#how to write smut

[intermundia]

this is the single worst way i've ever read to describe an erection, frank herbert

[urfriendlywriter]

How to write smut ?

(@urfriendlywriter | req by @rbsstuff @yourlocalmerchgirl anyone under the appropriate age, please proceed with caution :') hope this helps guys! )

writing smut depends on each person's writing style but i think there's something so gut-wrenchingly beautiful about smut when it's not very graphic and vivid. like., would this turn on a reader more?

"he kissed her, pulling her body closer to him."

or this?

"His lips felt so familiar it hurt her heart. His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed. She let herself sink into his embrace as his hands flattened against her spine. He drew her closer."

(Before proceeding further, these are all "in my opinion" what I think would make it better. Apply parts of the advice you like and neglect the aspects you do not agree with it. Once again I'm not saying you have to follow a certain type of style to write smut! Creative freedom exists for a reason!)

One may like either the top or the bottom one better, but it totally depends on your writing to make it work. Neither is bad, but the second example is more flattering, talking literally. (Here is me an year after writing this post, i think, either is amazing, depending on the context. the type of book you're writing, your writing style and preferences!)

express one's sensory feelings, and the readers will automatically know what's happening.

writing, "her walls clenched against him, her breath hitching with his every thrust" is better than writing, "she was about to cum".

(edit: once again, hi, it's me. Either is amazing depending on ur writing style. Everything at the end is about taste.)

here are some vocabulary you can introduce in your writing:

whimpered, whispered, breathed lightly, stuttered, groaned, grunted, yearned, whined, ached, clenched, coaxed, cried out, heaved, hissed

shivering, shuddering, curling up against one's body, squirming, squirting, touching, teasing, taunting, guiding, kneeling, begging, pining, pinching, grinding,

swallowing, panting, sucking in a sharp breath, thrusting, moving gently, gripped, biting, quivering,

nibbling, tugging, pressing, licking, flicking, sucking, panting, gritting, exhaling in short breaths,

wet kisses, brushing soft kisses across their body (yk where), licking, sucking, teasing, tracing, tickling, bucking hips, forcing one on their knees

holding hips, guiding the one on top, moving aimlessly, mindlessly, sounds they make turn insanely beautiful, sinful to listen to

some adverbs to use: desperately, hurriedly, knowingly, teasingly, tauntingly, aimlessly, shamelessly, breathlessly, passionately, delicately, hungrily

he sighed with pleasure

her skin flushed

he shuddered when her body moved against his

he planted kisses along her jawline

her lips turned red, messy, kissed and flushed.

his hands were on his hair, pulling him.

light touches traveled down his back

words were coiled at his throat, coming out as broken sobs, wanting more

he arched his back, his breath quivering

her legs parted, sinking into the other's body, encircling around their waist.

+ mention the position, how they're being moved around---are they face down, kneeling, or standing, or on top or on bottom--it's really helpful to give a clear picture.

+ use lustful talk, slow seduction, teasing touches, erratic breathing, give the readers all while also giving them nothing. make them yearn but DO NOT PROLONG IT.

sources to refer to for more:

gesture that gets me on my knees !!

(more to comeee, check out my hot or kisses prompts on my master list!)

[starryslyii]

When you finish writing a spicy scene and immediately consider changing your name, deleting your blog, and moving to a small cottage in the woods.

[naomiarai]

smut ─── (18+)

thinking about morning sex with caleb; you straddling him as his large hands rest on your hips, drawing shapes as you squeeze his length buried inside of you. it’s only 6 in the morning, but could you really deny him, when his hard was pressed against you while sleeping?

caleb’s hands start to roam over your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. he curses under his breath when you clench around him, swallowing thickly. you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing wet kisses to his jaw as he sighs in pleasure. “sweet little thing, squeezin’ me so tight, so early.” he mutters, a hand grabbing the plush of your ass, slowly moving you up and down his cock. you moan unbashedly at the drag of your walls, tits starting to bounce as he moves you faster.

soon his other hand finds the back of your thigh, gripping tight before thrusting up into you, setting a relentless pace. caleb watches with a grin as your mouth forms that pretty little ‘o’. “ooh-! mmm—” you moan out, toes curling into the sheets beneath you. you hear his breathy laugh near your ear as his tongue trails up your neck, sucking and kissing hungrily. “you’re so tight, hah— shit! don’ think i fuck you enough, do i?” he grunts out, sucking on your ear lobe.

“ca—leb! s-so good hnng-!” you whine loudly, the tip of his cock battering your cervix deliciously. the wet, lewd sounds skin slapping against skin fill the room, accompanied by your moans. caleb’s hand comes up until your throat, pressing down on it as he rasps, “y-yeah? feels good? god you’re so cute.” your eyes roll to the back of your head, your restricted breathing only fueling the pleasure given to you. the knot in your stomach tightens, thighs shaking as you become so so close to breaking, “m’ gonna come! fuck-! caleb—” you almost scream out, before you drench his cock in your release. but caleb still fucks up into you, slower, his face a picture of pure pleasure, “almost there, pips, just a little more.” he grunts, before spilling ropes of cum, painting your swollen walls white.

[youneedsomeprompts]

Hiii! I am starting to write more smut/NSFW in my fics and I don't know exactly how to write them differently while not being to graphic

Any ideas? Thank you dear! ☺️

Heyy! I made a post about How to write a smut scene a little while ago. I also just reblogged it, so it's easier to find on my blog. I hope this is what you meant :) Otherwise, I could maybe do another one that focuses even more on a less graphic way to write smut, if there is interest :)

[luniselle]

❝ a (non-definitive) guide of what’s helped me write smut : ❞

✴︎ sex scenes are, at their core, character studies. anyone can describe the mechanics of fucking. the point is to “expose” some emotion. it’s not about the act so much as how it’s experienced. if your character is selfish, gentle, insecure, manipulative, devout… it should bleed through your writing.

