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ghostboneswrites2 · 27 days

Note

I really resonated with Daryl x abused reader could you maybe do one where the reader doesn’t let their past define them and shows little signs of abuse like they’re super cheery and happy and doesn’t let their past get them down and but maybe reader has a ptsd attack by Daryl after he confronts her about being so happy especially in an apocalypse and they just realize they relate to each other even if they’re personalities are so drastically and Daryl just comforts reader 🫂

The Painted Bunting

Era: Greene Farm

Summary: Daryl is paired with you on the search for Sophia and snaps at you after growing tiresome of your seemingly endless kindness.

Note: No more laptop for now since the cord broke so I hope you’ll all forgive the lack of my usual post formatting :(

Warnings: profanity, mentions of past abuse, grumpy sassy asshole Daryl (the man we originally fell in love with)

Banner credits on this post

Shining hair in the rays of the sun, an infectious laugh, a beaming grin that never seemed to dissipate. A glowing beacon in the dark. That was what you were. And, admittedly, it got under his skin a little, so Daryl tended to avoid you. You weren’t oblivious to it, but you accepted it for what it was. After all, you couldn’t win them all, right?

You had always been that way; soft, gentle, graceful, kind. If you had never let the past change that for you, you certainly wouldn’t let present day events change it, either. Maybe the world had become a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you had to be one too.

Daryl thought that what really gritted his teeth about you was that through everything that had happened, you never changed a single bit. Not like the others had; not like he had.

After the world fell, after the camp by the quarry was overrun, after the CDC, after Sophia had gone missing, you remained exactly the same. For all of the afore mentioned, Daryl found you to be one of the most vexing people he ever had the displeasure of interacting with, second only to Shane, who could have easily been traded off for his own brother, Merle.

Needless to say, he was peeved at the idea that you were sent on search duty with him after he hurt himself in the ravine. Rick decided a buddy system would be beneficial to all of the search party participants, and you volunteered to tag along, because of course you did.

You weren’t so much looking forward to spending so much one on one time with the man, yourself. You didn’t necessarily have an issue with him, but you were all too aware of the issue he seemed to have with you. Really, you couldn’t relate to him at all. Not everyone around camp was perky and sweet, and rightfully so, but Daryl was such a brooding presence and you just couldn’t put yourself in that frame of mind.

The two of you had set out just after dawn and the hours ticked by as you made friendly conversation and Daryl occasionally offered you a measly grunt in response.

“Do you think we’ll find anyone out here?” You asked. “I mean, aside from Sophia. I know we’ll find her.”

“Pro’ly better if we don’t find nobody else.” Was his first verbal response all day. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Could be good. I’m sure there are people who could really use some help.”

“Ain’t our problem.” He argued. “Gotta look out for our own. The hell you worried about helpin’ strangers for when we ain’t even found the little girl we’re after?”

“Oh, no.” You chuckled nervously. “It’s not that I was just —“ You cut yourself off, sensing an oncoming ramble. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Mm.” He hummed, pausing his footsteps to take a breath and scan his surroundings. After a moment, he continued forward, and you followed without question . Admittedly, you had no clue how to track, so if anything you were there in case he got hurt.

“So, if someone needed your help… You wouldn’t help?” You asked innocently.

He whipped around to face you, the aggression behind his motion drawing you to a dead stop.

“The hell’s your problem, huh?” He snapped. You blinked. “It’s the end of the goddamn world and you’re askin’ me about some hypothetical moral dilemma? Let me tell you somethin’, girl; ain’t no damn morals in the apocalypse. Ain’t no more law and order! It’s just us,” he paused, sending an arrow through the skull of a walker that had crept up behind you. You flinched and turned to watch its carcass thud on the forest floor. “And them.” He concluded.

“I—I was just making conversation.” You mumbled timidly.

“Why? It’s not a social call! We’re out here to find that little girl. This is why I didn’t need no damn babysitter.” He complained.

“I was just trying to be nice.” You defended.

“Nice?” He scoffed. That simple word seemed to trigger something in him as his eyes lit up with aggravation. “Don’t you get it? It ain’t about bein’ nice anymore. It’s about survival. Got dead people standin’ up and eatin’ people and you’re worried about bein’ nice. Walkin’ around passin’ out water and food and gigglin’ with everybody like we ain’t got a bunch o’ dead bodies stumblin’ around us just waitin’ to take a bite out.”

Maybe it was the way he raised his voice, or the way his eyes shot flaming daggers of fury right through your chest, or the way he threw his arms down and spat words at you like you were some puny, wretched little thing. You didn’t know what it was, but somewhere in the whirlwind of heated exchange, his voice slowly blended together with the other voice — the one that still lived in the back of your mind and ate away at you every day.

The voice that belonged to your own father, the one person who struck true, genuine fear in you. Before you knew it, that old sensation of real terror, the one you’d buried somewhere deep inside you and covered with cement, was breaking free and engulfing you.

You were frozen, like a fawn under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator. The humid air felt like a thick paste as you struggled to gulp it down and catch a breath. At first, Daryl felt inclined to criticize your tears as a show of weakness, fragility, inability to handle a little raise of the voice. He quickly noticed, however, that this was no simple burst of reactionary emotions. No, this was something much deeper and it was rattling you to the core. There was a distant look in your wide eyes, one that he came to recognize, even if it took him a minute.

He shifted on his feet, scanning you, unsure how to intervene.

“Hey.” He eventually called out, but it was clear his voice wasn’t reaching you. This was the final piece of confirmation he needed. You were having an episode, the kind he experienced a few times when he first got out of his father’s abusive home.

He sighed and grabbed your trembling shoulders. You jumped but you didn’t flee or strike out. His touch seemed to dry you out and shrivel you up like a raisin. You shrank into yourself, hyperventilating.

“C’mon.” He said softly, ushering you done to your knees. “Hey. Ya gotta breathe.”

Your breathe only became more shallow and forced. Tears poured down your cheeks as your chest got tighter.

“Just breathe. That’s the only way it’s gonna stop.” He urged. He went to grab your wrists but you panicked, snatching your arms away and falling down on your back.

“No! Get away! You can’t do this anymore! I’m not a little kid!” You cried out.

You were making quite a bit of noise by this point, between the gasps for air and the sobs. He crouched over you and grabbed your shoulders.

“(Y/N), ya ain’t there anymore. Wherever it is, it’s gone. In the past. It’s just you and me right now, and we ain’t there. We’re here.” He soothed, hoping his voice could find you somewhere in the abyss. “Just listen. Ya hear that? It’s a Painted Bunting. Look,” he pointed up into a tree at a bright multicolored bird, similar in its beauty to a parrot, only much smaller. “It’s right up there. Ya see it?”

Your breathing had started to slow down now, those shallow inhales finally reaching a little deeper within. Your eyes lazily followed his finger to the bright little bird singing a flute-like melody.

“Ya see it?” He asked again. You managed to nod once, still holding your arms tightly to your chest as you laid flat on the bed of leaves and twigs. He took a moment to see you, to really take you in, and he realized you were beautiful. Not just in the way a pretty girl with a nice personality was beautiful, but in a way that left so much of who you really were unsaid.

“Just watch it.” He whispered, glancing back up at the feathered creature, hoping it would stick around long enough to bring you back down to earth. “They take two years to look that pretty. Did ya know that?” He asked, glancing back down at you. Your eyes were still on the bird, but you shook your head no. “Yeah. Only the males, too.” He added. “Otherwise, they’re just kinda greenish and yellowish.”

Once your chest was rising and falling with a steady rhythm, you finally looked over at him. Humiliation began to set in. You quickly sat yourself up and brushed the dead foliage away from your clothes and hair.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“‘S okay.” He shrugged, standing himself back up as well. “Happens.”

“Yeah, we’ll, it shouldn’t. Not nowadays.”

“Can’t help it when it does.” He assured you. “I get it.”

“Maybe I should head back.” You suggested.

“We both can. If ya wanna. It’ll be dark soon anyways.”

“I don’t wanna make you lose your trail or.. Ya know.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“Nah. Ain’t no use after dark, anyways. We’d just be stumbling in circles and bumpin’ into each other.” He insisted, contrastingly soft in comparison to before your episode.

“Oh. Right.” You nodded. Just as you got ready to turn back toward the farm, he cleared his throat.

“Ya wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” You turned back to him. He shifted his weight anxiously, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Offering an ear to listen was at least ten yards outside the perimeter of his comfort zone. “About that?” You asked. “That was nothing. Just something stupid that happens sometimes. That’s all.”

While his tone was much kinder and warmer than before, yours was cold, dull, and tired. Those episodes could take a lot out of a person, and he was no stranger to that fact.

“Sometimes it helps.” He said. “Talkin’ about it. Makes it a little less…” He trailed off, searching for the word he wanted. “Less, uh… Consuming.”

“It never gets less consuming.” You argued.

“It does.” He insisted.

“And how would you know?” You asked, impatience lacing your words.

“I used to get ‘em too.” He admitted. “Been awhile but… I just get it. That’s all.”

You studied him. In all the weeks you’d spent around the man, you’d never seen him so genuine, or really so open. He never seemed to look at you like another person. You were always just another load on his shoulders.

“My dad.” You finally spoke. He nodded.

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry.” You sympathized.

“Me too.” He agreed.

“We should go.” You sighed, turning away again.

This time you didn’t wait for him, you just started walking, until he called out behind you; “‘M sorry.” You stood still, but you didn’t look back. He knew he had your attention, though, and he knew he had to say something else. “I know I did it this time. I shouldn’t��ve yelled at ya like that.”

“It’s okay. Maybe you were right.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, taking slow steps to catch up to you. “I wasn’t. It’s good. Ya didn’t let none of that shit make ya bitter. Keep it that way. Else you’ll end up a grumpy redneck.” He joked. You suppressed the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Maybe the grumpy rednecks of the world got it figured out.” You said, walking again once you felt him catch up.

“Nah. I don’t know shit about shit.” He admitted, eliciting a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

“I don’t think anyone does.” You reasoned.

On the hike back to the Greene farm, you two shared some light banter, some stories of the past, some laughs and extended looks. He grew finder of you that day. The critical glares he’d send you from a distance were replaced with admiration and respectful nods. You’d often catch him looking and flash him a big smile, waving at him before you attention was drawn elsewhere.

You both learned that maybe the two of you were differently colored fruit, but you grew from the same tree, and you weren’t so different after all. And, that sentiment was never lost or forgotten. It carried with you for as long as you two knew each other.

Taglist || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

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evermoreal · 3 months

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some stalker!ghost thoughts ౨ৎ ࿐

author’s note. i have never been into dark content but i got this idea in my head & ran with it >.< really, it’s not that dark, he’s just obsessive & needs to be near u at All Times. however he is a stalker so please heed the warnings !!

cw. 18+ mdni, fem reader, stalking, murder (nothing detailed & the reader doesn’t know), breaking & entering, voyeurism, masturbation. lmk if i missed anything ! <3

∘♡༉∘ he meets you while on leave. it’s not often he’s off-base, and when he is, he rarely leaves the dingy little apartment he rents.

∘♡༉∘ despite the rumours, ghost is human. a human with a terrible sweet tooth, actually. after spending too long staring at his empty pantry, willing something to appear, he decides to check out the little bakery he’d spotted on an early-morning run a few days ago.

∘♡༉∘ it was quiet inside — so quiet he had to double check that the ‘open’ sign was actually lit up. it was, and there was a faint, bubble-gum pop song playing from somewhere behind the ‘employees only’ door. after a moment of deliberation, he dings the little bell atop the counter.

∘♡༉∘ there’s a short yelp, and that sickly-sweet music is immediately paused. not a moment later, the door is swung open, and the prettiest little thing he’s ever seen is rattling off non-sensical apologies. there’s a bit of flour on your nose, some frosting on your chin.

∘♡༉∘ ghost knows he’s intimidating — enjoys it, even. not once in his life has he felt at all bad about it, not until now. the way you stutter over your words, staring up at him with wide eyes, growing frantic the more he silently stares has him regretting everything.

∘♡༉∘ now, he wishes he’d taken the time to swap out his balaclava for a surgical mask, or at least worn something other than his usual black hoodie and jeans. all he can do is shove his hands in his pockets, and say as softly as he can manage, “‘s okay, sweetheart.”

∘♡༉∘ you visibly relax, at that. shoulders slumping from where they’d begun to climb toward your ears. after that, you’re asking how you can help him, and when he asks for suggestions, you’re full of them. he ends up leaving with a box full of treats he doesn’t need, but he just couldn’t say no to anything you offered.

∘♡༉∘ only two days later and he’s returning. he doesn’t know why, but he can’t get you out of his head.

∘♡༉∘ the sight of your big, toothy smile when he walks in has his heart soaring. you’re immediately asking about the treats, if he enjoyed them or not. of course he did — he couldn’t get through all of them without a sore stomach, but the ones he did eat were the best damn baked goods he’d ever had.

∘♡༉∘ it’s easy enough to find your social media; you’re not great with privacy settings, and he spotted your name on your tag the first day he met you. instagram, snapchat, twitter, spotify, even facebook. your posts are so sweet, he finds himself smiling absentmindedly as he scrolls through them. baked goods, selfies of you and your friends, animals, the moon. he doesn’t know why he’s so satisfied when he concludes you don’t have a partner.

∘♡༉∘ there’s a photo of you at the beach alongside your friends. you’re smiling in it, the way one would for a photo — it’s not genuine, not like how you smile at him. but you look beautiful, so much so that it has something foul twisting in his stomach at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this. the photo wasn’t particularly revealing, and you weren’t posed scandalously, but… he grinds his teeth as he goes through the comments. he’s so, so proud when he sees that you haven’t responded to the men, not even deigning to like their comments. heart eyes and shitty compliments — he files away their names, somewhere in the back of his mind. just in case.

∘♡༉∘ it becomes routine to visit you after that. every few days he came in, spending more money than anyone should at a bakery. only once did he make the mistake of coming in on your day off. it only made sense for him to wait for your coworker to use the restroom and sneak back to the break room, snapping a photo of your schedule.

∘♡༉∘ additionally, and even more strangely, he’s glad the bakery has the sweet habit of labeling who made what treats. when you suggest the ones made by your coworkers, he’ll still purchase them, just to see you smile, but they don’t go anywhere near his mouth.

∘♡༉∘ and, hey, it’s not like sticking around until the end of your shift was a terrible idea. he’d sit in his car on the other side of the street, monitoring whoever entered and exited. he just needed to make sure you were safe. a sweet thing like you, the world would chew you up and spit you out so easily — there’s no way he’s gonna let that happen.

∘♡༉∘ it’s rare he deems someone a threat, but when an older man leaves the place with a scowl, he gets a bad feeling. immediately, he’s back inside the bakery, only to find you teary-eyed and sniffly. fury takes hold in an instant, but when you spot him and whimper out his name, he’s unable to leave again, no matter how badly he needs to hunt that man down. you step into his arms and ghost knows that prick will have to wait — right now, he needs to take care of you. wiping your eyes, cooing at you until you calm down enough to explain what happened. he insists you take your break, and when you do, he treats you to the restaurant across the street you’d mentioned you’d liked.

∘♡༉∘ the prick never comes back. you don’t question why, and simon’s glad for that. he doesn’t know how accepting you’d be if ghost told you he was buried a few cities over.

∘♡༉∘ after that, ghost’s instincts kind of go haywire. in his eyes, you’re no longer safe when he’s not around, not even at home. he spends his nights parked a few houses down, watching you through the window you so often forgot to draw the blinds across.

∘♡༉∘ a few weeks later, it was clear you were going through a bad time. although simon was greatly relieved when he found out it was merely a common flu, he was furious you still had to go to work to support yourself. in just a few months, if he kept at it, you might let him support you. for now, though, the best he could manage was slipping through an unlocked window and catching up on the chores you’d fallen behind. doing the dishes, your laundry, taking out your garbage. now, when you returned home, you’d be able to relax, to get better.

∘♡༉∘ additionally, he made mental notes of things that needed fixing. the lightbulb in your upstairs hallway was flickering, there was a leaky tap in the kitchen, and a few of your doors could use new hinges. he’d get to that, too, eventually.

∘♡༉∘ (he prayed you were delirious enough in your sickness to not notice. he was mostly right — through the window, he spotted you staring at the now-clean dishes with a puzzled expression. you brushed it off, and he exhaled in relief, returning to his phone, where he was purchasing a refill of your favourite perfume).

∘♡༉∘ it was hard, though. work often called him away, and he didn’t want any of the neighbours reporting a suspicious black truck parked on the street. after much debate, he purchased some cameras, installing them in a few rooms and along the exterior of your house.

∘♡༉∘ being able to check up on his girl helped him sleep when he was away. he had to pay a few extra dollars for it, but now whenever the motion sensors went off at night, he’d get a notification sent to his phone.

∘♡༉∘ he panics when it goes off one night, a while after he’d watched you fall asleep. it woke him up out of his dead sleep, body attuned to the sound of the notification. he was on base, a ways away from you; he couldn’t unlock his phone fast enough.

∘♡༉∘ however, he merely found you, alone in your room, writhing on your bed. he was confused for a long moment — were you hurt? did he need to call someone to check up on you? however, when he clicked the little ‘unmute’ button, and a low buzzing sound cut through his speakers, he came to the realization with a groan. you were getting off.

∘♡༉∘ he knew he should close the app. he knew this was a new level of invading your privacy. he knew he was disgusting . . . but the blood in his brain had already begun it’s descent to his cock, quick enough to make him light headed and a little stupid.

∘♡༉∘ the walls in the barracks were thin. he made sure to keep the volume low as he listened to your quiet moans and breathy whimpers. pressing his face close to the screen, he watched with wide, dilated eyes, cock twitching in his briefs every time you bucked your hips against the vibrator.

∘♡༉∘ simon didn’t quite know how it happened, but somehow he’d ended up on his tummy, cock fucking into his fist while he imagined it was your pretty little cunt. he finished embarrassingly quick, growling against his pillow, waiting just long enough to hear the sounds of your climax.

∘♡༉∘ the hazy, post-climax period was cut short when he heard your voice, quiet and muffled against your palm. it was breathy with the come-down, but his heart lurched in his chest. he had to rewind the video, holding the speaker up to his ear.

∘♡༉∘ sure enough, you’d uttered his name. simon. you were thinking of him.

∘♡༉∘ despite claiming you long ago, something was cemented in simon’s chest at the sound. he couldn’t wait any longer. the moment he returned, you’d be his. no matter what he had to do.

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ghosty-writes-23 · 1 month

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(Re-Upload.) A 'Helping' Hand. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: Boyfriend!Leon, Sweet fluff, Morning Cuddles, NSFW Content, Switch!Leon, Body Worship, Praise, Eating Out, Blowjob, Riding, Aftercare.

Pairing: Emo!Boy!Leon + Tattoo!Store!Onwer!Fem!Reader.

Rating: Mature.

Summary: Your sweet boyfriend decides to come and help you at work, but one thing leads to another.

Word Count: 3.9k

Ghosty's Notes: Hi, I’m sorry this post is late, I have been really busy with my course and just finished a 1000-word case study and I’m due to submit a 2200 essay by may and I haven’t even started yet, so I am really sorry I haven’t been updating lately. But I finally posted something, and I plan on posting something short with RE2:R!Leon in a couple of days.

Side note: All the songs mentioned in this one-shot are from 2005 :)

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

18+ Content // Minors DO NOT Interact // 18+ Content.

Last night you had received a text from one of your working tattoo artists, that the monthly shipment had arrived at closing time and been brought into the store preventing it from getting stolen, you had sent her a thank you text and told your artist group chat to take the day off, which a few of your younger artists where grateful for because it gave them a chance to catch up on their university studies and you knew some of your other artists had small children as well.

You were happy to give them the day off because it meant that you can restock your tattoo studio in peace because you like things in a certain order.

Hearing the faint tune of Bat Country by Avenged Sevenfold starting to play, sucking in a soft breath you started to stir and felt your boyfriends arm tighten around your waist under the slipknot shirt of his you were wearing, you could hear him softly humming to the song causing you to smile softly even in your sleepy state.

“I have to go in today.” You say as you felt Leon nuzzling into your neck, his snakebite piercing gazing the soft skin of your neck, his nose ring also gently bumping against your neck as well. “5 more minutes.” He deep voice rumbled; his voice was always deeper when he first woke up in the morning.

