your mouth slightly opened, moaning too, when his cock finally got caught in your entrance and with one smooth motion, he slipped inside. 

It was euphoric. 

“Oh my god, Rafe! You feel so good inside.” You pressed your hands on Rafe’s abs, testing your ability to move on him without any help. He filled you perfectly, stretching you to the brim and hitting all the right places, making you throw your head back in delight. You moved up, leaving only the tip, and then pushed down with a loud slap of the skin. 

“No-no-no, holy shiiit.” It happened before you could register it, but with a few circular motions of your hips, Rafe’s cock twitched inside of you and you felt a familiar, warm feeling inside of you. With your mouth open in shock, you looked down, seeing the evidence of Rafe’s orgasm on your thighs as his cum started sliding down around his cock. Then you looked back at him seeing even more flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop myself—“ 

During the whole time that you were dating, Rafe had never finished before you, always dragging a few orgasms out of you, not to mention that it had never happened that fast. Always so determined to make you feel good, he could hold back for hours, just enjoying teasing you. But thinking that you could pent him up to the point when he couldn’t control his body, made you want to do to him the dirtiest things. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” You soothed him, leaning forward to reach his face and distracting him with a kiss. Your pussy spasmed around his softened cock, making you both moan in each other's mouths. “I need you to give me another one, baby.” You straightened back, teasingly moving your ass in a circle and observing Rafe’s reaction. 

He whined—he literally whined at the overstimulation, trying to move his cock away while at the same time craving more. The headboard squeaked under his strong pulls, barely able to restrain Rafe’s desires. He wanted you. He wanted you so fucking badly. To just put his hands on your body, roll you on your back and fuck the living shit out of you. He wanted to make that aching feeling in the pit of his stomach go away, because even though he just came, he needed more and it was killing him. 

“Fuck yourself on me. Use me.” 

“Mmm, you’re so sweet when you’re begging me, Rafey.” You teased, now feeling his fully erect cock giving you so much-needed fullness again. With your hands on his chest, you started bouncing up and down, swirling your hips to drag more moans and groans out of Rafe. “You’re feeling me up exactly the way I need it. Always so good for me, baby. Such a good boy.”

“Y-yeah, I’m good for you, and I need to feel you cumming around me.” You nodded eagerly, quickening your pace. His brows kneaded in concentration and eyes got laser-focused on the place where you two were connected. Seeing his cum, mixed with your wetness, dripping down his shaft and smirging all over yours and his things was more than Rafe could handle. “‘s too much—“ 

“I’m gonna cum. Cum with me, baby. I need to feel how you fill me up again. Can you be good and do that for me?” Your hand reached to Rafe’s face, gripping his jaw until you felt him nod back to you. His eyes suddenly became more reddish, showing off your favorite blues in contrast with tears on his waterline. His lips parted again as he seemingly got closer to his second orgasm. 

You clenched around his cock, slightly moving forward to align your clit with his pelvis to create perfect friction. Your bounces got sloppier and less accurate as the blood-rushing noise in your ears became more and more noticeable. 

You both came almost at the same time, moaning each other’s names in bliss. He shot rope after rope of hot semen up your quivering pussy, encouraging you to keep moving and squeezing him. Your cunt was milking every last drop, as you felt extremely greedy to get everything that you could. 

Looking up, you saw Rafe with tightly shut eyes and tears rolling down his cheeks. He was panting, trying to catch a breath and clenching his fists against the restraints. You fell forward on his sweaty chest, reaching up to unbuckle the belt. 

The second Rafe’s hands were free, he put them on your body, touching, gropping and claiming you again, despite the pain of being in an uncomfortable position for too long. He finally sprawled them on your back, not letting you move even for an inch. 

After spending at least ten minutes in that exact position, with his balls deep in you, and in complete silence, you both couldn’t believe what just happened. When the fog finally cleared out of his brain, Rafe slightly pushed you to lay face-to-face on your sides. 

“What the fuck have you done to me, baby?” He whispered against your skin. “You made me cum like a fucking teenager who had his first sex.”

“I just showed you that you don’t have to always be in charge of everything. I can take care of you too.” You pushed Rafe’s sweaty bangs away, throwing your leg over his hip so it would be more comfortable for him to stay in the warmth of your body. He trembled in your hands, hiding his face in your hair and breathing in your scent.

You knew that he felt vulnerable and exposed at that moment, so you didn’t say anything further, just giving Rafe some comfort with your touch and presence.