✴︎ focus on what’s distinct. no need to list every thrust or groan. sometimes a single detail (e.g. adam’s apple bobbing, A pressing their forehead to B’s collarbone) evokes more than a whole paragraph of choreography. in my fics, i tend to narrow in on how someone looks in a moment of climax, because it’s revelatory. also i just dont rlly like writing about dick & balls.

✴︎ sensation is importante !! don’t just write what the body is doing. write how it feels from the inside. is it burning? aching? fluttering? use physical sensation to reflect emotion. check how to write a smut scene

✴︎ control pacing. visceral writing has rhythm. short, clipped lines can mimic urgency. long, dense ones can slow a moment down to a near-halt. in an nutshell: use sentence length to manipulate anticipation.

✴︎ never underestimate metaphor. bodily reactions can be described though light, weather, terrain, music etc. abstract but intuitively felt when used in moderation. the point isn’t to be poetic for the sake of it, but to give your readers a new lens. one they feel, not just understand.

✴︎ suggestion is often sexier than description. you don’t have to show everything. sometimes it’s more powerful to leave space—trust your reader’s sexy imagination to fill it in (it’s a perfect excuse when you’re feeling lazy)

✴︎ don’t overwrite it (unless you want to) find a line between realism & style, and craft the atmosphere.

✴︎ you don’t always need to say “pussy” or “cunt” or “cock” every single time. sometimes “him, thick and hot” or “the stretch of him” is more effective.

✴︎ watch your verbs: “enter,” “thrust,” “grind,” “rock,” “pulse,” “spill,” & “clench”—good verbs do half the work. “A did this, B felt that” gets quite boring. use evocative verbs and active tension.

✴︎ get specific with anatomy, but don’t sound like a biology textbook. cheek pressed into sheets? tip dragging against the roof of her mouth? specificity = realism. avoid generic, floaty language.

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

idk how this shit is supposed to progress tbh, he’s just giving little kisses and UH OH, we’re already five seconds away from Handjob city 🙏

[so0thsayer]

THIS IS SCARY IVE NEVER WRITTEN CRAZY SMUT BEFORE

did the research

constantly checked back on my notes

got really good writing flow and got halfway within a day

get to the........real crazy part and now ive lost it

like im actually having a blast lowkey. it was all jolly writing about pussy gawk gawk but why can i not function right while tryin to write about putting it... in.................... and doing stuff..........😥

[ivycrestfell]

I’m writing like a thousand different jurdan fanfics rn but I CANT FINISH THEM pls

they’re just sitting there, all sad and unfinished in my notes lol

But i really want to start posting on ao3 for October!!!

[mysteryinkkat234]

The Night of Pleasure and The Past (Astarion x F!Tav/Reader)

I have lived, where have I been, how should I explain myself? The short version: work, school, low motivation, and being very very sad. But I'm back again, with a new obsession. For real, if I'm not working or at school or doing homework, I'm playing Baldur's Gate (I have four separate playthroughs Gods help me). Anyway, this series, Fangs and Nightshade, is going to be many anecdotes about my playthrough with my blue tiefling cleric, Luxia Nightshade, and her escapades with a sad vampire boy. The stories will be in order in the game so spoilers abound. I hope you enjoy it. If you have any suggestions or story ideas, my inbox is open.

Also shout you to my new friend @leighsartworks216 for peer reviewing, thank you!!

Summary: It was meant to be a night to escape from their days of fantastical shenanigans. A hag, the goblin camp worshipping a new and mysterious god, exploring the Underdark, there was a lot of stress built up in everyone. Luxia Nightshade, resident Cleric and unofficial 'mother' of the group, decided to take up Astarion's offer, to get lost in the night. But during it, she could feel something was wrong.

(This contains spoilers for Act 1 and references to Astarion's past, read with caution)

This is 18+ and deals with a lot of heavy subjects, especially about sex, if you are underage or your account does have an age, DNI

Spice Level Anaheim Pepper (500 - 2,500): This smut contains vaginal sex, outdoor sex, fingering, nicknames (bunny and pup), and basically everything that happens in Astarion's Act 1 companion scene.