Reaching over you grabbed your phone and finally turned off your phone alarm before placing it back on your bedside table. “I really have to go.” You playfully argued with him as you knew what the time was, the quicker you got it done the faster you could come home.

“you’re abandoning your boyfriend on his day off work.” Leon pouted as you slipped out from his grasp and comfort of your shared warm bed, you playfully rolled her eyes before she leaned over and gently pushed back his messy dark blonde bed hair and kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry I’m such a horrible girlfriend.” You say with a playful grin before you moved away and headed to your shared bathroom to do your morning routine.

You brushed your teeth and hair, took your morning medication, standing in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your freshly cleaned body you did your morning skincare routine, not bothering doing a whole face of makeup, just some concealer, setting powder, mascara, eyeliner and lip balm today since you weren’t seeing clients today and it was too much work in the morning. As you where applying your lip balm you felt Leons arms wrap around your waist.

Looking up at him through the mirror, you could see his messy dark blonde hair was sticking up in all directions, his sweatpants hanging low on his lips, you could see the matching my chemical romance tattoo, it was of the album three cheers for sweet revenge done in the lovers tarot card design, the tattoo was placed on both of your forearms just above your wrists, you had designed the tattoos at Leon’s request.

you could caught a glimpse of Leon’s nose piercing and crooked helix piercing that he pierced himself when you two first started dating, because he wanted to impress you with his piercing ‘skills’ but he ended up at the hospital later that night because his ear swelled up and he was into much pain to drive himself, you always tease him and tell him you count that as your guys first date.

“you didn’t need to get out of bed.” You say applying your lip balm, your eyes were focused on your reflection in the mirror. “I’m come with you.” He says placing a gentle kiss on you neck as he slid his arm around your towel covered waist.

You could see the little tattoos that decorated his arm, some he had before you guys meet and others you had done or covered up. “you don’t have too, it will be boring at the studio today, sleep in today.” You tell him but he shakes his head before he leaned down and softly kisses you.

“Wanna spend time with you.” He says before pulling away as he starts his morning routine of brushing his teeth and then showering, going back into your shared bedroom you decided to wear some leggings, a crop top and Leon’s Metallica hoodie you brought him last year when you went to the concert in your city for your 4-year anniversary.

As you gathered your things you would need for the day Leon came out of the bathroom wearing black ripped skinny jeans and nirvana shirt, his hair had been pushed off his head he looked fully awake now.

“Princess don’t you own your own hoodies.” Leon says with a playful tease that makes you roll your eyes roll slightly. “it’s not your hoodie it’s our hoodie.” You say grinning causing him to roll his eyes as he pulled you into him by your waist.

“you’re lucky your cute.” He mumbles before he kisses you softly the metal rings of his lip piercings pressing into your lips, you kissed him back as you wrapped your arms around his neck and went on your tippy toes.

The kiss was slow and gentle making your body feel all warm and fuzzy, his kisses always left you breathless and wanting more, but when you felt his tongue piercing graze over your bottom lip you knew you needed to pull away.

“later.” You mumble against his lips before pulling away and grabbing your bag, you could see Leon smiling out the corner of your eye as he grabs his phone and anything else he would need for today.

“I’ll drop you off at the tattoo studio, then go and get coffee for the both of us.” Leon tells you as you both walk out of your shared bedroom and downstairs, you grabbed you bag while Leon grabbed his car keys.

He drove an army green jeep that he had for as long as you have known him, it wasn’t that you didn’t have a license you did, but it was cheaper for you letting your boyfriend drive you everywhere.

Once you both where out the front door of your apartment you locked the front door then nuzzled into Leon’s arm as he linked your fingers together in his fingerless gloved hand, then you both headed outside into the cold winter morning.

*Skip Car Ride*

Leon had dropped you off at your studio before he went to your favourite café to get you a hot drink for the cold morning, it always warmed your heart with all the little things your boyfriend does for you, it makes you really appreciate him and want to do the same for him in return.

Unlocking the door to your studio you walked inside and flicked on the lights seeing all the boxes in the front, you knew this was going to take a while but you didn’t mind.

Placing your bag and keys in your tattooing area, you went and turned on the heaters and the stereo so there was some music playing so it wasn’t completely quiet, grabbing your list you went to make sure you had everything you ordered before you started to pack it away, because last time there where a few things missing from your monthly order.

20 minutes into checking everything you heard the front door open and the familiar sound of Leon’s voice as he curses under his breath at the cold weather, as he shook some snow off his hair as he held a tray of hot drinks. You placed your list down and smiled softly walking over to him.

“thank you.” You say as you took the hot drink from the tray, you could smell the chocolate and coffee before you took your first sip, a soft hum leaving your lips. “how is the restock going?” Leon asks as he sips his own drink, he followed you into your tattooing area where most of the boxes were.

“So far we have everything on the list, which is good I just have a couple more boxes to check then I can start packing everything away.” You say as you set your drink down and grabbed your list again.

“why don’t you check those boxes and I’ll start packing things away.” Leon suggests as he came and rested his head on your shoulder, his eyes glancing over the list of items. “I can do it myself, it your day off work.” You say to him slightly stubbornly.

Leon works as a music store manager that sold CD’s, record and music instruments, his boss liked him a lot and let Leon be flexible with his hours, when he wasn’t working at the music store he was helping you out in the tattoo studio, either packing things away or being on the front desk.

“I know but I like to help.” Leon says as he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, smiling softly at his small affection, it always warmed your heart when Leon helped you out even if it was with something small. “okay, thank you.” You say giving him a quick kiss on his cheek before he went to start packing things away.

*Sometime Later*

After finally packing all your shipped supplies away correctly, you found yourself pinned against the wall with Leon’s hands holding your wrists above your head as he kissed you sweetly but need, his pierced tongue tangling with yours causing sweet moans to leave your lips. You couldn’t focus on anything else other than the touch of your boyfriends, which was causing your mind to race and your heart to beat out of your chest, feeling him pull away slightly a soft whine left your lips causing him to chuckle slightly.

“Somebody is a little eager.” Leon softly teases you eve when his blue eyes held the look of lust, want, need and desire, you could also see the warmth, affection and love, feeling his thumb and index finger softly grab your chin and pulled your face back to his kissing your slightly swollen and bruised lips, with his free hand he used it to unzip his Metallica hoodie you were wearing.

It slipped off your shoulders and down your arms with ease, falling onto the floor behind you. Breaking the kiss Leon let go of your wrists and tugged off his nirvana shirt and tossed it onto the ground beside him. “somebody’s eagerly.” You playfully tease him back causing a smile on his pierced lips, because you knew you were both as needy as each other in this moment. “only for you princess.” He says slyly as he lifted your crop off your body leaving you in just your bra and leggings.

“such a romantic.” You say with a smile as you bit your bottom lip, you could feel his pierced lips on your neck as he was leaving a soft trail of kisses on your skin, you knew there would be marks left there but at this moment you didn’t care. His kisses trailed from your jawline to your neck, to your shoulder, your collarbones then to your chest to where he started kissing lower as he sunk down on his knees in front of you, placing gentle open mouth kisses on your stomach as his fingers toyed with the waist band of your leggings.

You knew when Leon went down on you it wasn’t for your pleasure but for his own, he could do it for hours if you would let him, he always leaves you overstimulated, trembling and a mess but deep down you love it. Your fingers found there way to his dark blonde hair, it was soft and slightly damp from his shower this morning, he gave you a small grin as he placed a kiss over your slick core over your leggings making a slight blush come onto your cheeks, before he gently tugged them down.

“No panties, dirty girl.” Leon clicks his tongue, but you saw his tongue wet the bottom of his lip, you had decided to not wear panties today because it was more comfortable going commando in some leggings than it was in others, and it wasn’t like you were seeing clients today.

You could hear his tongue piercing hitting the metal of his lip rings as he admired your glistening pussy. Leon leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your clit, making a soft moan leave your lips before you spread your legs a little to give him better access, he placed one of your legs over his shoulder, his large hand supporting your thigh before his blue eyes meet yours again.

It was almost as if he was asking for permission before he touched you in any intimate way which made your heart race even more, you nodded your head trying to back the smile threatening to fall from your lips, before he dived in and feasted on your soaked core as if he was a starved man and this was his last meal, causing soft moans to leave your lips as you buck your hips slightly.

His tongue lapped at your folds, his eyes were closed in pure bliss as if he was lost in his own little world, you could feel the cool feeling of his tongue piercing jewelry and eve his lip rings grazing your soaked pussy, you could hear him humming and even grunting as he slurped softly. Reaching a hand down you gently pushed his dark blonde hair out of his face, you could see a faint blush on his cheeks as he pulled away slightly breathing heavily.

Just as you were about to ask him what he was doing, but he used his index finger and his middle finger to spread your folds. “beautiful.” He commented before he leaned forward and sucked on your clit causing a soft cry to leave your lips as a tremble ran through your body,

“Fuck Leon.” You cursed throwing your head back against the wall, as you rocked your hips against his face, he didn’t even need to use his fingers to make you cum, he knew your body like the back of his hand. You could feel the familiar feeling tightening in your stomach as your eyes rolled back slightly, your thighs began to tremble more as your moans became more whinner and slightly high pitched.

“cum for me princess.” He says against your soaked core, you could feel yourself clenching around nothing. “cumming.” You softly moaned as you came with a soft whine on your boyfriends tounge, feeling your legs get weak but Leon's hand came up to your hips as he helped steady you.

After riding out your orgasm you pulled him down to you and kissed him deeply, your tongue tangle with his you could taste yourself, but you didn’t care.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you breathing heavily there was a small grin on his face, but you could see the lust swimming in his blue eyes. “my turn.” You tell him before he could protest you sunk down to your knees, you could see the bulge in his skinny jeans, reaching up you undid his belt and unzipped and unbuttoned the front before tugging his jeans down his thighs.

You could see the small wet patch of pre-cum on his boxers, looking up you could see his cheeks burning slightly, causing a sense of power to wash over you are knowing you’re the only one that can make Leon feel like this. You looked up at him in your eyes asking for permission like he had done for you, he gave you a nod as his hand found its way to your hair to make a makeshift ponytail, to keep your hair out of your face and eyes.

You carefully hooked your fingers into his boxers before tugging them down, causing Leon’s harden cock to spring free, a soft groan leaving his lips at the cold air hit him.

Giving him a soft smile you ran your tongue up the side of his cock before you wrapped your pillowy lips around him and began to bob your head at a steady rhythm, while placing your thighs on his thighs for some stability, he was heavy on your tounge, but the weight always brought you a sense of comfort.

“good girl.” Leon praised you making a soft blush to come onto your face as you bobbed your head, he would occasionally hit the back of your throat. “feels so good.” He grunted but you would hear a high pitch whine leave his throat. You decided to suck your cheeks in causing a soft cry to leave his lips as he slightly bucked his hips as well. “your mouth should be a sin.” He softly panted his hand slightly tighten around your hair causing you to groan softly around him.

“You close baby.” You asked pulling away but you used your hands to pump his cock, you knew he was close he was twitching in your hands, he nodded his head quickly as a soft cry left his lips, taking his cock back into your mouth you pushed him as far as you could in your throat, causing small tears to run down your cheeks as there is a slight pain in your jaw, but you ignore the pain to give your boyfriend the same pleasure he gave you.

“Fuck I’m cumming.” He moaned before you felt him shoot down your throat, a soft moaning sound left your lips before you sucked in your cheeks as you slowly pulled away from him and released him with a soft pop.

He was breathing heavily with a blush on his face, Taking his hand you lead Leon could of the small supply closet to your more spacious studio area, where you gently pushed him onto the couch and straddles his waist.

His large hands immediately found their way to your hips giving them a loving squeeze, reaching to your bag on the end of the couch, you pulled out a familiar square. But ask you where about to open it Leon took it from you. “Let me.” He says taking the condom packet from you and tearing it open with his teeth,

After couple minutes of awkward moving and some giggling from you, Leon finally got the condom on without your assistants, he took his harden cock and gave your soaked core a few taps causing you to moan soft, He had applied some lube before just as a safety precaution because he didn’t want to hurt you, even if you insisted that you would be ok, he didn’t want to hurt his precious girlfriend.

“am I good to go doll?” Leon asked you as he gave your hips a soft squeeze, it always filled your heart with so much joy when Leon asked for permission for anything like this, you nodded your head biting your lip, you could see him grinning before he slowly pushed into your glistening core causing a moan to leave both of your lips at the familiar stretch as Leon buried himself fully inside you.

Wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder, a soft tremble ran through your body as one of his hands stayed on your hips to help guide your movements while the other went to back of your neck keeping your body close to his. “feel so good princess.” Leon grunted against you; his voice was deeper than normal causing you to clench around him as his thrusted up his hips.

You moved your hips slightly meeting his thrusts, moans falling from both your lips as you both lost yourselves in the pleasure of pleasing each other, your hips moving in time with his, he filled you up in way you only dreamed your fingers could reach when he wasn’t around, it was like you were made for each other. “Leon.” You moaned his name as you felt as if your mind was getting foggy and hazy from the pleasure you were both experiencing.

You moaned out loud as you rested your forehead against his, your eyes where closed and your bottom lip in between you top row of teeth, Leon’s thrusts where sweet but hard causing soft squeals to leave your throat, when suddenly you are pushed into the couch it was soft against your bare skin and your legs where now on Leon’s shoulder, but before you could protest a loud moan left your lips at the new angle, causing Leon to go deeper.

You could feel yourself tightening around him and your eyes rolling back slightly, he always knew how to drive you wild, weather it was when he would let you do anything you wanted to him, or even he was rough like this knowing deep down no matter what side it was you loved this man with all your heart even when he tells you stupid jokes from time to time.

“You close Y/n?” Leon grunted and all you could do was nod your head as you looked up at him, your thighs where trembling against him as your toes curled, at this point you knew your making up from this morning was running down your cheeks, but you didn’t care.

“cum for me like a good girl.” Leon says as he leaned forward and kissed you as he thrusts into you roughly but somehow sweetly, your moans are muffled by his lips but you cum around him with a soft cry, his praise sending a shiver down your spine, he soon followed spilling into the condom.

As you came down from both your high’s Leon pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you.” He whispers softly with a gentle smile; you smile up at him and softly kissing his nose.

“I love you to.” You said with a bliss filled smiled but soon the romance and sweet moment is ruined when you hear somebody clear their throat, looking over Leon’s shoulder you saw Jennifer one of your best friends and tattoo artists looking at the both of you with a smug grin on her face as she leaned against the door.

“I’m happy you guys have such a deep love for each other, but next time you decided to fuck at work can you please close the door, because I don’t need to see my boss getting screwed by her boyfriend at 11 o’clock in the morning.” Jennifer's says causing a blush to colour both yours and Leon's cheeks at her comments.

“Sorry Jen.” You say with a soft giggle, but she gave you a wink before she pushes herself off the door. “I’ll be expecting a bonus next week.” She jokes as she gives you one last look before she leaves.

Hearing her leave both you and Leon couldn’t help but laugh. “this is your fault.” You softly poked Leon’s chest causing him to laugh slightly.

“fine I’ll take responsibility this time, but next time I won’t be so nice.” He says pulling you into his chest as he pulls a blanket over you both that is usually kept on the end of the couch for when you take naps at work.

“I look forward to it.” You smirked before nuzzling into his chest, he just laughed and rested his chin on your head as you both fell into a peaceful slumber…

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!Good Enough One-shot Update!: Its coming I have only recent had the time to start it but the ball is rolling finally, I can’t give a time when it will be posted but I am working on it when I have spare time, also there will be a name change but deciding on the name now and creating the banner.

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cypherthesuccubus · 2 months

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I’m not done with you yet….darling~

Alastor x Reader -Part 2- (NSFW)(MDNI)!!!!

WARNINGS: smut, blood kink, bondage, slight S&M, Dom/Sub, rough rutting, mate marking, leash play/ownership, slight degradation, praise kink, body worship, ass worship, cock worship, she/her pronouns, vaginal sex, creampie, facial

Other Tags: Fluff, Angst

Note: Reader will receive aftercare

Hello there all you wayward sinners! This is your host Alastor tuning in! And welcoming you to Part 2 of this scandalous fic! Enjoy my darlings~❤️

(Y/N’s P.O.V)

Charlie’s tour was very detailed and informative. She is really proud of her work she has done here and it shows in her presentations. She would show me every nook and cranny in this hotel; explaining everything that went into making it become a reality. She especially was excited about the rooms and how every single room was designed for extreme comfort. She wanted every guest here to feel like they’re in heaven while on the path to heaven. Her enthusiasm was definitely contagious as I couldn’t help but feel excited about staying here. She finally stopped in front of a door almost near the end of the corridor. She takes out a key and unlocks the door; opening it to show what’s inside. “This is now your new room (Y/N)! I really hope it’s to your liking.” She does tiny hops in place; excited about your opinion on how the room looked. It was very spacious with a huge luxurious bed; draped in shear black curtains that are attached to the roof being held by the bed posts. The wooden frame was a burgundy brown; details resembling as of something that came out of royal Victorian era. The bedspread’s design was simple black silk sheets paired with black silk pillowcases to match. A Victorian like dresser placed against the wall near the door, and on the other side of the room was a pretty big Victorian like wardrobe as well. Adjacent to the wardrobe was another door that lead to the bathroom. The bathroom itself had a more modern look to it compared to the bedroom. Marble topped sink with the cabinet underneath was black along with the faucet and handles. A big mirror right above the sink showing the reflection of the black towel rack attached to the wall. A small black medicine cabinet was just right above the toilet. Then the shower itself is a walk-in with grey tiles and jet black, square like shower set. There was even a little bench built into the wall.

“Alrighty! That’s the end of the tour! I really hope you enjoy your stay here. And…sorry about earlier? I honestly have no idea why Alastor was messing with you specifically. He’s literally unpredictable. So if you feel like you’re in any danger…just let me know ok?” Charlie then gives me a reassuring pat on the back; giving a smile that in hopes will give some clarity. “Of course. I will let you know right away if I do feel uncomfortable in anyway.” She smiles wide; feeling relief that didn’t drive me off out of the hotel. “Well I’ll let you get settled in. Do let me or Vaggie know if you need anything else ok?” I give a thumbs up and a simple got it as she took her leave; closing the door behind her. I sigh heavily; finally I can relax after that experience today. Especially with Alastor. I don’t know what he meant by the things he said, but it definitely had predatory intent behind it. I need to stay away from him as much as possible; just in case he decides to make me his next meal. But there’s this little voice in the back of my head telling me to figure out why. Why would I risk getting eaten just to find out why he acted in a manner?! I really must have a death wish!! For now I need some sleep. I’ll be able to think more clearly about what I want to do after a good nights rest. But I gotta shower first before anything else. I proceed to the bathroom once again; sliding the glass door open and turning on the water; feeling the temp making sure it’s the perfect before stepping in. Happy with the heat of the water, I start to strip starting with my top; raising it over my head and onto the floor. Then I start to unbutton my jean shorts eventually sliding them down to the floor as well. As I was about to unclasp my bra, I felt this sudden chill up my spine. It almost felt like something was watching me, which made me unconsciously cross my arms over my chest; feeling rather exposed. I turn around to look into the bedroom, but there was no one there. Maybe I’m still paranoid about what happened today. Alastor maybe be unpredictable, but he’s still a gentleman. I shut the door to the bathroom hoping that was the reason of the paranoia. I’ve gotten completely nude as I walk in to the shower; sighing as the warm water hits my skin. I definitely needed this.

I finish with my shower, stepping back into the room with a towel on my head and around my body. I proceeded to the dresser and open it to find that Charlie did indeed cater to every detail. The dresser is packed full of clothes to wear, and they all look to be my size too. I pull out a white crop top and black sleep shorts along with a pair of black panties. I finish drying and proceed getting dressed for sleep. As I get under the covers, placing my head on the pillows, I couldn’t help how fast sleep took me.