Word Count: 4,300+ words

Read and Bookmark this story on AO3

~~~

It was a night of fanfare and victory after the Absolute Cult was defeated in the temple. The tieflings set up a small party at their camp. Everyone seemed to be having a lovely time: singing around their campfire, finally talking casually instead of tactically, and most of the children wanting to pet Scratch.

Everyone was having a great night… except Astarion, leaning on one of the poles holding up his tent, silently chugging the bottle of cheap and gross wine. It’s not that he was grateful to save these tieflings, it was more that it was the first time in two centuries that he did something good, something nice, something to help them instead of to gain something. He didn’t get a choice whether or not he wanted to save these tieflings, that would be the party’s unofficial leader: Luxia Nightshade. 

A blue tiefling with eyes as white as the moon, horns curled like a sheep’s, and the personality of a doting mother. Gale joked that Luxia acts as a mother and the rest of the party are the ‘unique’ children she has to watch over to make sure nobody dies a grizzly and painful death. Soon, that title of ‘mother’ seemed to stick to her. She would laugh at Karlach who instead of calling her ‘soldier’ started calling her ‘mom’. Luxia’s giggling at being called ‘mother’ was almost infectious��� almost nauseating.

Astarion hated her. He thought she would be easy to manipulate; he looked almost like a lost child looking for her mother. When Luxia caught him about to bite her, she wasn’t angry… well sort of. More disappointed that he didn’t tell her in the first place. Is she being serious? Was she expecting him the first time they met: ‘Hello, My name is Astarion, I am a vampire’? But, she wasn’t an innocent kid – she was an adult, an adult with an understanding for others, no matter who or where they came from.

He knew after that day that Luxia could be trusted. She wasn’t asking about someone’s personal life for blackmail purposes, she was just genuinely curious. She was an open book.

Astarion thought about this when he saw her, socializing with the party’s wizard, Gale. Gale and Luxia looked perfect together; two magical dorks, plain and simple. It wasn’t that Astarion was jealous… maybe a little bit… He shouldn’t be, I mean, Luxia was pretty open with their friendship, she would probably tell someone that she liked them… and Luxia has said she liked him, as a friend, as a companion… was he reading too much into this?

“Astarion,” her sweet voice broke him out of his questioning. He almost stumbled a bit. She seemed to have a knack for appearing out of nowhere – she was probably small enough to do it too, being the shortest in the group. “Are you… ok?” She asked politely. Astarion coughed.

“Oh! Hello dear, didn’t see you coming.” Astarion lied, trying to act casual.

Luxia didn’t believe it though. Instead, she laughed, covering her giggles with her hand.

She immediately retracts her arm, holding her hands together behind her back. “No, I get it. I assumed you were getting all drunk and merry.”

He laughed at her comment. “You know, I never pictured myself as a hero.” Luxia tilted her head. “Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” Astarion took another slug of wine from the bottle. “I hate it. This is awful.” 

Luxia shook her head, laughing again. “Come on, it wasn’t all bad,” she whined. “We took out the cult from the inside out, we found a ladder to the Underdark, the fire we made in front of the temple. Think about all the goblins you killed with that Alchemist’s Fire!” Her white eyes gleamed when she retold the story. Astarion could see her feet scuttling while she talked, like an excited kid.

He laughed to himself. “True. That was fun. Still, I would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Luxia gently took the bottle out of Astarion’s hand. She took a sip and made a face. It was sour, almost too sour for it to be edible. She silently gave him back the bottle.

He exhaled through his nose as Luxia made a face. “See?” he asked cockily.

“Yeah… I’m more into sweet alcohol, I’m not a partaker in it anyway,” she said quietly, almost embarrassed by her expression. 

“I’m just looking for a little bit more excitement, a little bit more fun.”

Luxia tilted her head again. She knew where this was going, but she’ll play along. “What do you mean? Is living in constant peril not exciting enough for you?” she quipped back. His laugh was more audible, and her face was flushed, trying not to make direct eye contact. 

“Don’t be so sour – literally,” he snorted. “I like a good time as much as anyone.” Astarion’s ruby eyes trail off to Luxia, analyzing her body. Unlike the last time, when he looked at her and wanted to feed off her, he could feel a heat that wasn’t caused by the fire. She’s so small, Astarion could easily pick her up and ravage her, pin her against a tree, and make her squeak with pleasure… an idea popped into his head. He scratched the back of his neck. “You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer, so to speak.” His voice became more sultry, trying to lure her in. And it was working. 

Luxia looked down, her face darker from blush. She bit the knuckle of her pointer. She laughed to herself, trying to be composed. “Maaaaybe,” she steps a little closer to Astarion, “if you say ‘please’.”

Astarion was taken aback, dumbfounded. “What?”

She stepped closer and looked directly at him. She leaned forward, their chests almost touching. “Say ‘please’.” 

Her voice… Gods her voice, so sickly sweet, like honey slowly dripping down a hive. Astarion didn’t know she had this confidence – he took her more as the one to get hit on instead of the other way around, or maybe it was liquid courage.

He inhales through his nose, getting closer to Luxia’s ear. “Please?” He whispered. She could feel his hot breath, he could hear her exhaling quickly. He took her breath away. A sly smile planted on his face.

She laughed again, stepping back to give them both space. “Maybe. I’ll think about it. There are some other people I want to talk to. It’s not like I don’t want to, I just…” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Let me think about it, ok?” 

“Hm, fine, I guess,” he sighed, both in disappointment and how he believes, “I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll find each other.” Luxia simply nodded and turned around. However, she was stopped as Astarion kept speaking. “I never thought you could make such a devoted leader. I’m happy for you.”

She smiled, her oddly cute pointed teeth shined in the moon. “Thank you,” was all she said, as she walked away from him, almost skipping for a few steps.

Astarion simply watched, his eyes still moving down to her waist: an innocent little skip with hips swaying back and forth, her tail whipping with it. He sighs, looking up at the stars. He indeed was just looking for some sex and that’s it, but that ‘something’ was back. He closed his eyes and imagined Luxia. Instead of pinned on the tree like last time, he could imagine her in an elegant bed, covered in the silkiest of robes or blankets… no, a nice dark blue silky robe. Maybe one of the sleeves falls off her shoulder, showing off her freckles sprinkled about… no, why was he thinking this? Did he think about this with other people? No, they were only victims, for him.

He looked around, looking for her again. She was with Shadowheart, sharing a bottle of that god-awful wine. Didn’t she just say she didn’t like it? They were laughing and giggling together, Luxia covering her face for a moment, to cover her flushed cheeks. In the night, Astarion could see her moon-shaped eyes looking right at him before she quickly averted her gaze. This was going to be a long night of waiting.

~~~

He rolled his neck as he waited out in the middle of the woods, far away enough from the camp, but not too far away that it would be that long of a walk. He rubbed his chest, thinking deeply. She probably won’t come, he thought. She’s probably with Gale like I thought, using his Mage Hand to pleasure her. 

The rustling of the grass snapped him out of his trance. He turned his head and saw… Luxia? She walked slowly around, clearly looking for him. Astarion took a deep breath and made himself known to her. 

“There you are,” his voice was deeper, more sultry. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting for the moment I set my eyes on you.” He paused, he slowly brought his hand to her face, his fingers tangled in her messy blue hair. She softly smiled. “Waiting to have you.”

She laughed lightly, her hand slithered over his hand, interlocking through the gaps. “You don’t have me, yet.” Her thumb rubbed over his palm, her nails only grazing. “Were you waiting for me this whole time? What would happen if I didn’t show up?”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you? And, I don’t think you came here just to talk.” His hand slowly moved to her jaw as he stepped closer, the space between them closing slowly. “I think you want to be known, to be tasted.” His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. Gods her lips were so soft. He’d tasted her blood, and he hoped she tasted just as delectable as that.

Her smile went neutral, and she wrapped her hand around his wrist, taking it away from her face. Despite the feeling, Luxia could feel something underneath the showmanship. it almost felt… uncomfortably familiar. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “What exactly do you want then?”