The next morning I sat up in bed; yawning and stretching my back out hearing it crack a couple of times. I slept pretty peacefully last night; I must of been tired. I slowly get out of bed and walk towards the dresser again. I go through everything pulling out a black spaghetti strap tank top and a black cropped hoodie. I pair them with some black distressed jean shorts; looking at myself in the mirror. Cute! Heading out the room, closing the door behind me, I walk down the corridor yawning again as I make my way all the way to the dinning room where everyone was eating breakfast. I look around there was no sign of Alastor anywhere; which is good cause I don’t to stress out first thing in the morning. As I walk towards the table sitting down, Charlie perks up at me “Good morning (Y/N)! Did you sleep well? Sorry we missed you at dinner last night, but I’d figured you need some rest.” I smile as I put together my plate of what’s on the table such as eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, and a couple of biscuits. I was starving since not having dinner yesterday. “Thank you! I really need that sleep. I was completely drained after yesterday.” Angel snickers at my comment, then leaning his cheek against his hand while his arm is propped on the table. “Oh I bet you were~” Vaggie then punches him in the shoulder causing him to hold and rub the spot she hit with an ouch. “Angel! Not ok!” she says as crossing her arms. “Whaaat?~ I’m just kidding around jeez!” Angel then goes back to his breakfast with Vaggie apologizing for his behavior. “It’s ok Vaggie! It was funny.” I reassured her as Angel gave me a smirk “I think we gonna get along just fine~” he gives me a playful wink as I giggle. Angel was really funny, and just honestly good company to be around as well.

After breakfast everyone went their separate ways again cause the group activities won’t start until tonight before dinner like yesterday. But this time Angel and Cherri pulled me to the side “Heya toots! Since group won’t start until tonight how’s about a day out with us? Cherri and me are planning to go shopping and hit up a few clubs if ya interested~” I was actually excited that they would invite me out. This wasn’t so bad of a decision after all if I get to hang with these two. “Sure! I love to!” Angel and Cherri then wrap them arms around my shoulders; leading me out the door “That’s awesome! We’re gonna get fucked up tonight!” Angels adds as Cherri pumps her fist in the air “Let’s go fuckheads!! Tonight is gonna be wild!!”

(Alastor’s P.O.V)

Sitting on the balcony, quietly sipping my morning coffee; I overhear voices down below as I glance down to see what’s going on. To my surprise I see (Y/N) with the two delinquents leading her out of the hotel. Why in hell would she want to be around them? They think fun is to defile yourself in expense cause someone paid them to do it, or indulge in narcotics. I watch as they walk down the path and for a brief moment, (Y/N) looked back and we both locked eyes; knowing we can’t pretend that we didn’t see each other. As we locked eyes, her face turns red again and she quickly turns her head back around; trying to walk away faster. I didn’t even have to say anything this time and she still got flustered. I chuckle softly, thinking that was rather….cute how easily flustered she got. I faceplam myself “What am I thinking?” I really need to stop this. For some god awful reason, this season has gotten out of hand; it’s making me think things that’s not like me. I really need to be careful now. Just even catching a glance at her will set these wretched thoughts running through my mind. Maybe hosting a little podcast will clear my head. Yes that’s what I need! Gotta keep my mind on other topics instead of her should do the trick.

A few hours goes by, as of now it’s 8pm; almost time for group again. Today went pretty smoothly with another great podcast in the books if I do say so myself. As I sit in my tower, sipping on the freshly brewed chamomile tea; I hear voices again outside. It must be them coming back after a day filled with who knows what. I set my cup down; standing up to walks towards the window only to see of course; all three are coming back to the hotel….DRUNK! Obviously Charlie is not gonna be happy about this. But, I need to stay out of this for the sake of my sanity. If I honestly have any left by tonight.

I can hear distant yelling downstairs as I continue to finish my tea, whilst I read my book. I’d figured things would go south; guessing group is canceled for tonight. Honestly, that is definitely for the best. I really can’t risk anymore thoughts invading my mi-. My thoughts were cut off by a knock on the door. It might be Charlie wanting to inform me of the cancellation of group tonight. Setting my cup down again, I make my way towards the door; opening it expecting Charlie only to end up being (Y/N). Oh no….(Y/N) is at my door! Well isn’t this lovely! I really don’t need this right now! Yet here she is at my door….“Why hello darling! To what do I owe this….pleasant visit from you?” (Y/N) then makes her way into my radio tower “I need to talk to you…sir” she says slurring her words a bit. She’s definitely drunk and now she wants to talk to me? This is very undignified like, having a drunk woman in my presence when I should be pushing back out so she can go to her room. “Whatever is it my dear, can it wait until tomorrow when you’re…fully aware of what you’re doing?” She takes a seat in my chair, crossing her legs doing so “Not really. I won’t remember nor will I have the courage to even talk to you if I did.” Aha! So she wanted to get this way just to talk to me? Ugh! this is off to a great start. Just let her vent whatever she wanted to say and get her out as quickly as possible. “Well as long as you make it quick my dear. I do have some errands to run before calling it a night.” She chuckles while propping her arm on the arm rest and resting her cheek in her palm. “I think your “errands” can wait…..Mr. Radio Demon.” Oh~ this almost sounded like a threat. Does she dare to challenge me? No has ever challenged me and got out of it alive. She must have some sort of goal to reach; better not make it so easy for her to obtain of course. “Oh can they my dear?….you know for your second day here you’re….not really leaning towards the path of redemption.” She lets out a hardy laugh “And by the way you greeted me yesterday, you didn’t sound like you were on the path to redemption either.” I in turn give a hardy laugh back.

“That’s because I’m not here for redemption. I’m only here to be the hotel’s manager as I watch the scum of hell try to climb up to the hill of betterment; only to watch them fail spectacularly.” (Y/N) then gets up from the chair and slowly sashays towards me. “So you must be getting a kick out of what I did tonight then?” She stops just mere inches from me. She gives me this sinister smirk “What is she planning?” I thought to myself as I prepare my next words “Honestly, yes I am. I had a feeling you were gonna be entertaining. Turns out I was right as always~” She pokes at my chest “You know you think you’re hot shit Alastor, but I can see right through your bullshit.” I chuckle darkly; she really does have a death wish. I remove her finger from my chest softly tossing it aside “If you value your soul darling….then you won’t touch me like that…Ever…Again.” She ha’s as if to mock me further “I knew it! You do want to eat me! I had a feeling you were a cannibal!”

What?! Is that what she thought? Oh how…..interesting~ I can run with this. She’s not wrong though, I do have cannibalistic tendencies. Unfortunately I haven’t really done that in a while now, but I’ll let her think that I do. “Eat you, you say? Well I must admit that you do look rather…..” I lean down to her ear to whisper as I run my hand from her shoulder down her arm “Delectable~” she shuddered under my touch as I hear her gulp when I started inhaling her scent. Fuck!!! Bad idea!!!Why did I intake her scent?!?! This damn season is getting worse and worse the more I stay around her!!! I need to stop this now!!!! I back away from her; folding my hand behind my back “But I will never do such a thing! So don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” She looks at me wide eyed as if she’s still in awe of what just happened. Her face had a deep shade of red as her breaths were still a little shaky. My my~ I could get used to seeing this side of her~ That’s it!!!! I need to kick her out NOW!!!! I use my cane to usher her out of my radio tower and finally out the door “I did appreciate you stopping by my dear! But unfortunately I do have to bid you good night.” She turns around to face me “Ah yes….I think I do need to lie down now….sorry for disturbing you, have a good night Alastor.” She then turns back and makes her way down the corridor to her room, which is not far from mine “And to you as well my dear!” I quickly the my studio door again and lean back against it; sliding down to the floor as I run my fingers through my hair almost gripping my scalp.

SERIOUSLY?!?!?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!?!

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #alastor #hazbin smut #self insert #18+ post #18+ account #18+ content #18+ blog #18+ only

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bardic-inspo · 2 months

Text

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

#ascended astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #vampire ascendant #vampire lord astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #naomi tavriel

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flamehairedwritings · 2 years

Text

Do Not Touch

Characters: Jim Hopper x Female Reader

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 10k

A/N: My take on your friend and mine: sex-pollen! I started writing this two years ago, isn’t that wild.

Tags: s3 Hop’, dub-con because of sex-pollen, fuck or die situation, Hopper being a huge dick at first, swearing, masturbation, dirty talk, thigh-riding, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, doggy-style, creampies, hand on neck/throat but no choking, gentle-mdom Hop’, more submissive reader, slight praise kink, slight cum play.

Summary: A visit to Murray’s house of wonders provides a lot more than you bargained for.

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites.

—

“... fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“They’re tapping your phones, Jim, how can you not see it?”

“‘cause it’s not fuckin’ true.”

“Oh, right, so...”

As Murray sets off on another rant, you raise your eyes to the heavens, or rather the dirty, damp ceiling, and tip your head back against the wall, exhaling a long, long breath.

You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Not impossible, but not easy.

And even Hopper had known Murray was your only hope with this kind of thing.

This kind of thing being that neither of you speak Russian and Murray does.

You’d heard the message over the Hawkins Police Radio two days ago while you and Hop were working late in his office. He’d been adjusting the frequency, fiddling, more like, when the voice had suddenly come through, delivering a short message. You’d both stared at each other, then it had come through again. You’d realised it was the same passage and had quickly grabbed a pen, repeating it to yourself as you wrote it down phonetically on your notepad.

Neither of you had known what to do, so you’d just carried on with your evening, working on your new case. But it had weighed heavy on your mind when you’d left; with the strange things that had gone on in Hawkins in the last couple of years, you are suspicious of everything. Hopper apparently had shared your thoughts as, the next morning, he’d called you into his office, shut the door, and asked if you’d kept the note. When you said you had, you’d both then decided that deciphering it would put your minds at ease.

... Except it was really fucking hard because none of the words sounded close to anything you recognised.

Barely ten minutes later, Hopper had shoved his chair back and hissed out curses.

“We’re gonna go and see Murray,” he’d muttered as he’d strode out of the room to get more coffee.

You’d watched him go, irritation prickling at you because everything needed to be done right now with him these days. In the four years you’d known him, he’d never exactly been a very patient man, but this was different. In the last few weeks he was quick to rile, short-tempered, irritable, yelling more often than not, and you were starting to get sick of it.

So maybe it’s a good thing that he can let that all out on Murray now, who can give back as good as he gets, often, actually, better.

Not that you don’t stand up for yourself when Hopper is in one of his new moods and snaps. He never yells at you, he never has, just raises his voice slightly or gets unnecessarily snippy or even borderline patronising, but your usual tactic is to just walk away, leaving him to stew until he comes to you and makes his kind of apology (offering you a hot drink or a pastry), or you try and lighten the mood. That’s just getting tiring now, though.

And it’s also a huge turn-off.

Yeah, okay, fine, you’ve admitted it to yourself, you’re attracted to him, but it’s a line you don’t like to cross; he’s your boss and your close friend, too, considering everything you’ve both been through with El, Joyce and the kids.

Now, though, you’re not even sure you want to be his friend.

You’ve tried to talk to him, ask him why he’s so God damn angry all the time but he just brushes you off or says he didn’t sleep well. The latter is nothing new, he was a mess when you’d arrived in Hawkins, sleeping for a few hours at a time on his couch in his trailer, but he’d really come into his own since then, especially when he’d had to start taking care of El. The former is new. Living through life or death situations, spending many late nights working together, and the town being small has brought you two closer together, and you’ve confided in him and he in you, so it stings when he brushes you off like you don’t have a history, like you aren’t his friend. Like you don’t matter.

“Do you know what it fuckin’ says or not?” Hopper thunders in the next room, and the patronising edge to his tone has your nose wrinkling.

“Of course I do, you neanderthal, if you give me the fucking piece of paper then I will be able to write it down for you.”

For once, and you never thought that you ever would, you’re on Murray’s side.

There’s the muffled sound of cursing, then a patronising ‘thank you’ from Murray, and then it’s quiet, except for the sound of a chair squeaking as one of them sits down. From the huff, probably Hopper. Folding your arms across your chest, you exhale another breath as you let your gaze travel the room.

It’s exactly how you’d imagine Murray’s place would be. There are... things everywhere, on every surface, some things you don’t even recognise like devices and folders with foreign writing on them, all just strewn around. To your left on a counter there’s even a corked jar marked ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, filled with a russet-coloured liquid, an unfamiliar, what was once probably red, flower head submerged in it. It looks rather like a lily, but there are strange, swirling patterns on the petals that you don’t recognise.

Your attention is diverted by the sound of the chair squeaking again, boots on wood, and then Murray’s voice.

“Ah, ah, ah, what do I get, Chief?”

“What?”

“What do I get for my services?”

“What do you get? You don’t get a fuckin’ broken nose, you asshole.”

There’s the sound of paper sliding against skin.

“... What the fuck is this?”

“It’s what was written for me, word for word, so unless you got something wrong, then that’s it.”

There’s silence, then the sound of Hopper striding closer to the room you’re in.

“You’re welcome,” Murray calls as Hopper exits the room, and you press your lips together at his thunderous expression.

“Thank you, Murray,” you answer for him, raising your voice a little.

“Ah, you’re welcome.”

Dropping your arms as Hopper nears, you raise your eyebrows. “So?”

“It doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense,” he mutters, thrusting the note towards you.

Taking it from him, you read it, then frown as you read it again.

The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly.

Inhaling a long breath, you shrug and look up at him. “Yeah, that makes no sense to me.”

“Yeah, I thought it wouldn’t.”

You make yourself interpret that in a kind way as you look at him, watching him lean against the counter beside you and take the note from you, shoving it into his pocket.

It’s complicated. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s not making a comment on my intelligence.

Licking your lips, pressing them together for a moment, you open your mouth, then close it... then open it again, your voice low, “Do you think this maybe has something to do with what Joyce was saying about the magnets? And the lab?”

If his expression was thunderous before, it’s just full on pissed off now. His gaze darting up to you, you can see how tight his jaw is.

“We don’t know that.”

“I know we don’t, but it’s a little suspicious—”

“Or it could just be some people communicating via code.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s suspicious, isn’t it—”

“Not necessarily—”

He goes to put a hand on his hip as he huffs out a breath, but his elbow knocks against the jar, pushing it off the ledge, and your eyes widen as your hands dart out in the same moment Hopper’s do. Both of you acting on instinct, it fumbles in both your hands for all but two seconds as you try to catch it, in the process the cork top sliding off and some of the liquid spilling onto your hands and his arms and you’re waiting for it to sting and burn but it doesn’t and then—

And then it’s falling and smashing on the floor.

You stare at the spreading liquid, the flower resting limply on it before your eyes dart up to meet Hopper’s, your mouth open. His is closed firmly, his hands, like yours, still raised.

“What was that?!” Murray calls, and you hear him approaching, your eyes now darting to the archway.

“Uh, it—”

“Nothin’, bye, Murray.”

Hopper grabs your hand and pulls you towards the front door, shoving it open and leading you out into the fresh air. He releases you and pulls his car keys out of his pocket as you head for the passenger side of the Blazer, both of you swiftly climbing in once he’s opened it. He’s starting the engine and turning the Blazer around before either of your seatbelts are on properly. Good. There’s only so much shit a human being can take from Murray.

Your seatbelt secured, a glance in the wing-mirror shows you the man himself, waving his arms frantically and faintly yelling for you to come back.

Absolutely fucking not.

Whatever it was, you’re sure it’s replaceable. Sure he collects weird things but it was just a flower, how precious could it be?

You hear Hopper blow out a breath as you head back to the main road, both of you relaxing. Leaning your head back, you keep your eyes on the road, letting the riddle swirl in your mind. You’re certain it’s connected to Joyce’s theories; in all the time you’ve been working at the Station you’ve not once heard someone speaking in code over the radio that wasn’t one of your own or kids, and as for Russian? You’d be very surprised if anyone in the little old town of Hawkins spoke it.

You want to broach the subject with him again, but maybe not now when you’re stuck in a hot car with him and only just starting a nearly two hour drive.

Boy, is it hot.

It’s just gone noon and it’s already sweltering. Rolling the window down, you tilt your head towards it, expecting some kind of breeze. There’s a light one, but it does nothing, so you grip the front of your shirt between your thumb and forefinger and waft it, trying to create some air. The way the shirt moves against your skin... every time it touches against it, slides against you with the movement, you’re hyper-aware of it. Maybe it’s just because you’re more aware of your body in general considering how hot you are.

God, it is uncomfortably hot.

You’re about to ask Hop to put the aircon on when he does so, angling a few of the grates towards himself. Glancing at him, you notice a few beads of sweat at his hairline.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?”

“Hm.”

Oh, well, that’s that conversation over.

You give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he’s probably thinking about the riddle, too, so you return your thoughts to it, repeating it, turning it over and over—

It’s so hot it’s actually quite hard to think.

Blinking and widening your eyes a little, you say each word of the riddle slowly in your mind, but they just end up being words, and when you try and say it all together again you just end up stopping halfway through, forgetting it momentarily.

Just wait until you’re back, you can have a cool drink, whack the aircon right up and think about it until you go mad.

You angle the grates on your side so one’s sending a cool breeze to your face, the other your body, and then drop your hand into your lap—

Jesus Christ.

Your leg jerks a little, involuntarily, as you register the sensation of your fingers on your clothed inner thigh. You quickly move your hand to your side but even that, your fingers gliding over your leg, makes your stomach muscles tighten.

It had felt good. Far better than it usually did.

You’re just hyper-aware of yourself because of how hot you feel, it’s fine.

You shift a little in your seat and—

You catch yourself before a sound escapes you.

Fucking hell, that had felt good. So good in fact, your pussy is actually starting to ache.

Usually when you’re turned on, very turned on, the smallest of touches can have you gasping but... Are you turned on? You take a moment to consider it and find... Fuck, you are. Where the fuck has this come from?

Hopper clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts, glancing at him. He’s sweating a little more and he’s gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles almost white, but that’ll just be the heat, another thing that pisses him off.

You need a distraction from... whatever this is your body has decided to feel.

“Maybe it’s from another town.”

“What?” He says it so sharply, almost like you’ve said something completely ridiculous.

“The message? Maybe it’s from another town and just carried over—”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Your mouth closes tightly and you return your gaze to the road, staring at it.

Take a breath. He’s in one of his moods. Murray has riled him up. Just let him ride it out... Fuck that, I really need to say something to him about his attitude.

It’s the perfect distraction, planning in your mind what you’re going to say when you get back to Hawkins, coming up with retorts and come-backs to whatever he could say, acting out the conversation in your head and going down every route imaginable. You get so in to it, in fact, that you manage to just about forget how warm you are, and you don’t notice that Hopper is sweating profusely, his hips shifting every few minutes.

—

Your clothes are sticking to every inch of you. Your entire body aches.

What the hell is going on.

You’ve been in the car for a total of thirty minutes now, but it feels like a God damn lifetime. Thinking about arguing with Hop had only gotten you so far; it had channelled some of this weird energy you’re feeling but then suddenly you’d thought about ripping his shirt off and shoving him onto his God damn uncomfortable couch and sitting in his lap while you told him all about how God damn annoying he is.

And then the aches, the bone deep aches, had started.

Fuck, do I have the flu?

You just feel awful. Your elbow rests against the car door, your hand supporting your head, and you stare out of the window, taking slow, deep, steadying breaths. You feel nauseous and your skin is on fire. You’ve tried to keep quiet but you actually think you might be sick, and between throwing up in his car and asking him to pull over, you think the latter will annoy him less.

“Hop’.”

“What?” He doesn’t snap this time, instead he sounds... strained.

“Can we pull over soon? I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah.”

Wow.

Okay.

That hadn’t been so hard.

His voice is still strained and short, but, again, that could just be the heat. He doesn’t pull over immediately and as you glance up you notice a sign for a motel not too far ahead.

Oh, good.

Ten minutes later, the tyres of the Blazer are screeching as he turns sharply into the parking lot of the motel. You have to grip at the handle of the door as he swings in, parking swiftly and braking hard.

“I’ll get rooms.” The words are said so sharply it’s like they’ve been punched out of him.

God, he really doesn’t want me to throw up in here.

Wait, ‘rooms’? Are we staying for a night? That’d be nice.

You both climb out, and you’re almost dizzy from the action. Hopper’s already striding towards the reception booth and you slowly follow after him, wiping the sweat from your brow. You have to walk with your legs slightly apart because your thighs rubbing together... What the fuck is going on? By the time you reach Hopper he’s already got a key and is turning on his heel, walking back behind you.

“C’mon.”

As he passes you, his elbow brushes against your arm and you both flinch because, fuck, a weird little electric shock thing happens. Except, whereas when that usually happens you only feel it on your skin, this time you feel it all over your body, spreading down and curling somewhere in your lower stomach.

And it felt good.

Beads of sweat run down your arms, back and chest as you follow him up a flight of stairs to the first floor. It takes every ounce of energy you have to get up there, whereas Hopper’s almost running. The door’s open when you finally reach it and he’s got the aircon on high which you’re grateful for. Closing the door behind yourself, you’re about to thank him when you look over at him and you notice that he’s drenched in sweat, just as you are.

He glances up and briefly meets your gaze before he runs a hand through his damp hair, his eyes sweeping the room as he paces, his eyebrows raised.

“Only one room left. Sorry.”

You shake your head, the action just increasing your nausea, as you shrug. “No, it’s okay. It’s not like we need to spend the night. Just... think I need a nap, or something. Feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

There’s a short silence in which you sit down on the nearest of the two double beds, your hands on your knees.

“Me, too.”

You look up at him, your brow dipping. “What?”

Hopper gestures at himself before he drops his hand, exhaling a hard breath. “Feel like... feel like I’m gonna be sick, too. Feel so fuckin’ hot, can’t think straight.”

“Yeah, me as well...” Your frown deepens. “Are we both sick?”

“How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know. It came on so suddenly, too, only after we left...”

You meet his gaze as he presses his lips together, following your train of thought.

“That son of a bitch...”

Crossing the room, he grabs the phone from the bedside table and dials Murray’s number. At any other time you would have laughed that he had it memorised. Like they’re pals.

His tongue darting over his lips, your eyes following it for some reason, he holds the phone to his ear, his jaw clenched.

Murray answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Murray—”

You can hear the other man even from where you’re sat.

“You broke the jar, didn’t you.”

“Uh, yeah, but I can—”

“Oh, you fucking idiot. Is she with you?”

Hopper’s eyes briefly dart to you. “Uh, yeah, hey, I’m sure it’s replaceable, I can pay—”

“One, no, it’s not, and two, it’s not me you should be thinking about, you ass.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, are you feelin’ a little weird, Jim? Huh? Is your lady friend?”

“Uh...” He glances at you again before turning his back, lowering his voice slightly. “Yeah, why?”

You stood up instantly as he turned, and, ooff, there’s the dizziness again, though you manage to move closer to him, a frown pulling at your features as you tut, so you hear Murray’s humourlessly chuckled reply.

“Oooh, hoooo, you’re both in for quite a day.”

“Why, you fuckin’ asshole?”

“Let’s just say you’re going to be feeling certain urges... or maybe you’re already feeling them?”

Hopper glances at you yet again before turning his back away from you again. You hiss and move closer, brushing against him, which just makes you both grimace because there’s the electric current again. You try to stay as close as possible without touching him.

“Just tell me what’s fuckin’ goin’ on, Murray.”

“The best and most polite thing to call it would be an aphrodisiac.”

You frown as you glance up at Hopper, but he’s just staring at the wall.

“What? Why the fuck do you have something like this, Murray?”

“I was going to dilute it to sell in certain markets.”

“As what?”

“An aphrodisiac, dumbass.”

As Hopper snarls and opens his mouth, you grab the phone, your fingers brushing together making your stomach flip and something clench inside you.

Holding the phone to your ear, you swallow before exhaling a breath and murmuring, “What do we do, Murray? How do we stop feeling awful?”

He sighs, and you’re surprised and also slightly unsettled by his tone softening a little. “There’s not much you can do, except what you have wanted to do for a long time that neither of you will admit.”

Before you can speak, Hopper calls, even though he’s right beside you, “And what the hell does that mean?”

“Fuck each other!”

Your mouth drops open as you think your heart stops, and Hopper freezes beside you.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean—”

“No, Murray, I mean,” you quickly cut him off, rubbing at your damp forehead as you lick your dry lips, your cheeks burning. “What did you, why would we need to, uhm, do that?”

"It’s the only way to ease the aches and pains, honey, that—”

“Pain?”

You’re aching, yes, but you wouldn’t say you’re in pain.

“Stop interrupting me, Jesus...” You press your lips together at his exasperated sigh, before he takes a breath. “The pollen from that flower is like an instant aphrodisiac. If it comes into contact with your skin, that’s it, kiddos, you’re horny. I was diluting it so it’s less lethal, hence why it was in that jar marinating in that liquid. I’m assuming you got some of it on you when you oh so cleverly broke it for no reason?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t mean to—”

“What did I say about interrupting? Depending on how much you got on you, you’re gonna feel hot, then your whole body’s gonna ache, then’ll come the urges and the pain, and once those hit, hooo... so you two had better get to it.”

You feel like you’re having some kind of a fever dream. Rubbing your forehead again, you close your eyes for a few moments as you almost trip over your words, “What, hang on, w-what do you mean by lethal, what happens if we don’t, you know, do anything? It’ll just wear off, won’t it?”

Murray’s silent.

Oh... this is bad.

“C’mon, Murray, answer her.” Hopper’s sudden voice makes you jump.

There’s a quiet sigh. “You gotta take care of each other, together, or... or you’ll die.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Murray speak in an entirely gentle tone.

You don’t know what stuns you more; that, or his words.

“... What.” Your voice is so quiet.

Hopper is silent.

“I don’t know how much you were exposed to but no matter how much, the need and the pain, if nothing is done, can get so bad that your organs start to fail and shut down. If it was just a little, it’ll take longer, if it was a lot then I’d say it’s only a matter of time.”

“No, it... it was just a little. Few splashes. I think.” Your voice sounds far away to your own ears.

“Well, you’ve got some time, then. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable so get to it.”

“Right... Thanks, Murray.” You place the phone down, feeling so far out of your body, hanging up before he can say another word.

Silence.

You look up at Hopper as he clears his throat and moves away, being very careful not to brush against you, his hand running through his hair again. As he sits down in the armchair, you sit on the edge of the bed opposite, staring at the floor.

It’s... it’s... You don’t have the word for it. Wild. Outlandish. Crazy.

“He could be lying, right.” You look up at Hopper as he speaks, meeting his gaze. “He could be mad that we broke somethin’ of his and is just makin’ this all up.”

“Yeah,” is all you can think to say.

“This could just be a reaction to it.”

“Yeah...” You shrug after a moment, blowing out a breath. “Pretty fucking bizarre thing to make up.”

“Well, that’s Murray.”

You both fall silent as he stares at the wall and you stare at the bed. It’s got a patchwork blanket on it, all red squares with other panels of red floral designs. It reminds you of the damn flower. It’s like it’s taunting you. As are the beads of sweat sliding down your spine. And the new, faint, throbbing in your cunt.

You believe Murray.

It’s... wild and bizarre and you don’t understand it at all but, yes, you believe him. Your lips are suddenly dry, either from the realisation or the flower, and you lick them as you lift your gaze to Hopper. He’s still staring so intently at the wall, hands gripping the armrests.

His eyes flick to you as you speak gently.

“I think we should stay the night. Until this wears off. Don’t want to infect anyone else, if that’s possible.”

He nods curtly, expressionless. “Okay.”

Thankfully, Joyce has El for the night, Hopper having asked her to take her in case you both stayed longer than you thought you would, so that’s one less thing. You think about saying that out loud to him, then swiftly decide against it. Of course he’ll already thought about that, will probably take offence at you asking and think it implies you think he hasn’t.

You hate the silence of the room, though, hate the space it provides to think, so you continue instead with, “We’ll just... ride this shit out. It was only a few drops. We’ll be fine.”

Hopper may be expressionless, but what you can’t see are his blunt nails digging into the fabric of the chair.

“Okay.”

—

It was a mistake, turning the TV on.

It’s too loud, too bright, but, fuck, you need the distraction. Your eyes are fixed on it like you’re possessed, and your shirt is soaked, sticking to your skin. Uncomfortable. Your skin is slick, you can feel sweat sliding down your face, arms, back. A loud commercial comes on and you grab the TV remote, turning it off as a wild burst of irritation suddenly flashes through you.

Focus on the room. Two double beds. Bare desk. Mini fridge. Bathroom. Standard motel room. Boring. Plain. Dull. So dull. Think about how dull it is.

It doesn’t work. It hasn’t been working for the last twenty minutes. Has it been twenty minutes? Longer? Less? You don’t know and you don’t want to know. Your body is aching, not only physically but with need, like you’ve never, ever felt before. You feel almost drunk, too, unchallenged words on the tip of your tongue, your brain doing the bare minimum to stop them from coming out... but they’re not just words, they’re pleas.

Touch me.

Kiss me.

Fuck me.

Your eyes dart to Hopper. He’s not moved but his shirt is soaked, too, the hair on his chest, peeking out the top of the grey, flannel button down, damp. That hair... You stare at it. How far down does it go... What would it feel like if you ran your fingers through it...

Your pussy clenches around nothing and tears start to sting at your eyes.

Fuck, I need to be touched.

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, thick with unshed tears. “Hop’, I feel awful.”

A muscle in his jaw moves. “It’s just a reaction to whatever it is—”

“Yeah, and what if it’s the kind of reaction he was talking about?”

Hopper finally looks at you, brow dipping. “You believe him?”

You hate the way he says it, all disbelieving, making you feel like you’re an idiot.

“Yeah, I do. Why would he lie, especially about something like this? Yes, he’s a dick, but he’s not this much of a dick. He’s more likely to just rip into us and go on and on than make something up.”

“You can’t say that, you don’t know him.”

Brushed off. Again.

Your chin rises slightly, meeting a challenge you might be imagining. “I’ve known him long enough.”

His jaw moves as he arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you hang out all the time do you? You best pals, know everythin’ about him?”

“No, it just doesn’t seem like him—”

“Doesn’t seem like your good pal Murray? How would you know? You can’t just make assumptions like that, he is a—”

The words lash out of you. “Oh, just shut the fuck up, Hopper.”

He pauses, lips still parted, his own words dying on his tongue... until new ones return, his eyebrows raising as his head tilts. “... Excuse me?”

Anger feels good, it channels some of this increasingly restless energy swirling inside you. “Just shut up, you’ve been a real asshole all week, all month, all the time I’ve God damn known you, actually—”

“You didn’t think I was an asshole at the Christmas party.”

You freeze, staring at him.

Last year’s Station Christmas party.

Why did he bring that up.

Was he thinking about that.

You know he was thinking about that.

Because you’ve been thinking about it, too, minutes earlier, intently. It had suddenly come rushing back to you, his hands on your waist, your lips on his, tongues stroking at each other, the moaned sigh you’d released as he’d pressed against you.

You’d both been drunk, though, and lonely and alcohol makes you horny so you’d wanted him to kiss you and he’d spent the last hour before it looking like he’d wanted to, too, your eyes constantly finding each other, looking, really looking, and then you’d just bumped into each other as you’d come out of the bathroom, but it seemed like he’d almost been waiting for you and then you’d talked, no, you’d flirted, he liked your dress, you liked his comically festive tie, and you were both laughing, your hands somehow on each other, maybe to steady yourselves, and then you’d... then you’d kissed.

Neither of you had brought it up, ever, until now. You’d been so horribly hungover the next day that you hadn’t even remembered it until late in the evening and you’d felt so embarrassed. You’d fretted for the rest of the night, wondering if you’d ruined your friendship and a relationship that meant so much to you, but when you’d gone into work the following Monday he hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t even looked at you differently. You’d been so incredibly relieved, but it had come back to you every now and then; how good his lips had felt, how passionate the kiss was, how his hands had felt on you.

All this time you’d thought he had just forgotten it... and it appeared that wasn’t the case at all.

Your already warm face becomes warmer.

“I was drunk.”

He’s got a fucking smug look on his face, like a fucking petty bastard.

“You kissed me.”

“I did not.”

“You did, you pulled me in.”

“Oh, just shut up, Hopper, it doesn’t matter or count anyway because we were drunk.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I saw the way you were lookin’ at me—”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” you snap, staring at him.

He pauses, the smug look quickly fading. Then, he shrugs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “It doesn’t.”

“Good, shut up, then.”

Silence descends.

And you fucking hate it. At least while snapping at one another you don’t think about how your panties are now soaked and you just want to feel some fingers against your cunt and a cock deep inside you...

A strained groan slips from your lips.

“You okay?” he mumbles, and you blow out a harsh breath.

“No, I’m not, I just—”

Oh, fuck.

You were just about to say it. You were just about to ask him to fuck you. Rolling your neck, your breaths slightly shorter, ragged, you lick your dry lips again.

What the fuck do I do, I’m literally about to ask my boss, my friend, the absolute pain in my ass to fuck me so I don’t, possibly, die.

Then, it comes to you.

“... You just what—”

“Just need the bathroom,” you cut him off exasperatedly, every intonation of his voice prickling your skin, and not in an entirely unpleasant way.

“Jesus, fine,” he mutters, and you hope he doesn’t notice how quickly you turn your back to him as you stand, striding towards the wooden door to the bathroom.

Closing it firmly behind you and turning the lock, you step back from it, releasing a breath that has your shoulders relaxing minutely. You catch your reflection in the mirror to your left and release another breath at your expression; sweaty, tense, and, yes, there’s a trace of panic in your eyes.

Just do it. Do it then you’ll stop thinking about it and then it’ll be over and you’ll feel okay.

Your fingers, seemingly of their own accord, move to your jeans, fumbling with the button and zip. In your haste, the zip catches on the material and tears fill your eyes again.

Oh, come on, come on, come on, please...

You don’t realise you’re murmuring the words out loud, so fixated on what your fingers are doing. Finally after a moment or so you can shove them down, your panties with them, and then you’re spreading your legs as one hand braces against the door and the other slides between your pussy lips.

You can just about muffle the moan that falls from your mouth as your finger tips glide back and forth over your clit, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

Oh, fuck...

It feels heavenly, unlike any pleasure you’ve felt before from a first touch. You’re dripping, too, so soaking wet that you can hear it as your fingers quicken their pace... but it’s not enough.

How is it not enough?

Tears are slipping out of the corners of your eyes as you grit your teeth, a need so desperate coursing through you that it’s painful.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck... Why isn’t it working?

You slip two fingers inside your pussy, hoping filling yourself even a little will help but... no. It just makes you crave a cock inside you even more, increasing the aching that’s running through your entire body.

Oh, please, come on—

Two gentle knocks sound against the door. You freeze again, mouth open as your fingers stay buried inside you.

A throat clears on the other side, and then Hopper speaks, voice slightly muffled.

“Hey, uh... I’m sorry for snappin’, and for my shitty attitude, I... I know I haven’t been the best to be around lately...”

His words just become sounds as a kind of white-noise, ringing starts in your head.

Oh, no, no, no... No...

Your cunt is throbbing. You can’t help but think about him murmuring those apologies in your ear as his cock thrusts slow and deep inside you, as he tells you he’ll make it all up to you, everything, that you feel so good around his cock and he wants to make you feel so good all the time...

As your hand drops and you straighten, you don’t think you have absolute control of your body anymore.

And you don’t fucking care.

Unlocking and yanking the door open, you instantly meet Hopper’s gaze, watching him blink as he abruptly silences whatever he was saying.

“Woah, you okay?”

How is he so normal? Yes, he’s sweating, profusely, but that’s it, seemingly. What a sight you must look in comparison. You watch his gaze travel down you, settling on your jeans and panties that are around your knees. His eyes dart back up to yours, and you watch his slick throat bob as he swallows hard.

“What the hell you doin’.”

You can hear your own breathing, ragged, short. Staring at him, you don’t know if it’s sweat or tears running down your cheeks.

“Hop’, I need you to touch me.”

It’s as if you’ve just asked him to detonate a bomb. His eyes widening, his mouth moves but nothing comes out for quite a few moments.

“I... Hey, now, hang on—”

“Please.” At any other time you might have been embarrassed for sounding so tragically desperate. “I tried, I tried to touch myself and it didn’t work, I’m aching so bad, please—”

“Sweetheart—”

That nearly has your knees weakening, a faint sound emitting from the back of your throat. He swallows again at hearing it and runs a hand down his mouth, shaking his head.

“I mean—”

“Fuck, Hop’, please. Don’t you feel it, too? I feel like, my, my, my whole body is just in pain, it fucking hurts, Hop’.”

You don’t know whether he feels it, too, or he’s just pitying you, because confliction is rife across his face.

And then he takes a step back, and he might as well have punched you in the stomach with the gasped breath that releases from you.

No, no, no, no...

“Hop’...”

He takes another step back, unable to stop his gaze from flicking down to where your hands are pushing your jeans and panties down and off, your shoes with them, kicking them aside. Then, he looks away, so sharply and suddenly, his fingers flexing by his sides.

“I can’t.”

“Why.”

You can’t think of any reason that would be damn good enough right now.

Hopper can’t look at you as he shakes his head again. “It’s not right, you don’t want this, it’s just the flower—”

“I want this, I want you, Hop’, I need you...” You’ve stepped towards him, your hands on his chest, sliding over his damp shirt, fisting it in your hands. “... I need you inside me...”

His jaw is so tight, his whole body is, you can feel his muscles underneath your hands, and his breathing is harsher. He raises a hand, which you don’t notice is shaking until he places it on one of your forearms. You wait for him to try and pull it away, but he just grips it lightly.

“You... You don’t want me really, this, this isn’t right—”

“I do, I do...” Your chin lifts and your lips brush against his jaw, and you swear you hear him groan quietly. You cling onto it, even if it isn’t real, and the words tumble out of you. “... I’ve thought about you before, inside me, making me cum, I’ve fucked myself imagining it was you before, so many times, please, Hop’, I’m begging you...”

He must have groaned because now his head is tilted against yours, lips against your cheekbone. His thumb is brushing against your inner wrist, too, so lightly. You press against him... and feel it.

His cock straining against his jeans.

Maybe it’s not just you, then. The arm he isn’t gripping moves, your hand dropping to settle on his thigh, your fingers caressing.

“Please, Hop’...” you whisper.

You know he groans this time, his lips so close to your ear. You know he’s seconds from crumbling, too, his hips angling towards your hand, his hand sliding from your wrist to your bicep, head turning closer towards yours, lips inches away—

Then, he freezes, a breath hissing out through his teeth.

He doesn’t move away but, staring at him, you can see the confliction return and even some anger that washes over his features.

“Hop’—”

“This isn’t the way I wanted it to be.”

You pause, lips parted so your harsh breaths can escape audibly. He hadn’t wanted to say that. He’d hissed the words out, eyes unable to meet yours, in fact he’s now closed them; regret swirling inside him.

But you can only think about one thing right now.

You’re shaking with relief and anticipation. “... You’ve thought about me, too, then.”

A statement, not a question.

His eyes open, finding yours. “Yeah.”

You relish every word you say. “Then fuck me like you’ve wanted to.”

Any last restraint he has crumbles.

And he must have be in just as much pain as you because it happens in mere seconds.

Hopper’s hand grips the back of your head, holding you close and tight against him as his lips crash against yours. A combination of a sob and a moan emits from the back of your throat as you grip at his shirt, desire burning through your veins. His other arm wraps around your lower back and part of your brain is grateful for his strong grip because then he’s suddenly turning you and walking you back towards the closest bed.

The backs of your legs knock against it and you fall back on the soft covers, and it’s like he didn’t let you go at all as he’s already on top of you, one arm by the side of your head, the hand of the other resting on your torso, fingers splayed. One leg is between yours to hold himself up and your brain is working so fast, trying to find any way to soothe what your body is crying out for, that it takes you a moment to initiate its plan. Shifting down, your back arching with the movement, you start to rock your bare cunt against his thigh. The moaned cry you release is swallowed by his mouth, but he gives a groan in return.

“Fuck...” he hisses, feeling how wet you are as you’ve already soaking through his jeans.

The material is rough but that just makes it more heavenly against your swollen, aching clit and folds. Gripping his biceps, your lips tear from his as you tip your head back with a loud moan, eyes closed tightly. It’s not enough but it still feels so fucking good.

It takes you a few moments to realise he’s pushed your shirt and bra up, and his lips instantly descend upon your hard nipples, kissing, licking, sucking, pulling with his teeth slightly.

Tears are sliding down your cheeks in relief and a smile is pulling at your lips because—

“Yes...” you gasp, fingers curling tightly into his hair, tugging at his scalp.

His hips jerk as you do, and his grunts tell you just how much he likes it. So you do it again, and again, and again... and realise he’s grinding his hips against your thigh, just like you’re doing to him.

“Fu-uck...” he growls against your chest, his mouth moving in a deliciously sloppy way up your skin to your neck.

You whine as he kisses you there, your head tipping back, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

It’s so, so fucking good... but it’s still not enough.

“Hop’, need more...”

“Shh, don’t worry, baby, I know...”

How can he string words together? You had just about managed to breathe yours out.

What delicious words they were, though.

You must have done something in response to them, bucked your hips a certain way or made a sound, you don’t quite know because your mind is starting to feel like liquid, because he’s suddenly smiling now.