“What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy,” he clearly dodged the question with another question. Luxia started picking at the skin on her fingers. “That is what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?” He smiled, and his hand moved back, this time both of his hands rested on her jaw. 

Maybe he just wanted a distraction: They killed a hag, saved the Emerald Grove, and explored the Underdark – there was so much bottled-up stress that was in everyone. This’ll probably be the only night they get to feel something other than fear. People have different ways of releasing all this stress, and maybe this was his way of dealing with it. Luxia has met people like this and it was fine. She nodded in his hands. “Yes,” she whispered.

His smile turned more sly. “That’s what I thought.” His chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. “Now, how about I help you get comfortable.” Astarion began moving his hands around her body, starting with the blue corset compacting her, loosening it. Luxia sighed, now with her breasts freed from the confines of such an uncomfortable piece of clothing. She started undoing the buttons on her blouse, and soon, her chest was free. Astarion looked in awe.

A chill ran through the forest, making Luxia and Astarion’s nipples harden. Luxia hugged herself, covering her perky breasts in the process. Astarion laughed. “Don’t be afraid, little bunny. I have been waiting way too long to see your gorgeous body.”  

“It’s cold, Astarion,” Luxia whined as Astarion started loosening her pants, pulling them down with her underwear in the process. Luxia could still feel the chill, from head to the tip of her tail that started swaying more quickly than usual.

He laughs again as he loosens his own pants. “Darling, I will have you burning with desire from the inside out, hotter than the Hells itself.” When his pants and underwear were finally off, Luxia stared, trying not to linger for too long, but she was a bit obvious about it. He laughed. “You are just the cutest thing in all of Faerûn.” They finally did it, they kissed. And Gods her lips were just as delectable as he thought: soft with the subtle taste of mint and that sour wine. But, somehow, it tasted sweeter.

His tongue swiped her bottom lip, tasting that mint and wine, and plunging his tongue in. The moan that came out of her, sounded so heavenly, just as sweet as her laugh in the morning. He broke away, a string of saliva the only thing connecting them. Luxia looked into his eyes, red eyes staring back. She noticed that he had these moments of constantly looking around, probably so he could take something without anyone’s notice, but during camp, his eyes were always darting. Luxia felt important at the moment, but there was a feeling that… he was dissociating. 

“Astarion…” she whispered, her breath still taken away. “Are you okay?” she asked with genuine concern, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Oh, I am more than ok.” His voice kept getting darker, his eyes trailing down to her lower half. With a sudden movement, Astarion lifted her up by her bottom, her legs suddenly locked around his waist. He laughed, carrying her and planting her back on one of the trees. His kisses continued, starting from her lovely lips to her neck, littered with freckles.

His lips grazed the puncture wounds, the same marks he made when she let him bite her. As he licked the wound, Luxia’s body shivered again. Inside of the chill was pleasure. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, her grip on his back grew tighter and more painful, her nails close to digging into him. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” She squealed under her breath. 

“Ah, so our innocent leader does have the mouth of a sailor,” he teased her. One hand left her bottom, his fingers masterfully massaging her folds and clit. Luxia gasped again. “I wonder what other cute noises you can make.” Astarion’s finger slips in, Luxia’s plan of desperately trying to keep her moans in has failed. Her body moved up and down Astarion’s body, her fingers moving around his back. Despite all the fights they’d been through together, his skin was quite soft, though she could feel prominent scars on his back – they didn’t feel random, they felt intentional. 

She laughs at Astarion’s little comment. Luxia gave him a slow and sensual kiss. “Really? Because I wonder what kind of cute noises you can make, too.” She leaned her full body forward, making Astarion lose his footing, stumble, and soon fall onto the ground. 

Now Luxia was on top, she thought her flirty little comment would ‘spice things up’, to try and one-up Astarion’s constant comments. But something still didn’t feel right, he was still staring, and his eyes didn’t seem to move to look at her body – not at her tail, freed from the tree, now wagging once again, not her hands on top of him, or even her blown-out white eyes, now filled with desire. Though he had a surprised expression when she ‘pushed him’ down, it immediately shifted to that damned smirk. Is he… getting any satisfaction from this?

Luxia smiled innocently, ready to suggest riding him, or maybe… she could go down on him? Get back at him? When she tries to move down to his lower half, Astarion stops her, gripping her by her shoulder. “Astarion?” she whispered, not sure what he wanted. Astarion through this whole situation didn’t communicate anything to her, he didn’t ask what she wanted, what he wanted. Body language can only go so far, especially when he looked like he was in a dazed state through the whole thing. 

Astarion’s sly smile became more toothy, and with the hand on her shoulder, he pushed her off of him. Luxia was pushed onto the ground, his arms trapped her underneath. “You think you’re shrewd, don’t you? Cheeky little pup,” he chuckled, looking at her shocked and blissed-out face. “Perhaps it’s time for the puppy to finally be punished.” 

He began rubbing himself up and down Luxia’s folds, now wet from Astarion’s previous escapade. He leaned his head down, kissing her neck softly. Even though he was a vampire, and technically undead, his body felt like it was on fire. His kisses felt like small embers hitting her neck, making her squeal and jump from it.

Astarion laughed, probably for the final time tonight. Simultaneously, he inserted himself quickly inside her and bit into her neck.  

Luxia moaned out, a mix of pain and pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his neck, Astarion’s thrusts were slow at first, probably because he was focusing on sucking Luxia’s blood. “Astarion stop~ I’m going to… pass out.” Her breath was being taken away, and she could feel her body getting weaker and weaker.

“Oh, darling~ Hold on for a little longer,” Astarion moaned out, his fangs finally out of her. His thrusts began getting harder, and the sound of slapping skin echoed into the woods as he sat up, holding her hips in place. Luxia’s hands scrambled, she had the instinct to hold onto his hands, the idea of her finger interlocking with his. When she moved her hands to his, to snake her fingers through, however, Astarion had different ideas. 