A lazy, smug smile that makes you clench.

Gazing down at you, his hands splay across your waist, and he presses his thigh a little harder against your cunt, which has your back arching.

“You like when I call you baby, huh? When I talk to you?”

“Yeah…” is all you can so eloquently answer with.

“That’s good to know.”

How is he capable of this much talking? Does the pollen enhance sexual characteristics that are already there?

Whatever it does, you can’t think on it much further because the hand on your waist is now travelling down your stomach, and you’re about to complain at his thigh suddenly disappearing when they’re now replaced by his long fingers sliding over your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp as he groans, your eyes falling shut.

“Jesus, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet, you’re fuckin’ dripping…”

You don’t even bother trying to respond. Gripping at his shoulders, all you can do is moan as three of his fingers drag up and down your folds. When they move over your clit, you don’t know whether it’s a sob or a moan that falls from your open mouth. Either way, pure pleasure courses through you. Maybe at any other point you would have cum right there and then from how intense it is, but you need something inside you. Whatever is happening, that’s all you know.

“God, Hop’, please…”

“I know, baby…”

And as he says the words, he pushes two of his fingers inside you.

“Yes…” you cry, your hips pushing down so they slide all the way inside you, but if you’d been coherent enough to you would have bet he would have done so anyway.

“Jesus…” he hisses, tone strained, and he instantly starts to slip them in and out of you, sinking them in as far as he can each time. “… You’re so fuckin’ wet…”

He groans again when you clench down on his fingers, and it seems to break whatever kind of resolve he was still holding onto, however the hell he was holding on to it.

A pitiful whine of protest escapes you when his fingers pull out, and he just nods swiftly, strands of hair falling over his forehead as he rises up onto his knees.

“I know, sweetheart, I know, just let me… Fuck…”

Lifting your head, you watch him shift backwards until his boots can touch down on the ground, but it’s only a moment before he’s kneeling on the floor and then his hands are wrapping around your thighs, widening them, and then he’s lowering his head and then… and then…

Your mouth drops open wider as your hands dart to his hair, plunging in once again as his tongue licks a long, wide path up your folds.

“Just needed to fuckin’ taste you…” he mumbles against you, the vibration of his voice making you mewl.

If his hands weren’t keeping your thighs apart you would have wrapped them around his head. All you can do, though, is rock your hips and grind against his tongue. He growls with pleasure, and just as you inhale a breath to beg for more, he pushes three fingers inside of you.

Three.

Three of his thick, long fingers slide inside you with no resistance or pain at all, and you throw your head back with a loud cry as you clench around them.

“Fu-uck...” he groans, curling them a little, stroking inside you. “... Look how fuckin’ easy that was, huh... How fuckin’ easy are you gonna take my cock, baby? Huh? Is it gonna slide right in? Fill you all up on the first stroke?”

Again, at any other time, you would have cum right there and then, but... somehow it’s just not enough.

Gritting your teeth, because while it’s not enough, the pleasure is still so fucking good, you release a sound between a sob and a moan.

“Hop’... Fucking need more...”

“You want my cock in you, sweetheart, huh?”

“Please.”

He groans again, and then you hear it.

He’s stroking his cock in swift, firm movements, and you want to be doing that, you want to be touching him, tasting him, pleasuring him, and—

“Want you to cum on my tongue, wanna fuckin’ taste you,” he mumbles against your pussy, lapping at you again, and you have to take in a few ragged breaths before you can speak.

“... Can’t... Not enough... Need your cock...”

“Christ...” He exhales a breath that closely resembles another growl. “... Do you know what hearin’ those words does to me, huh? Oh, you’re gonna cum on my cock, baby, but I’ve fuckin’ dreamed about you cumming in my mouth so you know what you’re gonna do?” He lifts his head, and you open your half-lidded eyes to look at him. “... You’re gonna cum on my tongue.”

And lowering his head again, he sucks hard at your aching clit.

And maybe it is just enough, because your back is arching and you’re pulling at his hair and he’s having to tighten his grip on your thigh and tears of relief or maybe it’s beads of sweat are sliding down your cheeks because yes, yes, yes...

You don’t realise you’re chanting the word as your climax builds, and when it rolls through you, a blissful serenity follows it...

That lasts all of a few seconds before you’re squirming again, the throbbing in your core somehow sharper, more desperate.

Hopper, however, is sucking and licking at you still, lapping up your release as he moans, an arm moving to settle over your lower stomach. Opening your eyes, you gaze down at him and see his hand working over his cock still and you want to move and touch him but his arm is keeping you down and his tongue is continuing to move so deliciously against your cunt.

And then he’s releasing short, sharp groans, and his hips are jerking and his hand is starting to slow, and then he cums, and you can only watch as it trickles down his fingers.

No, no, no, you want to feel him cum, you want it inside you—

He lifts his head, licking his lips, and the hunger still burning in his eyes steals your breath away.

He rises, and you can only watch with ragged breaths as he kicks his boots away and pushes his trousers and boxers off. His dick is still hard, pressed flat against his stomach, tip red and weeping.

“You want my cock? You want my fuckin’ cock inside you...?” he’s murmuring, and your eyes dart up to meet his as you release a breath.

“God, fuck, yes, Hop’...”

“C’mere...” He’s suddenly on top of you, then, cupping the top of your head with his large hand as he props himself up on his elbow. It eases some more of the pain a little, having him crowd you, feeling his skin on yours, but you both know exactly what you need.

His eyes are boring down into yours, and your nails are digging into shoulders, and then, finally, you feel the tip of his cock against your cunt.

“Mhm, yeah, fuck, inside me...” you’re breathing, pleading, half out of your mind with need as you nod.

And then, without any more teasing or talking, his thick cock slides all the way inside you.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out and your back arches. Pure pleasure and relief and bliss overwhelms you, and you haven’t even cum on him yet. In fact, he can’t move yet because you’re clenched so tightly around him, your slick walls gripping at him like your cunt doesn’t want him to ever leave.

His breaths are short, sharp, strained, and his hand has moved to rest under your head, a gesture that, at any other time, you would have recognised as tender.

“Oh, fuck, baby... Fuck... Feel every inch of my dick... You feel it, huh?”

Words aren’t possible anymore, so you can only nod, eyes still shut tight, and your breaths fall away into moans as he kisses at your neck, all of them sloppy, uncoordinated, needy, and you suddenly realise he’s murmuring to you.

“... Wanna fuckin’ move, wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good, wanna cum in your wet cunt and feel you cum on me, want you screamin’ my fuckin’ name...”

As if his words were the key, you unclench around him with a whine of desire, and, with a hiss, he instantly draws his hips back and then snaps them forward, sinking fully into you once again.

Fucking lighting zips through your body, you’ve never felt anything like it.

He must feel it, too, because he doesn’t stop for one moment, drawing all the way back and thrusting right back into you to the hilt, each time harder than the last and, distantly, you can hear the headboard smacking against the wall.

“... Good girl... Good fuckin’ girl...” he’s growling through gritted teeth, and you realise you are because you’re doing exactly as he wanted.

You’re shouting his name amongst your moans.

And not even just ‘Hop’ or ‘Hopper’; ‘Jim’ is falling from your lips, and each time he hears it his hips snap forward just that little bit harder.

“Yeah, baby, good fuckin’ girl... Good girl... Fuckin’ Christ... Can you hear how fuckin’ wet you are? Listen to how fuckin’ good you take my cock, baby... Take it... Fuck, take it...”

Nevermind listening, it’s how he feels inside you that’s making sparks skitter across your skin. He fills and stretches you perfectly, dragging and sliding against your sensitive walls deliciously each time. You’re not going to last much longer, the last coherent part of your mind knows, and it nearly makes you sob with both relief and dread.

You never want this fucking feeling to end, it’s all so good, so fucking good but you know it’s just going to feel even better when you cum, when you feel him cum.

Managing to open your eyes, you find his gaze still on you, flicking from your parted lips to your chest.

“... Cum...” you whisper, voice hoarse, and you have to swallow before you try again. “... Cum inside me, please... Want to feel you cum... Fill me with your cum...”

“Yeah?” His jaw is tight, eyes boring into your own again. “... Wanna feel my fuckin’ cum fillin’ you up, baby, huh? Want my fuckin’ cum leaking out of you?”

“Yes”, you chant over and over and over breathlessly, gaze fixed on his, unable to look away because his hips are stuttering in their rhythm, just slightly, but enough that you know.

He’s close.

“Cum, cum for me...” you start to plead now, “... Wanna feel you cum, cum inside me, Jim, please... I need it...”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ need it, baby?” he grunts, voice low, gravelling.

“Yeah, give it to me, please...”

“Take it, fuckin’ take it, take my cum...” He groans sharply then, mouth dropping open. “... Fuck...” His hand darts out from under your head and grips at the bedcovers, and with a few more thrusts, he then buries deep inside you and cums with a shout, eyes shut tight.

And euphoria spreads through you.

You feel his cum spill inside you, and the pleasure that courses through you from the sensation sends you spiralling into your own release. Gripping at his arms, nails digging in probably to the point of pain, you throw your head back and cry out.

It’s unlike any bliss you’ve ever felt before.

For a few moments you may even black out as it rolls through you in wave upon wave upon wave.

Hopper feels closer, as well, as if he’s collapsed slightly but just about managed to hold himself up in time. His lips are against your jaw, and you can feel his panted breaths, his lightly trembling frame.

Oh, you’re trembling, too, can hear it in your own breaths.

At least you can try and calm your heart rate, now, because it must be over, it has to be. It’s been done now, it’s...

It’s...

It’s still there. That strange energy, whatever the hell it is. It’s not as intense now, but it’s there. Enough so that you lick your lips and gaze up at him, finger tips gliding down his arms.

“Hop’... I can still feel it.”

It’s a few moments before his eyes open, and when his gaze meets yours, and you realise he’s still hard inside you, you know before he speaks what he’s going to say.

“... Me, too.”

Neither of you speak, or move, just gaze at each other. Enough sense has returned that you take these few moments to breathe, but not enough that when those moments do start to stretch on... you just can’t help yourself.

Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you start to slowly roll your hips.

His eyes fall shut with a guttural groan, and your involuntary mewl answers him.

When his eyes then snap open, you also can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“You not satisfied yet?” he murmurs, voice dangerously low, and you shake your head as your tongue glides across your lips.

“Fuck me again, Jim.”

His thumb and forefinger are suddenly gripping your chin, and his lips hover over yours as he exhales a breath.

“It not enough that my cum is fillin’ you up? You need some fuckin’ more?”

“Yeah...” you breathe, trying to lift your chin higher so you can kiss him, but he holds firm.

“You want me to fuck you again, sweetheart?”

“Please, Jim...”

His lips brush against yours, and it’s the lightest of touches, but it’s enough to have you moaning as you rock your hips again.

“Please...”

“Well, seein’ as you’ve been a good fuckin’ girl...”

Pulling back, he rises up onto his knees, and pulls out of you. You mewl softly at feeling empty now, but you’re instantly distracted by his hands gripping your thighs, keeping them parted wide, and the fact his eyes are fixed on your cunt.

“Fuck... Your pussy looks so pretty with my cum spilling out of it...”

Fucking hell.

“Hop’, please, fuck me, I need you again, I need your cock—”

“I know, baby, I know.” Your words have his gaze tearing away and returning to your own, and he releases your thighs with a groan. “Turn over. On your stomach.”

You don’t need telling twice.

Except you have your own demand.

“Take your shirt off, I want to feel all of you.”

When his fingers fly to the buttons of it and start undoing them, then you roll over onto your front, resting your cheek against the covers.

You hear him toss it aside, and then his fingers are sliding down your back, over your ass and to your cunt. His fingertips caress your pussy lips lightly, gliding up and down, and your eyes fall shut at the gentle waves of pleasure that pulse through you. He’s toying with your mixed cum, gently pushing it back inside you and spreading it along your cunt.

“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, half in awe, half aroused.

Any other time you would have left him indulge himself for as long as he wanted, but the desperate need inside you is growing once more.

“Jim... Fuck me...”

You’ve only just finished pleading him, when his cock sinks inside you, this time in a slow, long thrust.

As your mouth drops open in a high moan, your fingers gripping onto the covers, he releases a long groan, eyes fixed on his dick disappearing inside you.

“Fuck, look at that...” His hands grip your ass, spreading you open wider. “... Take me so fuckin’ good... So fuckin’ good...”

Your eyes nearly roll back when you close them, as he starts to repeatedly give you slow, long thrusts, watching his own cock spread your soaked lips apart. You’re nearly delirious with pleasure, cunt pulsing around him, and when you feel him move, you can’t even open your eyes.

He settles over you, holding himself up on his forearm while his other hand slides under your neck and grips it gently, making you lift your head, tipping it back a little.

And now his lips are right against your ear.

“Fucking perfection... Like you were fuckin’ made for my cock, huh, sweetheart?”

You can only moan in reply as his thrusts speed up a little.

The position you’re now in somehow makes it feel more delicious than before, like his cock is somehow filling you even more. You now focus on the lewd sounds caused by how wet your pussy is, too, and it’s so lewd, so filthy and hot that it’s making your stomach clench.

You must clench around him again, too, because he inhales a ragged breath before speaking.

“You gonna cum for me again?”

“Yeah...” you breathe, mind starting to turn blank.

“Gonna cum on my hard cock? Soak it and the fuckin’ bed?”

“Please...”

It feels more intense this time, the mounting pleasure, and your fingers twist into the bed covers as you try and ground yourself. He’s murmuring into your ear still, hand on your throat still gentle.

“... what a good fuckin’ girl you are, taking my cock so good, gonna take my cum again, huh? How many times can I cum in this pretty little pussy, how many times can I fill you up until you’re satisfied, huh...”

It’s all too much, too good...

Your orgasm crashes over you.

Your brow dipping, your mouth dropping open, a scream is pulled from your throat, and the world goes dark.

—

Your eyes snap open.

Oh, fuck.

There’s a slight pounding in your head, the beginnings of a headache most likely from dehydration.

Annoying.

When did I last have a drink, though? Or eat? Must’ve been...

Oh.

It all comes flooding back to you.

That... That actually happened?

Releasing a soft groan, you lift a heavy hand to try and rub at your forehead—

Another hand catches it, and the space beside you dips slightly.

“Hey, hey, woah, you okay?”

Your gaze darts to the source, and you find Hopper sat there, concern etched across his features. You don’t have time to think about it or answer, though, as he swiftly releases your hand and a glass of water suddenly appears before you.

“Here, drink this.”

Sitting up a little, you drink deeply, your throat dry, raw, actually, and the entire contents is nearly gone when you finally lower it, gasping a breath in.

He takes the glass from you, placing it on the bedside table, and as you lick your lips and adjust against the pillows, he watches you, fingers rubbing against his mouth.

Clearing his throat after a few moments, he ask quietly, “You okay?”

Is it too soon to tell him that was probably the best fuck of your life?

Raising your eyebrows, a light smile pulls at your lips. “Yeah. A little sore, but...” Your smile fades as he looks down at his hands, his jaw moving. “... Oh, Hop’, I didn’t—”

He can’t look at you, his head shaking. “I am so... I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be.” Leaning forward, you place your hand on his arm, hating that he stiffens. “We couldn’t control ourselves—”

“I could’ve, I could’ve held out longer, I could’ve locked myself in that fucking bathroom, I just...” He looks fucking devastated.

Shifting closer, you wrap your other hand around his arm, tightening your grip. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I mean it. I...” Well, it’s now or fucking never, and all things considered... “... I wanted it, Hop’. Even without that aphrodisiac thing. I wanted you. I have for a long time.”

Your face is burning and your heart is pounding but relief settles on your shoulders the moment you finish speaking.

His head turns towards you now, gaze darting to meet yours, searching it. “You... You’re not lyin’ to me?”

Your lips lifting again, you shake your head before murmuring, “No.”

Hopper exhales a breath, his hand setting over both of yours. “I’ve... Fuck, I’ve wanted you, too. Just... I imagined it going a little differently.”

You give a soft laugh as delight overwhelms you, and his thumb brushes against your skin. “Yeah, we really skipped the first date, didn’t we.”

“In the traditional sense.” He smiles as you laugh again, but it’s gone just as soon as it arrived. “... You sure you’re okay?”

You don’t care how foolish you look, with your tender smile, gaze openly filled with affection. Probably because his gaze is exactly the same.

“I am. Really. It’s a good sore.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your teeth graze over your lower lip. “I wouldn’t mind getting used to it.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d hoped you’d say that...”

Cupping your cheek, he closes the gap between you and kisses you tenderly, the pad of his thumb brushing against your skin gently. It’s sweet, gentler than you had ever imagined him to be.

It’s perfect.

When his lips leave yours but he remains close, you smile again. “I guess we can give Murray a thorough review, then.”

He growls quietly as he brushes his nose against yours. “Don’t talk about that man right now...”

As he moves closer, laying you back on the bed, your arms slide around his neck and your smile widens.

“Yes, Chief.”

—

Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works!

Masterlist

Tagged: @herb-welch, @clonecaptainrex @davidkharboursex, @jobean12-blog, @warmbeardsandredwine, @mademoiselle-black, @scrunchinn, @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash, @divadinag, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @ashphoenix105, @alahmorah, @daughterofthebrowncoats, @letsby, @kiwiphroot, @ashmely, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @unicornsandgliiitter, @lucifer-in-leather, @heyjudeinthesky, @sleepylunarwolf, @ambeazyyy, @countryfire22, @sithlordslut, @mondsafari, @norcula, @earinafae, @beltzboys2015-blog, @jinxiejenna, @justsimplevicky, @ginasellsbooks, @vale0413, @mrslydiaholden, @kimberliinabox, @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly, @allylupin, @cant-shake-this-feeling-off, @the-bitch-gotham-deserves, @warriorqueen1991, @thesurestthing, @zuni21798, @quietlovelovely-blog, , @windinyoursnail, @my-rosegold-soul @madkskillz, @im-not-great-at-making-up-names, @sergeantangel, @bitchinsinclair, @dewy-biitch, @focusonspn, @wearethebrokenones, @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge, @thatprettymvthafvcka, @pulplorrd, @gifsbysimplysonia, @opalsandlacemain @gothackedalready, @ayatimascd, @missaudreyhorney, @chiefharbour, @saltandroot, @ollypopp @soyuncheez, @ladydmalfoy, @morphoportis, @stop-the-world-i-wanna-get-off, @the--king--in--yellow

Apologies to those Tumblr won’t let me tag!

#jim hopper x reader #chief hopper x reader #hopper x reader #chief jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper smut #my writing #flamehairedwritings #just a goofy sexy time

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spacelazarwolf · 10 months

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y’all i found it, i found the post that originated the claim that i’m a ZionistTM and it’s even more ridiculous than i expected.