He lifted her legs, her ankles now resting on his shoulders. Astarion’s grip on her hips was steely, to the point it was starting to hurt. There was no room for her hands, so instead, she locked onto his wrists. His thrusts became faster, making Luxia more audible, her head snapped back from the pleasure. She started to beg. “Astarion, please~ I can feel it. Please, don’t stop~” she moaned out. The grip on his wrists, her nails were close to puncture his skin. “Please, hah~ Astarion!!” 

Luxia’s eyes were shut tight through the orgasm, her grip on his wrists finally let go, and what remained were small marks, thankfully there was no blood. She tried to open her eyes, the foggy outline of Astarion stretching. Luxia’s head started to hurt, her eyes slowly closed, and the cold embrace of the grass tickled her burning skin. Her breaths were heavy, trying to catch as much air as possible. Luxia let sleep take hold of her, thinking of Astarion holding her, as the world around her became muffled.

~~~

The sun’s rays shot through the branches onto Luxia’s body. Her eyes slowly opened and squinted at the new day upon her. She moaned out a yawn, stretching her legs, arms, back, and tail. Luxia rolled her neck as her vision cleared, and soon the image of Astarion appeared, bathing in the sunlight, his arms spread to take it all in. Astarion told her before that the tadpole allowed him to be in the sunlight without disintegrating. Luxia felt sorry for him – this was probably the first time Astarion got to bathe in sunlight in over 200 years.

She smiled at him, holding onto her knees. “You’re not going to stay and cuddle?” she asked, cheeky but also disappointed, hoping to hold onto someone. 

He inhaled, sighing. “You sleep light. I thought you would be exhausted after last night,” he commented. 

“Yeah, me too,” Luxia laughed it out, holding onto her bruised neck. Feeling the puncture wounds he left, a green glow emanated from her palm, healing the blood and wounds. She went back to a more serious tone, “Did you… enjoy it? You didn’t look like you were… all there.” Luxia said it with genuine concern, hoping he would understand it.

“I was holding back a little, it’s true. I didn’t want to lose control. Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to go too far.” Luxia blushed from the compliment, hiding her face in her knees. “Now, shall we go? I want to go before anyone else thanks me for saving their tails.” His tone changed, and he was quick to leave. Thankfully, Luxia was quick to stop him from leaving, wanting to talk to him more.

She now had a clearer view of the scars on his back. Just like Luxia theorized, the scars formed two circles of Infernal script. She paused, making sure she said the right words without offending him. “Wait, your scars… Where… How did you get them?” she asked in her curious and polite tone like always. It didn’t sound like she was fucked to the high Heavens last night. 

“It’s a poem, from Cazador. He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas. He composed and carved that one over the course of a night. He made… a lot of revisions as he went.” Astarion’s voice grew sad and cold. 

“Gods, I… I can’t imagine.” Luxia stood up as Astarion turned around to face her, stretching out her legs once more. As she walked over to Astarion, she could see the marks more clearly… it was written with a very familiar script. “Why is it written in Infernal?” she asked plainly.

This took Astarion by surprise, This took Astarion by surprise, how fast she was to jump to that conclusion, He was flabbergasted. “Infernal? I… who knows? The bastard was insane.” 

“You know, I could read it for you,” Luxia suggested, eager to help him in any way possible.

His eyebrows raised in surprise at her eagerness. “I… I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Astarion was hesitant at first, Astarion was hesitant at first, but he allowed her to look at his scars. 

Luxia skimmed through the script, inching closer to him. She could piece together certain words that were familiar, but they looked to be random words strung together. “Oaths… fires below,” she whispered, her hand reaching out to maybe feel the words, but Astarion could feel the heat of her hand coming closer, and he stepped away from her, clearly uncomfortable.

“And? What does it say?” Astarion sounded embarrassed and insecure.

“This isn’t a poem. It might be part of a devil’s pact,” Luxia explained. “The word ‘oath’ is definitely a dead giveaway, but other than that, I can’t make out the other words.”

“Really? A tiefling not able to understand Infernal?” he scoffed.

Luxia pouted. “I’m sorry, but did you hear any of the tieflings speaking infernal in the Emerald Grove?” she snapped back.

Astarion paused for a moment, clearly embarrassed. “... A little?”

She laughed it off. “It’s fine. There were no other tieflings living in Karador besides me and my parents. I do know Elvish and Gnomish!” 

“Yes, because that’ll help us in the long run,” he spoke sarcastically, he turned around, not interested in this new information, “Still though, an infernal pact? What was that bastard up to?”

“If he did make a devil’s pact, he’s more dangerous than we thought.” 

“More dangerous than you thought, perhaps. I’ve never had any doubts. But if this is part of a contract, it must be powerful. Or valuable. Or both.” Astarion sighed. “No wonder he wants me back. What have I run off with…?” 

“Does Cazador know Infernal? Did he ever write in it before?” 

“No. I could have missed it, of course, but I doubt it. Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt. Whatever he’s left carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to both of us.”

“If you’re comfortable, when we get back to camp, I can get my journal and write out the signs. I can probably find a book that translates Infernal text.”

“... Thank you, that would be… nice.” Astarion relaxed, he picked up his shirt and Luxia’s clothes, handing them to her.

[softaestluv]

next | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Something, something, about the 141 men all being quite obsessed with you, placing bets who could get you first— everyone thinks it’s Kyle, he’s charming, handsome, who wouldn’t swoon at his feet?

Maybe even Johnny, he’s a bit of a dog, but he has a way with women, by some miracle, and he’s smart, maybe it’s his blue eyes.

No one thought it would be Simon, their lieutenant, of all people, anti-social, rough around every edge. A brute, curt, wears a skull.

Then one day, they get a message in the group chat from Simon, a picture attached. Kyle can’t believe it, Price, the dirty old man, saves it to his phone instantly, Johnny has to do a spit-take because there in the photo is you.

But it’s not just you.

It’s you perched on Simon’s lap.

Naked from the head down, back facing the camera, with your face buried in Simon’s neck. Simon gets a low enough angle, gets a perfect view of your pussy, stretched wide over his fat cock. Puffy and swollen, glistening with your sopping arousal.

With a simple sentence:

‘Look who I found’

[sai-int]