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this is, of course, the same person who labeled me a MisogynistTM for making a half baked joke reblog basically saying “jewish standards of masculinity are different than white western standards of masculinity” then cited orthodox judaism, a community i’m not a part of, as why Actually The Jewish Community Is Horrifically Misogynistic And Bad (as if i haven’t faced misogyny from jewish cis men before???????)

anyway, my post in this screenshot didn’t once mention israel. it didn’t mention zionism. it was talking about antisemitism. i turned off reblogs because people were making it about zionism and israel, which was derailing my original point. i set a specific boundary and people kept crossing it, so i turned reblogs off and blocked people who wouldn’t leave it alone. absolutely nothing about that could possibly indicate that i’m a zionist unless you think that diaspora jews setting boundaries about being forced into a conversation about israel, especially one where we are essentially being blamed for the antisemitism we face because of the government of a country we don’t even live in and have no control over (there’s a phrase that, it’s called dual loyalty and it’s been getting jews killed for decades) or if you think simply talking about the history of antisemitism and current rising levels of antisemitism is somehow “zionist propaganda” in which case you might want to get your head out of your ass and question why you’re agreeing with literal nazis. also bonus points for this person literally just blatantly blaming jews in the tags for the rise in antisemitism because we’re apparently not being antizionist enough to deserve basic human decency and safety! not even trying to hide it anymore huh!

and of course it worked like a charm bc now, months later, you have people saying this:

“the jew is trying to disguise himself as one of you to trick you!!!!!! he is actually evil and trying to manipulate you to further his evil (((zionist))) plans!!!!!!!!!! beware!!!!!!!!!!!” which is literally just repackaged antisemitic tropes that are centuries old. i’ve never interacted with the person in this screenshot in my entire life, and yet they seem to think they have insider knowledge into my Evil Zionist Plans to infiltrate the community and spread Zionist Propaganda because they interacted with one gentile witch that threw a hissy fit about being told not to be antisemitic in discourse about gentiles appropriating lillith. this gentile decided that every single jew who disagreed with them was a zionist, and when i told them it was antisemitic as fuck to call any jew they disagree with a zionist they went on about me being a “raging zionist” and “faking being queer” for DAYS. so it’s not a mystery where the person in this screenshot got the “ooh scary (((zionist))) pretending to be queer and trans to spread his evil (((zionist))) propaganda” rhetoric from. it’s word-for-word from the gentile witch who was pissed about fucking LILLITH DISCOURSE.

bc the thing is, these ppl don’t actually care if i’m a zionist. if they did, they would be engaging with what i’ve said (which is practically nothing because i knew the second the word israel touched my blog that this would happen — which is why i didn’t want people going on and on about israel on a post about antisemitism). they know that labeling a jew a zionist is an immediate death sentence in progressive circles. they know it’s the easiest way to discredit a jew you don’t like. because it doesn’t matter how many times you say “no, i’m not” you will be forever tainted in the eyes of gentiles by that accusation. that’s why they made the accusation in the first place. and so i will continue to not share any of my thoughts or opinions other than “i’m pro palestinian liberation” and “i’m not a zionist” and people will ignore that to play yet another game of Zionist Telephone to target a jew they don’t like. it’s not the first time it’s happened, to me or in general, and it won’t be the last time. i just hope people seeing this and reading this will help people understand how fucked up and antisemitic it is.

so yeah. if you see accusations floating around that i’m a zionist, this is where it came from. a situation that is textbook dual loyalty, being punished for setting boundaries on my own blog, and people who hate trans men jumping at the chance to demonize one with one of the easiest tricks in the book as soon as they see he’s also jewish. the fact i keep having to address this when the origin of the rumor is literally just antisemitism should heavily inform how seriously you take random claims online that a jew is a zionist. most of the time it’s just blatant antisemitism, and very often it’s a way to silence an unrelated conversation that person was trying to have.

#jewish #jumblr #antisemitism

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littledollll · 7 months

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Blank canvas

Lucifer Morningstar x reader

A/n: this idea was haunting me for weeks before I even posted about it and now here we are.

Big thanks to @pebbleswritessometimes for being with me through the whole writing process (like basically always I just b forgetting to tag this hoe) and @v3nusxsky for also helping out and naming the fic!

Warnings: tattoos/aftercare, shower sex, multiple orgasms, rly soft Lucifer, lots of praise.

___________________________________

It was a few years into your relationship that you thought about getting a new tattoo. Something that symbolized, showing their mark on you. Yet you didn’t actually follow through until well- today.

Early in the morning you came up with some excuse to go to the mortal realm. And since Lucifer never questioned you or your work, you got away quite easily without suspicion. The appointment had been set up for weeks, after years and years of considering and thinking it over you decided you wanted this etched permanently into your skin, for the rest of your immortal life alongside them.

You were away for most of the day, which again, they didn’t question. Because you wanted to finish the piece in one day. Knowing Lucifer wasn’t quite capable of keeping their hands to themselves for too long, and let’s be fair, neither were you. This was a surprise, and you sure as well didn’t want them to just see a half finished piece over the length of your back.

When you came back at the end of the day, they were more than overjoyed to see you. Immediately welcoming you with wandering hands and more than a few kisses. “What’d you do all day, hm? Have fun abandoning me?” You giggled at their questions as you parted from them and took their hands.

“Wanna take a shower with me?” Only a fool would refuse that offer. It seemed like logic to Lucifer that you didn’t even have to ask. “Oh? Did you miss me all day?” They said in an amused tone, and you only looked back at them with a face that told them you had a secret. “I see how it is.”

Lucifer followed you in, watching you closely as you made a point to undress facing them, they couldn’t see, not yet. “Are you gonna go in dressed or something?” You teased, seeing as they were observing you instead of getting ready themselves. “I’m trying to see what you’re plotting.” They seemed dead serious on figuring it out, like some sort of game they had to win. Ever the competitive devil.

“You think you’ll be able to read my mind if you stare at me long enough?”

“Perhaps.”

A short answer before they reluctantly started undressing themselves, having to break their view from you. Taking the chance, you almost ran into the shower, just making them more suspicious of you.

They joined you a few moments later, their hands gently placed on your hips as they looked you up and down. “You haven’t turned your back on me since you undressed.” Their tone dripping with pride, like they’ve just done their best detective work.

“Ohh good job, Detective, you have a great eye.” Your sass was clearly not welcome as they attempted to decipher what you were hiding, giving you a playful glare.

“Okay okay. You’ve gotta help me with something.” As you turned around they caught sight of the fresh saniderm bandage and the bit of ink that had released into it, not making the tattoo clear enough.

“Ah. New tattoo?.. why all the secrecy for that, my love?” They asked softly, adjusting the water to fall perfectly over your back as they gently started removing the bandage. “You’ll see.”

And see they did. They were quiet for a moment as they observed the fine-line piece. The outline of the sun, serving as some sort of heading, or halo for a simple yet beautifully drawn serpent below it. It was quite big, starting at the height of your shoulders plates down to your lower back.

Their hands gently trailed down the sides of it, not wanting to touch in case you were feeling sore. The silence was starting to worry you, and you looked over your shoulder to see what their reaction was.

You were quite pleased to see them admiring it, a soft smile on their face. Such a simple thing felt so intimate in that moment. “..you got this, for me?” the question seemed almost unsure. Their voice low and quiet as they continued to inspect it like it was the most complex piece of art they’ve ever seen, when the design was rather simple.

A simple nod was all they received and you swear you heard a whimper slip past their lips. “Can I- do you want me to help you clean it..?” It was rare to hear Lucifer be shy of all things. You, of course got it with the idea that they’d love it, but this is not the reaction you expected from them.

It felt endearing to see them be so affected by it. “That would actually be very helpful. Thank you, Luce.” They nodded. Gently, they lathered their hands in soap, opting to use just one to rub gently over the tattoo, making sure to leave it perfectly clean. You hissed, feeling a little soreness but it was quickly replaced by the feeling of their free hand inching towards your inner thighs.

They hummed, pressing themselves against your back, the other hand coming to wrap around your waist. Effectively covering you from the shower, then you felt water dripped from their hair down your shoulders. “Is this okay too?” The feeling of their breath on the back of your ear made your knees weak. The feeling only being worsened as two fingers slowly started thrusting into you and you scrambled to find some support against the shower walls.

Your shaky legs couldn’t handle your own weight with all the pleasure you were receiving. But thankfully you were saved by Lucifer’s thigh being pushed between your thighs, giving you a little more stability as the palm of their hand continued rubbing your sensitive clit. “please-“

Lucifer cut your words short with their own. “I think it’s only fair I reward you for this precious gift… don’t you?”

And who were you to deem them wrong? “Y-yes.. yes, please-“ Your moans served as encouragement as they another finger and slowly picked up their pace.

Lucifer felt as your thighs tensed up, queuing them to hold onto your shaking body just a little tighter as you released around their hand with a breathy moan.

Their hold on your waist was gone for only a second as they turned the temperature of the water cold, feeling suffocated in the heat of their own body.

You didn’t know if you were hot or freezing anymore, the cold water contrasting the burning sensation of your body and theirs. Heat burned in your stomach and between your thighs as you felt the rush of freezing cold water running down your back, and pebbling down your hard nipples. It made your whole body shiver as you needily began grinding against Lucifer’s hand.

That very same hand pushed carefully on your lower back, leading you to lean a little forward against the wall. “Good.. perfect. Now I can keep looking at your beautiful back and stunning tattoo.” They murmured, placing soft kisses over the back of your neck and wherever they could reach of your back.

“Spread your legs a little more for me baby.. don’t worry. I won’t let go of you.”

They didn’t give you a chance to breathe after that as they simply picked up the pace once again responding to your needy grinding and effectively turning you into a whining, withering mess in their hands.

“You’re perfect. So perfect, my darling.” Their voice was breathy now as they took their time, switching between running two fingers down your slit and toying with that pulsing bundle of nerves and using those same two fingers to fuck you to oblivion.

Lucifer kept you pressed against the shower wall, your nipples rubbing against the cold tiles whenever they pounded into you, only giving you the illusion of a break when they went back to circling your clit, practically bathing in the sweet sounds of your broken moans.

“I love it, sweet one… who knew you could be even prettier, hm?” They muttered, clearly still hung up on admiring your new tattoo.

You felt delirious. Quickly tumbling over that delightful edge again as Lucifer slowed down for once, keeping their focus on your clit. Your cheek was helplessly pressed against the cold tile as you panted to catch your breath, which was difficult considering Lucifer refused to stop their ministrations any time soon. “Luce..”

“Give me one more, angel.. just like this, just one more.”

Apparently it wasn’t enough that you felt weak enough to turn to mush, or that you quite literally couldn’t stand anymore and they were the only thing standing between you and the hard tile. Clearly your shaking body was no sign of stopping for your devil.

Your eyes slipped shut as curses and cries continued tumbling from your lips. Somehow the slow, almost gentle pace felt much more effective than the previous harsh one. Perhaps it was the overstimulation. No, it clearly was. Your mind was simply not functioning enough at that point to think about the most logical reason why everything felt ten times better, or why every drop of water against your skin made your whole body want to tumble over the edge.

It didn’t take long, of course. Not with their warm skin wrapping and pressing against you, contrasting the cold water. Not with their delightfully long fingers thrusting into you. Certainly not with the palm of their hand rubbing your sensitive clit.

Slowly, they worked you down from your high. Switching from a slower pace to just a sweet and gentle caress, before both arms wrapped around your body and they held you close, pressing your back against them. You could vaguely tell Lucifer’s tone was one of praise as they whispered against your ear. But in all reality you had no idea what they were saying.

You simply relished in their gentle hold, providing you much needed support. Almost sure you’d crumble into nothing if your lover let you go.

You’re not exactly sure how long you stood under the running shower, wrapped in their arms with their face nuzzled sweetly against the crook of your neck. This wasn’t the outcome you had planned, but one things for sure. This was definitely not going to be the last tattoo you got for your loving devil.

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spnhunter4life · 1 year

Text

Familiar

Summary: Sam, Dean and Y/N are on a case, and it turns out Y/N is just the monster's type.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: reference to nonconsensual sex, canon typical violence

A/N: I've had this one done for a couple of weeks, but things have been very busy and so I just finally got around to doing a reread/edit of it. I hope everyone enjoys it!

This one includes the writing prompt "character A flipping positions and shoving B against a wall 'now this seems more familiar doesn’t it?'"

I don't remember where I found this. I have a list of prompts I saved, but didn't include who posted them, so if you happen to know where this came from, let me know and I'll give credit to that person.

Also, I've had someone ask me to be tagged in new stories I post. I am happy to do this, so if anyone else is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Masterlist

I met the Winchesters for the first time five years ago when I was 22. I was in college and had just moved to a new dorm building that turned out to be haunted by a ghost. I had been the next intended target when Dean and his dad stepped in and saved me. That was the last time I would see either of them for a long time, but I never forgot the faces of the people who had saved my life.

After that experience, I was obsessed with the supernatural. Dean and I had talked a little bit before they left town, and he told me about how he and his dad traveled the country killing monsters. I wanted to do that too. I wanted to be able to save people’s lives the way they had saved mine.

So a couple months later I dropped out of school and started getting ready to hunt. I signed up for a gym membership and started going everyday as well as taking boxing and Krav Maga lessons. My life had given very little opportunity for me to build muscle or learn to fight. But I wasn’t stupid enough to go into a fight with a supernaturally strong creature completely unprepared.

I gave myself a year to get in shape and learn to defend myself. During this time, I put every spare minute I had into research. I looked into what kinds of monsters were out there, how to kill them, which ones were most common. While doing all this research, I ran into a man named Bobby Singer. He had all kinds of helpful information and taught me how to track them down. I started the process of purchasing weapons I would need and also saving up money.

Once I felt ready, I set off on my first hunt. The overwhelming satisfaction I felt at saving a person from the ghost that had been haunting them was too much to ignore. I knew without a doubt now that this is what I should be doing with my life. So I went on another hunt. And another.

Things were a little rough going at first and I got more injuries than I cared to admit – fighting a trained professional in a controlled environment wasn’t the same as going up against an angry monster – but my fighting skills improved and things started going smoother soon enough. I didn’t regret my choices.

I ran into Dean a little over a year later. I was looking into what I suspected to be a witch and had stopped for lunch at a local burger joint when I saw him. I recognized him immediately and went to talk to him. It took a little bit for him to remember me, but he did. When he asked what I was doing so far from home, I told him what I’d been up to since the day he saved my life. He seemed surprised and impressed. Apparently the people he saved didn’t often take up hunting afterwards.

When I asked after his dad, he told me that they were starting to work separate cases on occasion. They still hunted together too, but not as often.

Since we were both in town for the same reason, we agreed to work the case together. It was difficult at times, learning to rely on another person and factor their thoughts and opinions into what we were doing. I’d never hunted with someone else before. In other ways, though, it was so much easier. I decided I kind of liked having a partner. Dean and I worked well together.

He must have thought so too, because the day after we finished that hunt, he asked if I wanted to come with him to look into a string of suspicious murders a couple states over. I’d been hunting with him – and occasionally his dad – ever since.

About nine months into our new arrangement, his dad went missing and so we picked up his brother Sam from school to help find him. Adding him to the mix had been another adjustment. That was two years ago now though, and we’d all found an easy rhythm together.

“We should go check this out,” Dean said, sliding the newspaper he’d been looking at across the table to Sam and pointing at one of the articles.

We were at a diner waiting for our breakfast to be brought out. Sam scanned the article.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, passing the newspaper to me when I motioned for it. I skimmed the article Dean had found.

“Come on, Sam. Three murder suicides in under two weeks. That’s weird,” Dean insisted.

“It is weird. I just don’t see how it’s our kind of weird,” Sam answered.

“Y/N? What do you think? You agree with me, don’t you?” Dean asked, confident I’d back him up. We typically saw things pretty eye to eye. Not always though.

“Well, actually I agree with Sam. There’s nothing here that really makes it sound like our kind of thing. But,” I continued, saying the word a little louder to stop Dean’s protest. “It’s only a few hours away and we have nothing else to do right now. So we might as well go check it out.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam agreed, sighing at the triumphant look on Dean’s face. “But I really think we’re wasting our time.”

“Right. Because we’ve got much more important, productive things going on here,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It’s never a waste of time,” I said. “Even if it ends up being nothing, making sure people aren’t being killed by something supernatural isn’t a waste. What if we decide it’s not worth checking out and it turns out it is our kind of thing? Then those deaths would be on us.”

“Ok, yes, you’re right. I already said we could go check it out,” Sam said.

“Well thanks for the permission, Sammy. I really don’t think we could’ve moved forward without it,” Dean snarked.

“Bite me,” Sam answered.

“Alright, cut it out you two,” I scolded.

The waiter brought our food out and we spent the meal trying to come up with ideas of what we could be dealing with. We didn’t come up with much since we had so little information to go off of. Dean paid our bill and we were just heading out the door when something occurred to me.

“Oh! What if it’s a siren?” I suggested.

“A siren? From Greek mythology? Like in The Odyssey?” Dean asked.

“What?” Sam looked at his brother in surprise.

“What?” Dean asked, a little smug and a little offended.

“What do you know about sirens?” Sam asked me, moving past his shock at Dean’s knowledge.

“Not much,” I admitted. We reached the car and I climbed into my usual spot behind Sam. “All the vics have been couples though, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, turning in his seat to face me. “Is that important?”

“All I really know about sirens is that once they infect you they convince you to kill someone you love. The only siren case I’ve heard of had several husbands killing their wives before it was stopped. So maybe in this case once the men realize what they’ve done, they kill themselves.”

“Seems like the best theory we’ve come up with,” Dean said. He backed the Impala out of the parking spot and headed out of town towards the highway.

“Let’s get there and do some digging around before we settle on a theory,” Sam cautioned. “But say you’re right. How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve already given you the extent of my knowledge on the subject.”

“Okay. Well at least we have a starting point. We can look into it more if that still seems like the most likely scenario after we’ve investigated things a little bit,” Sam said.

Apparently deeming the conversation finished, Dean turned up the music. I leaned my head against the window and watched the road blurring by.

~~~~~

The bar we were at was crowded, the music was loud, and the guy I was talking to was cute. Not stop and stare cute, but cute enough that when he came over to where I was standing at the bar and started flirting, I flirted back.

“So how long are you in town for?” Cute guy asked. I vaguely noted Dean in my peripheral vision, making his way to the bar. If I’d been paying attention, I would have noticed how irritated he looked. But I was trying not to notice him. He and I were just friends and would never be more. I’d accepted that. It meant I couldn’t let myself be distracted by him when there was a guy standing right in front of me who was interested.

“Don’t know yet,” I answered, giving him my best flirty smile. “I’m definitely here for the night though.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean interrupted. “Come on Y/N. Sam’s waiting for us.”

“Woah, hey, come on man,” cute guy protested. “You can’t just come in here and force her to leave. We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“You were, were you? Sorry pal, but we’ve got important things to do. Go find someone else to bother.” Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me with him, away from the bar and towards the exit.

“Dean!” I hissed as I was forced to follow along behind him. “What is your problem?” I asked when we made it outside.

“What’s my problem?” Dean echoed, letting go of my arm and turning to face me. “What’s your problem? You know what we’re after here. What made you think it was a good idea to offer to go home with some random guy who for all we know could be the siren?”

I scoffed and started to walk towards the car, but Dean grabbed me again and pushed me up against the building. He stepped in close and put an arm on either side of my head, effectively caging me in.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It didn’t sound quite as irritated as I wanted it to. His close proximity mixed with the few drinks I’d downed had me too overwhelmed to hold on to my anger.

“Next time you’re wanting to scratch an itch in the middle of a case where the monster we’re after seduces people into murder, just save us the trouble and come to me instead,” he instructed. Then before I knew what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me.

I gasped in surprise and he used the opportunity to lick into my mouth. Finally catching up to what was happening, I wrapped my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair and eagerly kissing him back. I never could have predicted this, but I was so thrilled it was happening.

He made his way to my neck. He kissed a couple of different spots before finding a spot he liked and starting to suck and nip-

I woke up with a jolt and a gasp. I quickly took in my surroundings and realized I’d fallen asleep in the back of the Impala.

“You ok?” Dean asked, turning in his seat to look at me. I realized we were parked outside a motel. The engine turning off must have been what woke me. I briefly met his eyes and was immediately bombarded with the images from my dream.

“Yeah,” I told him. I managed to successfully fight the blush that tried to rise in the presence of the very man I’d just been dreaming about. It wasn’t the first time I’d had this sort of dream about the older Winchester. I doubted it would be the last.

Dean went inside to get us a room. We unloaded our bags and made a plan. We decided the boys would drop me off at the police station to talk to the sheriff while they went to question the medical examiner. We would meet at a diner a few blocks away from the police station when we were done.

“What’s the connection between all of these people?” I asked Sheriff Jones once I’d introduced myself and explained why I was there.

“Connection?” He asked.

“Yeah. This many murder suicides in this short of a time, there’s something going on here. Maybe you’re wrong about the suicide part and it’s just flat out murder. Maybe it’s some sort of messed up pact these people made. There has to be something that connects them though. So what is it?”

“As far as we can tell, there is no connection between any of them. Sometimes these things just happen,” he said.

“How long have you been sheriff?” I asked. He was starting to get up in age, probably in his mid to late 50s at a guess. I assumed he’d been a police officer for a long time.

“Almost 20 years,” he informed me proudly.

“And in those 20 years, how many times have you seen something like this? Three different couples killing each other and themselves. One after another.”

“Well… never,” he admitted.

“Right. So what’s the connection? Graduated from the same high school? Go to the same gym? In a bowling league together? There has to be something that connects them other than them all being married.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” Jones corrected.

“I was told they were,” I said.

“The last couple wasn’t. They were roommates, but as far as I’m aware, that’s as far as the relationship went.”

Damn. Did this throw a wrench in my siren theory? Not necessarily. Just because they weren’t together doesn’t mean one of them wasn’t secretly in love with the other. Or maybe they were really close and loved each other in a non romantic way.

“Great. I’m gonna need a list of close family and friends of all the victims,” I requested.

“What for?” He asked.

“To find the connection. You figure out the pattern, you have a chance of stopping it from happening again,” I said frustratedly. How were these idiots not investigating this further? Did they really believe it was just all a coincidence?

Jones gave me a list of names and I left. I scanned the list on my walk to the diner, trying to figure out where to start and how long it might take to talk to these people. I rounded a corner and ran into an extremely attractive man.

“Sorry!” I apologized as he nearly spilled the coffee he was carrying.

“No worries,” he said, flashing a charming smile. “No harm done.”

Had I not spent every day of the past three years sharing close quarters with the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life, I might have been caught off guard and turned into a mumbling mess. But my time with Dean mixed with the quick thinking and lying that was sometimes necessary for hunting meant I was able to keep it together.

“Still. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Well in that case, I was just on my way to get some lunch. How about you make it up to me by coming with?” He offered. It only took me a few seconds of consideration to make a decision.

“Sorry, but I’m busy. I’m on my way to meet a couple of colleagues for a kind of work lunch,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, maybe next time,” he smiled.

“Maybe,” I agreed, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time. I sighed as I continued my walk to the diner. He was awfully good looking. Under different circumstances, I probably would have taken him up on his offer.

I walked the last couple of blocks and noted that the familiar black car wasn’t in the parking lot. I went in, found an open table that would fit all three of us, and sat down. I had to wait about ten minutes before Sam and Dean walked in.

“Hey. What did you find out?” I asked once they were seated.

“Not much. There wasn’t anything unusual about the bodies as far as anyone could tell. The ME did say that based on the most recent body, she wondered if the suicides weren’t actually suicides though. She’s looking over the other two bodies again to see if it could have been staged to look like a suicide,” Sam told me.

“That qualifies as not much to you?” I asked. “I mean, granted it doesn’t really up the weird factor. But what if they missed something else too? Something they wouldn’t know to look for?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Dean said smugly.

“Whatever. I’m not having this discussion again,” Sam told his brother as the waiter came over. We rattled off our orders to him and waited for him to leave before continuing.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asked.

“No. I do have a list of people for us to talk to though,” I answered. I took the list out of the pocket I’d tucked it into after folding it up and handed it to Sam.

“What, the cops have a suspect list?” Dean asked.

“No,” I snorted. “Whether or not this ends up being our kind of case, I feel bad for the people in this town. Their idiot sheriff doesn’t even think it’s worth looking into. It’s an open and shut case as far as he’s concerned.”

“What’s your list then?” Dean questioned, leaning over to read over Sam’s shoulder.

“Close family and friends,” I answered. “I’m hoping we can figure out what connects them all.”

“Right,” Sam said. “It’s not like we can monitor every single married couple in this town on the off chance they might get murdered.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” I told him. “I guess the last two were just roommates.”

“There goes the siren theory,” Dean sighed.

“Not necessarily. It still could be,” I said.

“How?”

“Sirens don’t target married people specifically,” I explained. “They just make you kill someone you love.”

“So you’re saying they were living together as friends but secretly in love?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Love doesn’t have to be romantic.”

The waiter brought out our food and we made a plan as we ate. Dean wanted to check out the crime scenes first. Sam argued that we might get more information from talking to people. I wanted to side with Dean because I really wasn’t looking forward to interviewing ten different people, but I had to agree with Sam. Might as well get this part out of the way. We could look at the victims’ houses after.