fwb!simon, reader catches feelings- NO. FWB!SIMON BUT SIMON CATCHES FEELINGS. [ pt 2 ]

--

it's quite simple.

simon comes home from a mission, he's restless, twitching, pacing, can't figure out what to do with his hands.

so what does he do? he knocks on your door, waiting anxiously until you open it and he's scooping you up, hauling you across the hall and into his basically empty apartment, and fucking you into the mattress for the night.

and you're just so good at taking it—whatever he gives you and whenever he gives it. you cry, whine, beg and plead for his cock in all the ways you know how—until you go blue in the face—and simon fucking revels in it. he's all harsh words and degrading names, calling you a filthy slut, his cocksleeve, a fucking cumdump—you name it, he's probably said it.

it's perfect, until it's not.

he's spent months fucking you stupid, night after night. he fucks you even when he's not restless. he fucks you when he's bored, when he's lonely. especially when he's lonely.

simon riley's a gridlocked man. hardly anything ever gets past him, but it didn't take many rendezvous between your thighs for him to forget that.

his mask would come fully off—not just above his lips—and you'd still kiss him breathless, still scream his name until your throat went hoarse. you weren't afraid of everything underneath. if anything, you liked it.

It's not like the both of you frequently exchanged actual conversations, but he could tell by the way you dripped and soaked his sheets even more than you ever had.

after that, he even began to gather enough courtesy to let you get some rest after he fucks you, letting you stay wrapped in his sheets for whatever sliver of the night was left.

you never pushed, and that's what he liked most about you. you always went by his terms because you never really cared as long as you got fucked six ways from sunday.

so, you always left when he woke without a problem. that was the arrangement and you were more than fine with getting a good fuck only a few steps away from your own home.

then even you began to notice the shift.

simon could never fuck you badly, per se. but he began to fuck you more softly. tenderly, as if he was suddenly aware that humans shouldn't be bent in half as long he's had you pinned underneath him in the past. he'll rock his hips into you with similar fervor, but he'd caress you, rather than grab at you. hold your forehead to his, rather than choke you with his thick hands.

then came the praise. god, it's like fucking a completely different man. from one week to the next, you're no longer a slut or a hole, you're pretty girl and angel. it makes your head spin. you try to pinpoint the change and why it happened, but you can't. somehow, you cum twice as hard now.

it all came to an ugly head when he spent the better part of 2 hours between your thighs, moaning and groaning as if you were doing him a service.

now, you weren't going to complain, but love just wasn't in the cards for you right now, and the looks simon was giving you from where he lapped at your cunt were filled with adoration, like he was waiting for you to tell him how good he was doing.

hell, you could see a phantom tail wagging each time his eyes met your own. and after a session that felt more like making love than an explosion of pure lust, you could feel his eyes lingering on you as you slipped your panties back on.

"what?" you hum, not wanting to face him in fear you'd see that godforsaken look in his eyes again.

and you were right, because he's staring at you like he's about to drop to one knee. "nothin'."

you toss your shirt back over your head and steel yourself as you turn to face him.

"simon," you start and he's already hanging on your words, "what's going on with you lately? i don't mean to sound rude but—"

this is it, he thinks. it has to be now, or nothing will change. he's not a religious man, but if he's ever prayed to god for anything, it's for this to become something real.

"'m in love with ya."

one blink, then two. two to three, three to four. you stare at him as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"simon, i don't think you understand—"

"—i do. i do understand and i want ya, bad. so bad, i can't even stop thinkin' bout ya, sweetheart. even when y'not 'ere im thinkin' about ya. everything about y'is perfect, and i don't think i can function without y'with me."

this is the most emotion you've ever seen out of simon and it rocks you to your core. if you didn't know better—and if the lighting wasn't so dim—you'd think he was tearing up.

you didn't know how to break it to him.

[humanjarvis]

on the fleet’s busiest days, caleb brings his work home with him.

as the sun sets, your heart aches at the thought of him barely getting a moment to relax. but the less considerate part of you can’t help but seek his attention. 

in the golden lamplight, he’s slouching on the sofa, halfheartedly flipping through a stack of mission reports. freshly showered and draped in your nightgown, you slink into the living room and take a seat next to him, tucking your head into his neck. 

he knows you’re up to something, but you’re a welcome distraction. so he lets it happen without a word, shifting his body to ease the strain on your neck. the new position makes his muscles burn, but he doesn’t complain. 

“how much longer?” you mumble sleepily.

he pats your head in reassurance. “almost done.”

but you know he isn’t.

running your fingers up and down his arm veins, you hum in feigned acceptance. but after a few moments, your head droops to the side, landing perfectly in caleb’s lap. 

he tenses, but says nothing. 

“can’t you read a little faster? i miss you,” you whine, and the sweet vibrations of your voice flow right to the center of his sweatpants.

before long, a bulge grows. and you stay right where you are. 

you sigh in his lap, nuzzling into his straining cock as you languidly paw at his drawstring. 

your cheek rubs against him with sinful friction, and his composure crumbles. from his mouth slips a startled little noise, and as you glance up at him, his adam’s apple bobs. 

when he catches you looking, he clears his throat. “you can’t be comfortable like that,” he says shakily, lust clouding the pleading look in his eyes. “why don’t you lie on my shoulder instead?” 

at the suggestion, you only pout and nuzzle further into him. he shudders as your nose grazes his swollen tip, but if you’re happy where you are, he won’t disturb you. with decimated focus and a bright pink blush, he finishes his analysis, growing harder and harder beneath you. 

[midnite-c6]

imagine being the more timid type player who would rather stay by themselves unless it’s a team game and Thanos and Namgyu instantly taking notice in you.

in the six legged pentathlon, you are immediately on their team you don’t even get a choice, they would make sure you are right in between them during that game

thanos & nam-gyu imagine!!

vro they would be so INSUFFERABLE

u being in the middle so theyre all up in u when its ur turn to play

zorry guys but i believe theyre so touchy for u I SWEAR

"baby, , you did so good on our team.. don't be shy, wanna come with us?" thanos says in the dark, during lights out, placing his big tatooed hand against yours, lightly tugging on them. "me and my bro here just wants to reward you, yeah?" nam-gyu says, you could still see the white of his eyes, or his sly grin that was showing his teeth in the dark. you're nervous af because you know these two dudes were the first ones to start conflict in the dorms anyway

"come on you seem so quiet," nam-gyu mocks as he touches your cheek. you can't help but let them since you're too scared to defend yourself. "dude, it's always the quiet ones who are the freakiest" thanos whispers into nam-gyu's ear, they both chuckle. "let's test it out, man!"

😛 nsfw warning!->

thanos sloppily thrusts in and out of your crying cunt. your pussy coated in your cum, mixed together with thanos' and nam-gyu's. "fuck, señorita." he mumbled as he peppered your face with kisses, nam-gyu's middle and pointer finger flicking your clit, his other hand sliding in and out of his dick. "come on, it's your turn, dude!" thanos slides out from your cunt, nam-gyu slides inside with a grunt, your cheeks were tear-stained and you can't help but moan despite the situation. "this whore's cunt is crazy wet, you're enjoying it just as much huh?" nam-gyu chuckled, you whine as a response, the man inside you grunted as he fully slid in, balls deep. "fuck bro, this bitch is just as good as getting high." thanos chuckled at his comment, "just as good? she's better ma' boy!" the purple-haired addict exclaims, his hand wrapping your chin, forcing your mouth, that was screaming in pleasure and pain, open. "jeez, you're so loud now, what happened to that shy girl just a few minutes ago?" well... you couldn't help it, and it wasn't like you could say no anyway, afterall, who knows what would happen if you denied their requests. your life's probably on the line.

[glossykissies]

arthur morgan loves putting you in a full nelson. truly, nothing beats it. ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა

it’s effortless for him, the way his thick arms brace your legs against your chest, the weight of you on top of him barely a disturbance. he’d make you think it was your idea — not because he was trying to manipulate you, but because of the way he adored how you begged.

you’d been pressing him about it earlier in the week, hounding him about his sex life before he met you and what kind of ridiculous scenarios he got himself into. he had years of experience, probably sexually active before you were even born and you couldn’t help but be curious.

“well now there was this one pose, but i’m not too sure you’d like it. s’a little advanced.” he sticks his thumbs in his belt loops, leaning against the wall as he finally gives into your prodding. he thinks it’s adorable the way your brows pinch, all determined to change his mind as you rush over, standing on your toes and grabbing at him.

“oh please go on arthur. satisfy my curiosity, i beg you!” you whine and he swallows down a chuckle.

“c’mere.” he walks you to a chair and you follow without further prompting. arthur sits, before pulling you onto his lap. fully clothed, he easily lifts your legs making you gasp. calloused, weathered hands slide up the back of your legs until they were hooked under your knees, keeping them high before he mimicked the act of thrusting into you from below, jean clad crotch thudding against you softly. “a little like that. now i’m sure you can use your imagination and picture that without clothes on.” he lowers your legs and taps the side of your ass like you’re a horse. ��go on now, up y’get — we got things to do today.”

as expected, you don’t forget about the conversation and demonstration, infact you’re weak in the knees for the rest of the day — clinging to his strong arm, whiny and submissive to his every calm command. you could only imagine what had got you in such a state, and arthur knew just how he’d fix it.

now in a candlelit hotel room arthur’s got you totally in the nude, holding the same leud, split open position he had you in earlier as he stuffs your cunt with his thick length.

“shh shh shh shh now.” he chides, voice warm and gravelly as he slows his thrusts to a deep and firm rhythm. “this is what you wanted, remember? begged n begged me.”

“j’st — s—so much!” you shudder, head lulling forward weakly and helplessly, glossy folds fluttering around the man who held you open.

“well you’re bein’ a very good girl. keep takin’ it, there we go.” he hums, working you toward that sweet release.

[opt1mistic]

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER ✶ ft. bbf!ellie williams. prequel to this.

cw. smut, nsfw, angst if you close your eyes and look away, fingering(r!receiving), dryhumping, reader is intoxicated but it’s all consensual, mentions of a man, gin slander lol, modern au, afab!reader and fem reader. wc. 5.2k(what the helly???) note. the plot was lost halfway through so it’s just basically smut mixed with nonsense…i’m really sorry :/

the music felt way too overbearing; mixed with the alcohol you’ve consumed over the past hour or so it all felt way too heavy—almost suffocating. bittersweet clung to your tongue, sharp and herbal, the aftertaste of gin curling at the back of your throat like smoke. dry. piney. something bitter underneath, like citrus peel left to burn.

you hated gin. you only drank it because it was the first thing that was handed to you.

pushed into the far corner of your kitchen, your clothes felt too tight, and your shoes didn’t fit right. you knew they didn’t. it wasn’t because you were overwhelmed and on the verge of a breakdown, it was because they were a size too small. you wore them because they looked good with your outfit, thinking you might’ve at least gotten one compliment about it. but no. not a single person mentioned to you how your shoes looked like they were personally customized for the outfit.

you weren’t mad, or annoyed for that matter. people came here to party and not to tell you that your ass looked fantastic, and your boobs sat so perfectly they might not be real.

none of that mattered really, at all even.

you’re sweating. you feel the cup in your hand feel slippery against the softness of your palm, it might fall to the floor and ruin those shoes you should really get rid of because they don’t fit. these fucking shoes.

it wasn’t even about them. it never was. you’re just pissed they don’t fit you the only time you decided to wear them. and you were pissed because she was talking to her and not you.

it wasn't jealousy.

it wasn’t.

you were just upset. that’s all. upset because she’s been hitting on you for at least two years now and now she was talking to someone that wasn’t you.

you had no right to be jealous. you turn ellie down every time she says anything remotely suggestive, you don’t let her get anywhere pass a flirty comment, maybe two or three more get by, but that’s all.

you don’t like ellie. i mean how could you?