~~~~~

Several hours and too many interviews full of crying loved ones later, we stood in our motel room going over the information we’d gathered today. The ME had called an hour ago and confirmed that it was flat out murder, not murder suicide. We hadn’t gotten any useful information out of any of the people we talked to today though, and we were all a little frustrated.

“Alright, well the roommate vics were extremely close,” Sam recapped, thinking out loud. “Which means Y/N’s theory on them loving each other pans out, leaving a siren as the most likely culprit. But how are we supposed to find it? We still don’t have anything that links these people together,” Sam grumbled.

“And why is it killing people?” I added. “Usually they leave the killing to their victims. Maybe we missed something.”

“Or,” Dean cut in, standing up from the chair he’d been in. “We'll find the answers we need at the crime scenes. Which I said we should look at four hours ago.”

“Yeah, Dean. We know,” Sam snapped.

“Let’s just figure out our next step,” I interjected.

“Maybe we should do some research on sirens. It would be easier to track it if we can figure out where they live, how they make people do what they want, that sort of thing,” Sam suggested.

“C’mon Sam, we’ve spent all day doing research on the victims. Now you’re telling me you want to do more research?” Dean complained. “What we should do is go to their houses. I’m telling you, if we want answers, that’s where we’ll find them.”

“Maybe, but we still have to know what we’re up against,” Sam pointed out. “Why don’t you and Y/N go check out the houses. I’ll stay here and research,” he suggested.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Dean said, satisfied with this compromise. He went outside and I heard the Impala’s engine roar to life a few seconds later.

Sam grabbed his laptop and settled in to work while I grabbed my coat.

“Let us know if you find anything,” I said. Sam assured me he would and then I followed Dean out the door.

We decided to split up to cover ground faster. Dean would drop me off at the first house and head to the second house himself. When he was done there he would pick me up and we would look at the last place together.

Dean parked outside the first house, a small blue one with a row of flowers planted along the front of it.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way back,” he told me as I was getting out of the car. He drove away and I walked into the house, ducking under the police tape strung up on the door.

The first room I walked through was the kitchen. Other than a few unwashed dishes in the sink, it was spotless. I knew the murders had happened in the bedroom, so I didn’t expect to see much in the rest of the house, but I was looking for any sort of clue that would lead us to the siren. I took a quick look at the pictures on the fridge but didn’t see anything that would help.

The next room was the living room which was also clean. A cursory scan of the room told me these two were huge movie fans. There were several movie posters hanging up on the walls, an entertainment center overflowing with DVDs, and a little box full of old movie tickets. I didn’t know how this could be a connection with the other couples, but it was clearly a big part of their lives, so it was worth making a mental note of. Other than that, I didn’t see much. A brochure for a yoga class stuck underneath a pile of magazines on the coffee table. A framed picture of the two skiing was hanging on the wall. I noticed a coffee mug with what I assumed was the name of a local bar printed on the side. I made another mental note of both the yoga class and the bar just in case.

Then I moved on to the bedroom. Even if I hadn’t known ahead of time what happened in here, it would have been pretty clear. There was a bloodstain on the bed and the blankets were rumpled, like there had been a struggle on top of them. One of the pillows was knocked on the floor. The nightstand on the left side of the bed had been knocked over, a picture frame shattered beside it. And there was a second blood stain on the cream carpet.

I braced myself, turning off the part of my brain that wanted to be horrified and turn away from the scene. I looked around the room for any sort of clue as to who the siren might be or where it might have gone. It would be a lot easier if I knew what exactly I was looking for. Sam was right. We should have done the research first.

After thoroughly searching the bedroom and the bathroom and finding nothing, I made my way back out of the house. I wasn’t quite ready to give up yet, but I was getting more doubtful that this wasn’t something the real FBI should be handling. I stepped back outside and saw the cute guy from earlier walking past. He heard the door close behind me and looked over.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answered as I walked towards him. “I do believe that’s a crime scene you just walked out of. Not exactly legal.”

“It is when you’re FBI,” I told him, pulling out my badge. It identified me as agent Y/N Perry.

“That explains why I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, not seeming overly surprised by the news.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“I live next door,” he told me. “I didn’t really know them. Terrible what happened though.”

“It is,” I agreed. My phone rang and I took it out of my pocket, seeing Sam’s name on the screen. I excused myself to answer it.

“Hey, Sam. What did you find?”

“Have you heard from Dean?” He asked urgently.

“No, why?” I asked, immediately worried. Before he could answer, everything went dark.

~~~~~

Sam’s POV

“What do you got, Sam?” Dean asked immediately upon answering my call.

“Not much, but I think I’m starting to figure out more about this siren,” I told him. I hadn’t had time to gather much information yet, but what I had found mixed with a quick phone call to the ME was starting to clear things up.

“Like what?”

“So get this. When sirens… put you under their spell or whatever, it leaves high levels of a hormone called oxytocin in your blood.”

“So?”

“So, I called the ME and asked her about it. There were high traces in three of the victims. The female victims. For whatever reason, this siren is going after the women, not the men.”

“Son of a bitch! Please tell me you called Y/N before you called me,” Dean said.

“Why? Aren’t you together?”

“No,” Dean growled out in a tone of voice that suggested stress and frustration. “We split up to move faster.”

“Alright. Well don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll call her now,” I said, trying to calm him.

“I’m going back to get her. I’ll call her on the way.”

Before I could argue that he was already worked up enough and should just focus on driving I heard a thump, Dean grunting, and then the sound of his phone clattering on the ground.

“Dean!” I yelled. No response. I hung up and headed outside. I needed to find a car. Once I had one ready to go, I started driving to the closest address on the list.

~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

The first thing that registered in my mind was the way my body was shaking. I heard a distant voice calling my name as consciousness slowly found me. It took a few seconds for me to fully wake up and process what was happening. The shaking was due to the hand on my shoulder, trying to jostle me into consciousness. The voice was Dean’s, and it wasn’t distant. It was right in front of me.

My head was pounding. I tried to remember what happened. I was outside waiting for Dean. Sam called. Then what?

“Y/N!” Dean said a little louder. I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again, hissing at the pain that shot through my skull from the bright light in the room. Someone must have hit me over the head. Who? No one else had even been around. Except for that guy I bumped into earlier. He must be the siren then.

I felt a surge of frustration at my stupidity. How did I miss it? I knew it was weird that he just happened to be outside that house.

“C’mon. We should get out of here,” Dean encouraged, pulling me to my feet.

“Just a minute,” I pleaded as a wave of dizziness rushed over me upon standing. I braced my hand on the wall beside me.

“What happened?” He asked. “You didn’t answer the phone.”

Once the dizziness passed, I slowly opened my eyes. The pounding in my head was intense, but it was more manageable when I took things slow.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Who, the siren? Dead,” he told me. That was good news I guess. I didn’t know how much help I’d be in a fight right now. He was almost entirely supporting my weight. Then something occurred to me.

“How?” I asked, looking up at his face. “We don’t know how to kill them.”

“Well I had a machete with me. I couldn’t walk in here completely defenseless. When I saw him standing over you, I cut his head off. Apparently that’s all it takes,” he explained.

I looked around the room, searching for the body, and realized this was the house of the first murdered couple. We were in the living room.

“He brought me in here?” I asked.

“Well. It was close by. And there isn’t much chance of anyone walking in. Made it easy for me to find you, too. How are you feeling? Ready to go?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I told him. My head was still pounding, but the dizziness was gone.

“Good,” he said, carefully turning me to face him. “I was really worried about you.” Then he kissed me.

I so badly wanted to be able to enjoy this. I’d dreamed about it so many times but never imagined I’d ever build up the courage to tell him how I felt. Or that my feelings would be reciprocated.

I placed one hand on the back of his neck and gave myself a couple of seconds to be sure my balance was good. Then in one quick motion I stepped to the side and used the hand around his neck to shove him face first into the wall.

“Ow! What the hell?!” He yelled, clutching a hand to his bleeding nose.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, watching closely for any indication he was about to run or attack.

“I am Dean!” He insisted. He held a hand out placatingly and took a step towards me.

“Stay back,” I warned him. I reached into my boot and grabbed the silver knife I kept there at all times. “I know a shapeshifter when I see one.”

He dropped his hands and stood up straighter, a cocky smile gracing his mouth. He started to walk in a slow circle around me.

“What gave me away?” He asked casually.

“A few things,” I answered, rotating my body to keep him directly in front of me at all times.

“Like?”

“Where’s Dean?” I asked again.

“Oh, he’s fine for now. Just a little tied up at the moment,” he smirked.

I lunged for him, hoping to catch him by surprise. He easily blocked the knife I had aimed directly at his heart and threw a punch that caught me in the stomach. The force of the blow knocked the breath out of me, but I recovered quickly and slashed out with the knife at the hand that was reaching for my hair. He hissed in pain and quickly withdrew his hand.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the fake Dean growled. “You know you can’t win. Might as well save yourself some of the pain.”

My head was killing me and the dizziness was threatening to return and become a very serious problem. I waited for his next attack. I didn’t have to wait long. I saw his muscles tense to move and then he closed the distance between us quickly.

He reached out for the hand that was holding the knife, trying to force it out of my grip without touching it. I took advantage of the way he focused on the knife to kick his knee as hard as I could. His knee buckled and I used all the strength I had to push him into the wall behind him. I pressed the knife to his throat.

“Where is Dean?” I demanded.

“What gave me away?” He asked again. I couldn’t believe the arrogance. Did he really not care about anything but the fact that I’d seen through him?

“I’m not going to ask again,” I threatened, pressing the knife just a little harder into his skin. “Where is he?”

“Quid pro quo,” he offered. “Answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

I seriously debated just killing him, but decided to humor him just this once. He wasn’t going anywhere and I’d get the answer out of him one way or another.

“First of all, Dean wouldn’t just sit there waiting for me to wake up. He would have just carried me out. Secondly, he has a scratch on his jaw that hasn’t healed all the way yet. That particular scratch is missing from your face. Third, if he’s not sure which weapon to bring with, he always chooses his gun. Silver kills a lot of things, so it’s usually the safest bet. Also, where’s the body? You said you killed the siren, but there isn’t a body. And as far as that goes, you don’t have a machete either.”

“Hmm. You’re observant,” he said. “Not observant enough though. Otherwise you probably would have seen this coming.”

His hand shot up and grabbed my wrist, pushing the knife away from his neck. He pressed hard on the tendons there until I was forced to drop the knife. Then he spun us around, pressing me up against the wall. He pinned both of my wrists to the wall and leaned in close, his breath brushing my face.

“Now this seems more familiar, doesn’t it?” He smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat.

“No?” He mocked, pressing his cheek to mine and talking directly into my ear. “You’ve never dreamed about Dean pressing you into the nearest wall and kissing you breathless? I think you have. Many times. As recently as just a few hours ago.”

I whipped my head to the side to look at him. He grinned triumphantly.

“That’s right. I’ve been inside your head. I know exactly how you feel about this pretty boy of yours.”

I bristled at the way he had stolen Dean’s face, tried to use it against me, and was now flaunting that fact.

“You don’t know anything,” I spat. He just continued as if I hadn’t said anything.

“That’s why I chose you. It was pure coincidence running into you, but you’re a very attractive woman, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Give what a shot? Murder? News flash, you’ve already done that. I’d suggest branching out and finding a new hobby.” I pushed lightly against his hands, testing the possibility of breaking free. That wasn’t an option. He was holding on tight, and I wouldn’t be able to beat him in a battle of strength.

He smiled and kept ignoring me.

“You see, I had to turn into you first to get in your head and see if you fit what I was looking for. It was a shock, of course, to find out that you’re a hunter. But it turns out you did fit my needs, and you and your friends were so far off the mark, I knew I’d be safe enough.”

“What do you mean, I fit your needs?” I asked. I had a plan to escape his hold, but as long as he was content to talk, I wanted answers.

“Well you’re in love of course,” he said.

“So?” I didn’t bother denying it. Like he said, he’d already been in my head.

“So,” he answered as if I was being extremely stupid. “Isn’t it so much better being with someone when you’re in love?”

I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. Being with someone? What was he talking about? What did it have to do with murder?

I felt a wave of horror and disgust wash over me as I understood his meaning. He’d posed as the men the women were in love with and slept with them before murdering them both.

“If it’s any consolation, they died happy,” he told me. “Well,” he amended. “The women did, anyway.”

“So what?” I snarled. “You thought you’d come in here looking like Dean and I’d just take my clothes off for you? Just like that?”

“Well, not just like that. But I figured you’d be willing enough once I had some time to convince you.”

I remembered how he had kissed me before. I assume that was the kind of convincing he was referring to.

“We still could, you know,” he offered. He brushed his lips gently against mine and I jerked away. “You can pretend I’m him and I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted.”

“Right before you kill me, you mean?”

“Well obviously I can’t let you live,” he said.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said. I drove my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch. He may not have been entirely human, but he still went down as hard as any human man.

I dropped down to pick up my knife, doing my best to ignore the pain the quick movement caused in my head. I didn’t give the shapeshifter time to recover. I immediately turned to him and drove the knife into his heart. He gasped in shock and pain and then collapsed, unmoving.

I rose to my feet and made my way – a little unsteadily – out of the house. I was pretty sure I had a concussion and that fight had taken all the strength and energy I could muster. As I stepped out of the house, a car came screeching down the road and parked next to the only other car on the street. I didn’t know if I could really handle it, but I prepared myself for another fight.

The driver door opened and a tall man stepped out. Sam, I realized when he called my name. And the car he was in was the Impala. How had he gotten it? Sam ran over to me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Are you ok? What happened?” He asked.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, ignoring his questions.

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for both of you,” Sam said. “I found Dean’s car at the second house, but no sign of him. I was hoping I’d find him here with you.”

Just then we heard a muffled banging noise coming from the other car on the street.

“Stay here,” Sam told me, drawing his gun as he walked towards it. I was in no position to argue seeing as the dizziness was returning and I was struggling to keep my balance. He stopped by the trunk of the car. “Dean?”

“Sam! Get me out of here,” I heard Dean say from inside.

“Just a second,” Sam breathed out in relief. He tucked his gun back into his jeans and went around to the front of the car in search of the keys. He pulled them out of the ignition and then opened the trunk. Dean jumped out, fuming. He was down to just jeans and a t-shirt, the shifter having stolen the rest of his usual layers.

“Where is it? I’m gonna kill it,” he seethed, marching towards the house. He paused momentarily when he saw me swaying on the sidewalk and then hurried over to me. He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and put his own around my waist to help me stay balanced.

“What happened? Did the siren do something to you? Where is it?” He asked.

“It was a shapeshifter, not a siren,” I told both him and Sam who had followed close behind his brother.

“Was?” Sam questioned.

“It’s dead,” I said.

“That explains why my clothes are gone,” Dean said irritatedly. “Why is it that we seem to be leaving behind a trail of shapeshifter bodies wearing my face?”

“Well, you’re an objectively good looking guy. Maybe they just can’t resist all the girls they know they’ll get with a face like that,” I teased.

“Alright, well you’re obviously in even worse shape than I thought,” Dean said, half teasing half genuinely worried. I guess I haven’t ever said anything to him before about him being attractive. This concussion was loosening my tongue apparently. “Sam, you mind getting the body? I’m gonna get Wobbly here to the car.”

“Why can’t we just leave it?” Sam asked.

“Because I want my clothes back for one thing,” Dean replied. “And for another, I don’t want to be blamed for yet another set of murders.”

“Good point,” Sam agreed. He headed for the house.

Dean turned us towards the car and the movement caused me to trip a little on my own feet. The adrenaline was fading away, leaving me helpless to fight off the dizziness that I thought had disappeared.

Rather than let me stumble my way to the car, Dean moved the arm he had around my waist a little higher on my back and put his other arm under my knees, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me. I couldn’t be bothered to keep my head held up and rested it against his chest.

“What happened?” he asked, referring to my balance issues.

“He caught me by surprise and hit me over the head. I think I have a concussion.”

“You thought he was me, so you didn’t see it coming,” Dean said. He adjusted my weight so he was able to open the car door.

“No. He looked like someone else. I turned my back to take a call and he hit me. When I woke up he was pretending to be you,” I explained.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he sighed as he gently set me down, careful not to hit my head.

“Why?” I wondered.

“He took me out too. Only I didn’t even know he was there. If I’d been paying attention better, I could have stopped him before he got to you,” Dean said, ashamed.

“Not everything is your fault, you know,” I told him. I saw Sam step out of the house, a large body tossed over his shoulder. “This isn’t on you. And it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s over.”

I could tell he didn’t agree with me and he would beat himself up over this for a while. But he left to open the trunk for Sam and I was too exhausted to try and convince him otherwise.

~~~~~

An hour later Sam was watching over me while Dean went to take care of the body. I sat on the lumpy couch and held a bag of frozen peas to the back of my head in an attempt to bring down the swelling. I’d taken Ibuprofen as soon as we got to the motel and both the headache and the dizziness were slowly starting to fade. I’m sure finally sitting still helped the situation too.

“Why do you think it killed them?” Sam wondered aloud. “I mean, how did he choose his victims?”

“He chose women that he considered beautiful and that were in love. He turned into the man they loved and when he was done with them, he killed them,” I answered even though he hadn’t actually been expecting an explanation.

“He told you?” He asked, surprised.

“In way too much detail,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

“You know what I don’t get? If it wasn’t a siren then where did the oxytocin come from?”

“The what?” I asked.

“Oxytocin. It’s a hormone that sirens infect you with,” he explained. “Actually, Dean was on his way to warn you when he got ambushed. I told him that all the women had high levels and so it looked like they were the ones being targeted.”

My face drained of blood at the reminder of what that thing had done to those women. Of what he’d tried to do to me.

“I know what it is,” I told him. “And it’s not specific to sirens. It’s a naturally occurring hormone in the body. Ever heard of the love hormone?” At his nod I continued. “It occurs during childbirth, breastfeeding… and sex. That’s why he wanted women that were in love. He said it’s so much better that way.”

Understanding showed on his face alongside a mix of horror and protective anger.

“Y/N… he didn’t?”

“No,” I assured him quickly. “Not me anyway. I figured out what he was too quickly.”

Relief replaced the other emotions on his face and he stayed silent as he processed this new information. Then he wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“You said he chose women that were in love,” he said.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“So why did he go after you?”

I was practiced enough at hiding my feelings for the older Winchester from both brothers that I didn’t even have to hesitate to come up with an explanation.

“I guess he found me attractive. Per his usual pattern, he turned into me to see if I was in love with anyone and found out pretty quickly that I’m a hunter.”

“Then why did he turn into Dean?” He asked.

“He was pretending to rescue me,” I answered.

“Right, but why? What’s the point? If he wanted you dead, he had the chance. There was no reason for him to mess with you that way.”

I didn’t have a reasonable explanation for this, so I stayed quiet.

“He wasn’t just going after you because you’re a hunter. You fit the profile he was after and he wanted to-” he cut himself off and considered his wording. “He wanted to… complete his usual pattern. Because you’re in love with Dean,” he surmised, smiling a little bit at this conclusion.

I decided silence was the best option here. I couldn’t possibly contradict his completely accurate deduction. I wouldn’t outright confirm it for him, but I wasn’t going to deny what we both knew to be true.

“Y/N.”

More silence.

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it,” he promised. I sighed.

“You know you’re not,” I told him.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” He asked.

“There’s nothing to do about it,” I answered. “He doesn’t see me that way. And that’s fine. I’ve accepted it.”

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same if you don’t tell him?”

“Sam, I’m really not in any condition to do anything to you right now, but I swear if you say anything to him, there’s going to be hell to pay in a couple of days,” I warned.

“I’m not going to say anything,” he said, offended by my assumption. “But I really think you should tell him. You guys are so great together. I think you would be good for each other. And I would be very happy for you.”

“Thanks, I guess. My head hurts too much to even consider thinking about this right now,” I told him.

“Alright, fine. I’ll let it go,” he conceded. “For now.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After that we sat in companionable silence while we waited for Dean to get back. Sam turned the TV on. I closed my eyes to block out the light and just listened to it, finding it to be a suitable distraction from the day’s events.

Dean got back probably twenty minutes later by my estimation.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asked as soon as the door was shut behind him.

“A little better,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. He took the peas from my hand and gently felt the lump that had formed on the back of my head. “I think the swelling might actually be going down a little bit.”

He took the now room temperature peas to the freezer and switched them out for a fresh bag. He handed it to me and then sat down beside me, putting his arm around me.

“Is this ok?” He asked. He didn’t know the details that Sam did about the shapeshifter’s intentions, but he knew that I had been attacked today by a guy wearing his face.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” I told him. “I know it wasn’t you. For the record, I knew the whole time it wasn’t you. I’m fine. I’m not traumatized and I’m not afraid of you.”

“A simple yes would have been fine,” he teased, pulling me closer into his side.

Movement from Sam’s direction had me glancing at him. He just smiled at me, looking meaningfully at Dean and then winking at me. I would have rolled my eyes if the action wouldn’t hurt my head. Instead I pointedly looked away from him. Things with me and Dean were fine the way they were. I wasn’t going to mess it up now just because Sam knew about my feelings.

A romantic relationship with Dean was something I wanted, but not something I needed. This right here – sitting together with my two best friends, knowing that even though I was temporarily unable to defend myself should it be necessary I was still safe and protected – this was all I needed. At least, that’s what I’d continue to tell myself.

Chapter 2

Tags:

@123passwort

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #familiar #reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester #case fic #monster of the week #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x platonic!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x platonic!reader #writing prompt

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juiceinpanties · 2 years

Text

A Proper S'more

Pairing: Eddie Munson/afab!reader

Rating(s): E

Words: ~3k

Tags: smut!, humping, nipple play, semi-public sexual activity, drug use (just some pot), flirting through food, friends to lovers, established friendship

Summary: Your best friend Eddie Munson invites you camping, and while you're reluctant at first, you realize this might be just the chance you need to finally show him how you feel.

Notes: I was rage-inspired by the TERRIBLE take on s'mores they recently featured on Great British Bake-Off. Pretty sure this is the first time the British have inspired hot, sexy smut. Thanks as always to @tonybourdain for her invaluable help as beta, idea bouncer-off-ofer, and just all around wonderful and amazing human.

This is meant as a one-shot, but if y'all want I can add more.

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated and PLEASE reblog if you can! It's how posts spread around here; likes are appreciated, but they do nothing to boost interaction. :)

part 1 | part 2

In case you wanna read on Ao3 instead

“Camping?” You blink at him, confused. “Eddie, you hate camping.”

He scowls and kicks at the ground. “Yeah, I do, but Henderson and his friends wanna go, but their parents want some older kids to go to make sure they don’t set the woods on fire or something.”

You lift a brow, struggling not to grin. “And they nominated you?”

He smirks a little. “Dustin’s mom loves me.”

“Uh huh, I bet.” He's weirdly popular with moms, even your own. You'd think the whole metalhead thing would be a turn off, but they seem to like it.

It works for you, so maybe you shouldn't be that surprised.

“Look, Nancy and Steve are going, but I don’t wanna third wheel it. They’ll be makin’ goo goo eyes at each other all night.” He rolls his own eyes, then gives you puppy face. “Pllleaaase? I’ll be your best friend!”

“You’re already my best friend, doofus.” You sigh. “But fine. I’ll go. Anything to get out of a weekend with my parents’ passive-aggressive bullshit.”

“Fuck yeah!” He lifts your hand so he can high five you (you’re known to leave him hanging) and spends a few seconds jumping around before he comes back to you. “Okay, so, Saturday morning we’re meeting at the lake and then hiking to the campsite. It’s not too far, but far enough to feel like the wilderness. Should I pick you up?”

“Sure,” you say, amused by his excitement. “Anything special I should bring? Besides the obvious.”

“Junk food.”

“You don’t have that covered?”

He shrugs. “I’ll bring some stuff, but I like the way your mind works, snack-wise. That snack mix you brought at Christmas? Blew my fucking mind.”

“My aunt makes that, so I won’t be bringing it, but I’ll come with something good. Now we both have class, and you can’t cut again. I’ll see you after for Hellfire.” You say your goodbyes and head to class.

Maybe camping with Eddie Munson and a band of young miscreants isn't a great idea. The kids you're not worried about, but Eddie? Alone in the dark woods with Eddie? Okay, not alone, but...

What if Nancy and Steve decide to share a tent? Will you be sharing with Eddie? Maybe it's a sign: this is the time to finally make your move. You can roll over in your little shared tent and kiss him and slide your hand down his shorts and—okay, whoa, you're at school. Save thoughts like that for tonight, in bed, by yourself.

Today, math class. Saturday, possibly finally making a move on your best friend.

Eddie picks you up bright and early Saturday morning, and he's more or less dressed for hiking: that is, boots instead of his usual Reeboks, and his long hair is pulled back with one of his many bandanas. He also left his bigger rings at home, which makes him look almost naked.

"Hey!" he says. "Lookin' good, Camper Bob!"

You roll your eyes. "Such a dweeb," you say, but with affection. You're wearing a t shirt and jean shorts, plus hiking boots and a jean jacket. It'll be much cooler tonight, but for now it's warm, and hiking in jeans is always a mistake.

He helps you stow your pack in the back, then you hop in and you're off.

Everyone's already at the lake when you get there, and it's chaos. How can so few people make so much noise?! You give Eddie a Look, and he wades in.

"Alright, alright! Pay attention! Boy Scout Steve is leading this dog and pony show, so listen to him and don't be little shits! We're here to enjoy nature, and you can't do that if you can't keep the volume below a dull roar. So shut the fuck up for 5 minutes and look around!"

You muffle a giggle behind your hand and share a grin with Nancy. Steve is rolling his eyes and grimacing, but he loves this shit. He takes his place at the front of the group and gets everyone organized for the hike. Finally, after what feels like forever, you set off into the woods.

You hike until mid-afternoon, and by the time you stop everyone's tired and cranky. Steve gets people setting up tents and digging pits for fires while you, Eddie, and Nancy organize the food. There are enough hot dogs to feed an army, plenty of chips, baked beans (gross), and...

"Fuck yeah, s'mores!" Eddie says.

"Thought you'd like that," you say. You add another bag of marshmallows to the pile and his grin widens.

"You know, that'll go perfectly with this," he says and pulls a baggie from his jacket pocket.

Nancy's eyes widen a little. "We can't give that to the kids!"

Eddie makes a face. "I don't give kids drugs, Nance. It's for us! The more-or-less grownups."

"I'm in," you say with a shrug. "I need it after today."

"Knew I could count on you, pumpkin patch."

The two of you have this old running joke in your friendship: you are firm in your belief that he's actually a human Muppet, and nickname him accordingly. As a sort of payback (he has a rep to maintain, and "human Muppet" is not it) he comes up with the weirdest, most random shit he can think of to call you. This is a new one.

"What does that mean?" you say.

He shrugs and stuffs the bag away. "I dunno. It's fall. Pumpkins. It made sense in my head!"

"Weird things make sense in your head, Grove."

"That's the truth," he says with an unbothered grin. "Lemme go help Steve with the fire."

It's dark. Everyone's fed. The kids are around the fire telling scary stories. Eddie gives you a subtle nod and the four of you wander off to sample his product.

"This is probably a terrible idea," Steve says as he puffs and coughs, then passes the joint to Nancy. "We're responsible for these kids!"

"They're 14, Steve, not 6," Nancy says. She takes a delicate puff before handing it to you.

"They seem pretty good at handling themselves," Eddie says. The night's turned chilly, especially away from the fire, and he has his arm thrown around you in easy camaraderie. He's gained a little weight recently; still skinny, but not a rail; and it looks good on him. Feels good too, you note as you lean into him.

He takes the joint from you and inhales deeply before handing it off to Steve. He nuzzles your hair. It smells like wood smoke and leaves and under that, your usual shampoo. He tries to keep his eyes off your bare legs, but it's a struggle. "Not so bad, huh? Camping?"

You look up at him with a little smile. "I could learn to like it. Maybe."

You continue passing the joint around until it's nearly gone. Eddie carefully puts it out and adds it to the Sucrets tin he carries, then you head back toward the group. He grabs your hand and pulls you close. "C'mon, it's s'mores time," he says.

"Oh god I could murder a s'more!"

"Did someone say s'mores?" Dustin says.

"Grab sticks," Steve tells them. "It's time for marshmallows!"

He tosses the bags to Nancy and they all scatter to find roasting sticks. Soon you're back, stick in hand, eager for a roasted marshmallow-and-chocolate treat.

Nancy hands you a couple of marshmallows and you drop down onto a rock next to Eddie. "Burnt or bust," you tell him, and thrust your marshmallow-laden stick into the fire.

He laughs and does the same. Your marshmallows catch fire at the same time and you quickly pull yours out to blow out the flame. It's black and brown on the outside, oozy on the inside, and when you smash it between the chocolate and graham cracker, it goes everywhere.

"Oop!" You hastily lick trailing bits of marshmallow off your fingers and down your wrist, and when you look up Eddie's eyeing you, his own stick forgotten in his hand. "What?" you say.

"Nothing." He dips his head back to assembling his s'more. "Nope, nothing at all."

You lift a brow. That was...interesting. You aren't blind: you know Eddie checks you out from time to time. Or at least you hope so, but sometimes you think it's just wishful thinking. That clearly wasn't. Apparently sucking sticky sweet mess off your fingers is the way to his heart. Or at least his boner.

You squish your s'more together and take a bite, and of course chocolate smears on your lips and all over your fingers. You make a little noise of protest and start to suck your fingers clean again, and when you look over Eddie once again can't take his eyes off of you.

"Munson," you say with a little grin. "Are you going to stare or help?"

"Help?" he says, his voice breaking a little. "Help with what?"

"The mess I'm making. And look!" You point at his little marshmallow sandwich. Chocolate is dripping onto the back of his hand. "Silly," you say. You lean in and carefully lick the chocolate off his skin.

He freezes. You licked him. With your tongue. Now you're sucking more chocolate and marshmallow of your hands and fingers, all while looking right at him. Marshmallow. Long, melted strings of white that ooze just like—

No! Nope. No. He is NOT going to think of you and come in the same sentence. Your little pink tongue darting out over your full pink lips, licking the white off with a happy noise that he feels right in the cock.

He carefully sets his own uneaten s'more aside and grabs you. "C'mere," he says, voice rough.

"Eddie—!"

He pulls you into the woods, away from the noise of the kids and the heat of the fire, and pushes you against a tree. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and he looks down with a frown of concentration between his brows.

"You're kinda evil," he says.

"What the hell are you doing?" you breathe. Your heart is pounding, your cheeks flushed, and you still have marshmallow and chocolate on your fingers.

As though reading your mind, he grabs one of your hands and carefully sucks a finger into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, licking and sucking every bit of sweet off your skin, and you feel your knees go weak. You let out a soft moan and lean against the tree to support you.

He does the same thing to each finger and even your thumb, and by the time he's through you're panting and squirming. He rubs his thumb across your lower lip, tugging it a bit, and smiles at you. "Maybe I should get you back to camp," he murmurs. "You look a little...out of it."

"Oh shut up," you breathe. You grab his shirt and pull him in for a kiss.

His hand slips around to the small of your back while the other grips your bare thigh below your shorts. Your arms go around his neck and you're biting and sucking his full, gorgeous lips. "Eddie," you breathe. "Is this why you brought me camping?"

"What, to make out in the woods?" He shrugs a little. "No, but it's a really nice bonus."

You laugh as he kisses you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth and swirling against yours. He presses his hips into you and you slide your knee up against his thighs.

"Mmmm what's that?" you whisper. "A roasting stick in your pocket?"

"Not exactly," he says. He rocks against you just right, so that the bulge of his erection rubs you through all your layers of clothing. You bite down on your lip to muffle a whimper and he kisses you again, harder. "Goddamn I've wanted you forever, baby. To touch you and taste you and make you moan my name."

He rubs his thumb over your lip again. You're looking up at him with big, dazed eyes, pupils blown and mouth soft and swollen. He slowly reaches down to unzip your shorts. "You can stop me," he says.

You shake your head. "Don't stop, Eddie," you breathe. "I've wanted you too. I never—I was afraid to say anything, but—please?"

He kisses you hard and shoves your shorts down to your ankles. You kick them away as he drops to his knees and kisses your thighs. He bites. Sucks. You bury both hands in his hair and try to keep breathing.

He kisses his way up your body, completely ignoring your panties, and pushes your shirt up. He tugs the cups of your bra down and spends ages licking and sucking your nipples. He switches back and forth between them until they're both swollen and aching and you're wiggling against the tree.

"Eddie, please!"

"Please what, princess?" he murmurs, lashing his tongue back and forth across your nipple while he squeezes your tits with both hands. "Tell me what you want."

"My pussy! Please!" you gasp. "I'm so wet! I need you!"

"Fuck!" he rasps. He kisses your tummy. "Whatever you need, baby." He grips your hips and kisses just above your panties. Your head falls back on a quiet moan, but the tree's closer than you thought.

"Ow!" you say, sharply.

"Babe?" He jumps to his feet, but it's too fast. He reaches out to grab you, but you're a little dizzy from smacking your head, and you both end up tumbling to the forest floor.

You lie there a moment sprawled out on top of him, shorts off, tits out, and then you start to giggle. He barks out a laugh and soon you're both laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You move a little, your legs falling to either side of his hips so that you're straddling him, and you're both still laughing and gasping.

You rock your hips, and the next breath he sucks in is entirely different. "Babe—"

"Shhh. I can feel you, Eddie. Mmmmm you're so hard for me!"

He gets over his surprise quickly and grabs your hips again, this time to guide you as you move. "Yeah, princess. All for you. I swear to god every erection I've had for the last two years has been for you." He laughs. "And there've been a lot of 'em."

"Mmmm bad boy," you breathe. You rest your hands on his chest and grind against his erection. The rough material of his jeans makes your panties slip and slide along your dripping slit just right.

"Fuck, baby, that feels so fucking good! Don't stop!"

You lean down to kiss him, changing the angle just right, and he rubs his hands over your ass. You love the feel of his guitar callouses, how soft his palms are. "Eddie!" you gasp against his mouth. "God, Eddie, I'm so wet!"

He groans. "For me, princess? Is that all for me?"

"Uh huh, every drop! Fuck, I need—!" You rock faster, grind against him harder. You can't believe you're just out in the woods humping Eddie Munson's erection through his jeans. You feel wanton and incredible and you know you're close.

"Take what you need, angel," he breathes. "Anything you need. You gonna come, baby?"

"Uh huh!" you whimper. "Oh god Eddie oh fuck!"

"Good girl, fuck, that's so hot, you're so fuckin' hot! Take it, baby, come for me!" he mumbles in your ear, his breath hot and his words slurred by his own need for you.

"Eddie!!" you cry, a little louder than you intended, and the orgasm takes you. He holds you down against him while he bucks his hips to drive you higher and higher.

"Good girl," he says, almost a moan. "Good girl!"

You finally start to come down from it and fall against his chest. He kisses your temple, runs his hands through your hair. You lift your head to give him a long, easy kiss. "Your turn," you murmur.

"Fuck!" he gasps, and you're just starting to work your way down when you hear a familiar voice echoing through the woods.

Calling your name. Then, "Eddie!"

Your eyes widen. "Oh fuck!" You scramble to your feet and cast around for your shorts. Your panties are soaked and sticking to you, but there's not much you can do about it.

Eddie jumps up as the voice gets closer and helps you fix your bra and top, tug your shorts on and zip them up. You're barely decent when the flashlights bob into view and Steve and Dustin appear in the little clearing.

"Shit, there you are," Steve says. "We thought you got lost."

"Nope!" you say. You run both hands through your mussed hair. "No, just ate a bit too much. Needed some fresh air away from the fire."

"Dude!" Dustin says. He has his light trained on Eddie's crotch. Luckily his erection has gone down, but... "Did you piss yourself?!" he says around barely-contained laughter.

"What?!" He glances down and sees the big wet spot you left on his jeans. You feel your face catch fire.

"You did! You pissed yourself! I gotta tell everybody!"

"I didn't piss myself, Henderson!" Eddie says. "I spilled my flask."

Dustin shines the light in Eddie's face, and he winces away from it. "You brought alcohol and drugs on a camping trip with minors? Edward Munson!"

"How did you know about the drugs?!" Eddie says.

Dustin shrugs. "I've got a nose, dude."

"Okay, okay," Steve says. "Let's get back. You feeling better?" he says to you.

You glance at Eddie. "Much!" you say. "Eddie?"

"Feelin' great," he mumbles. "Hate that I spilled my flask."

Dustin just rolls his eyes and turns back toward camp. You fall in next to him while Steve and Eddie bring up the rear.

Steve nudges him. "You really spill your flask?" he mutters.

"Left my flask at home," Eddie says. "But I had to think of somethin'!"

"Uh huh." Steve's trying not to laugh. "That you or her?"

Eddie doesn't say anything, just looks away with a shrug. "I don't kiss and tell, man. But." He frowns and carefully adjusts himself. "It ain't me."

Steve muffles a bark of laughter in the crook of his elbow. "Okay then. Nancy owes me ten bucks."

"What?!"

"We had a bet that you two would hook up on this trip. I said yeah, she said no. I knew I'd win."

"Jesus," Eddie says, but he's struggling not to grin. He got the girl! For once in his life. You glance back at him with a soft, pretty smile, and his grin breaks through.

Yeah, he thinks he could probably get used to camping too.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #meg wrote this #stfic #emfic

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