(but it really was more like who doesn’t? ellie was pretty, gorgeous even. with her stupid freckles, green eyes that shine so brightly under the sun of dawn. the light over her face and those freckles. and her hair, it was so pretty, soft with the most addicting smell. every single fucking time you look at her you feel unwell. this sickening feeling in your stomach, it aches.

you have no good reason to turn her down, you do it because you’re confused about why a girl like her likes you.

you‘re clumsy, anxious, you let your mouth run when you shouldn’t. you talk back when enough's been said. your comebacks are snarky. you know you shouldn’t speak, but your mouth moves anyway—quick and defensive. regret always comes later. you feel as if there isn’t much to look at if you look at a mirror.

but that’s the thing that ellie likes the most. you’re different. not in the ‘i’m not like other girls’ kind of way—but in the way you flinch when you laugh, the way you don’t know what to do with your hands. in the way she notices. she doesn’t say anything, but she sees you.

but that’s what pisses you off the most.

because ellie doesn’t like you in spite of those things. she likes you because of them.

she likes the way you get flustered when you’re cornered. she likes when you talk back. when your voice shakes, but you say it anyway. she likes how your mouth runs when it shouldn’t. how you can never just leave things alone. she likes that you’re messy, and mouthy, and unsure of yourself. and maybe that’s why you keep pushing her away.

because if she sees all that and still wants you—you don’t know what that makes you.)

with your eyes shooting laser beams into the wall right next to her, as to not seem like you’re watching her because she’ll get all cocky about it if she catches you looking. it’s not ellie if she doesn’t tease you to death. smothering you with her words, like a pair of hands around your neck—gentle at first, like she’s cradling you to kiss—until they tighten, deliberate, marking you with nothing but words. words that leave an effect they shouldn’t, and it bothers you more than you’ll ever admit.

and now she’s gone, and so is the girl she was with.

wonderful.

you unstiffen your shoulders, dropping them, trying to relax when you feel so uncomfortable. you hear your bed practically calling your name. you’re so fed up. this was supposed to be a fun party, just like every other party your brother throws. but all you could think about was that ellie hasn’t talked to you once, and that some random guy, you were pretty sure wasn’t even invited, kept trying to hit on you, giving you this disgusting drink and telling you to come find him later.

he didn’t even ask you if you like gin, just poured it into a cup with a mix of diet coke, it’s the most nasty after taste you’ve ever tasted. who would drink such monstrosity and like it?

you set your cup down—finally. the stickiness from your palm feels gross; it’s sweaty and moist, like thick mucus. you’re about to disappear upstairs when you hear her.

“you always make that face when you're annoyed. d’you know that?”

ellie.

her voice is too close. low, amused. like she was watching you from the other side of the room and couldn’t help herself. and maybe she was.

you don’t turn around. not right away. you know how this goes—she says something cocky, you get defensive, she teases you until your thoughts melt into something you can’t name. it’s always the same. always her and her dumb words.

you roll your eyes instead, loud enough for her to hear it in your silence. “didn’t know you were watching me.”

“always do.” she says, like it’s obvious. like it’s nothing. you hate the way your heart stumbles at the sound of it.

then she moves closer. you feel it more than see it, her presence sliding in beside you, the press of her arm almost grazing yours. not touching. never touching. but close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, her breath ghosting near your jaw.

“you looked like you were about to murder someone.” ellie murmurs, glancing at the abandoned drink.

“watcha got there?” she picks up the plastic cup you had just set down on the counter. her curiosity is shut down by the awful taste that appears in her mouth when she takes a generous sip from the cup.

“what the fuck is this!?” ellie’s face scrunches up into a look of disbelief and disgust. “what human fed you this?”

she sets the cup down and moves it further away on the counter like it’s radioactive.

“uhhhh. him over there.” you search in the crowd of people for the dark haired man that shoved the cup into your hand and smirked at you when you forced yourself to take multiple sips.

ellie follows your gaze, spots him almost instantly. the guy’s leaning against the fridge like he owns it—shirt half unbuttoned, drink in hand, grinning at someone who’s definitely not you.

she scoffs. “that guy?”

“that guy.”

“he looks like he harasses women on the street.”

you bite back a laugh, lips twitching. “that’s mean.”

“you drank his little science experiment. i’m being merciful.”

she turns to face you fully now, leaning her hip against the counter, one hand tucked into her back pocket. you glance at her, finally—just a flick of your eyes, quick and stupid—and she catches it. of course she does.

“you’ve been avoiding me all night,” she says, like it’s a casual observation and not an accusation.

“i haven’t.”

“you didn’t say hi.”

“you didn’t either.”

she tilts her head at that, amused. “so it’s my job now?”

“didn’t say that.”

“but you thought it.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet.” ellie grins. “here you are. still standing next to me.”

you look away. again. the floor is suddenly very interesting.

ellie leans in just slightly, drops her voice to a hum. “you look good, by the way.”

you don’t respond. not right away. your brain short-circuits a little, glitches like an old tv. there it is again. the teasing, the soft menace in her voice. the compliment you weren’t expecting but still secretly hoped for.

“shoes don’t fit.” you mutter.

“doesn’t matter. your legs look great.”

your cheeks burn. you hate her. you want to crawl out of your own skin. skin yourself alive, bash your head into a wall.

“stop it.” you say, weakly. it’s barely above a whisper.

“stop what?” she asks, already smiling like she knows. like she can feel the heat radiating off you.

you don’t answer. you can’t.

ellie shifts closer. not by much—just enough that you have to fight the urge to lean back, or lean in, or do something other than stand there, vibrating with everything you’re trying not to feel.

“you always get like this when i say something nice,” she murmurs. “all twitchy and silent. like you’re waiting for me to take it back.”

you scoff, but it doesn’t land right. too shaky. too soft.

“i’m just saying,” she continues, voice syrupy, “if you’re gonna stand there looking like that, all flushed and pretty and bitey, you can’t expect me to behave.”

your breath hitches. that’s not fair. that’s so not fair.

“i’m not bitey.” you say, eyes narrowed.

“sure you’re not.” she grins, teeth sharp. “you’re a terror.”

you glare. or try to. but your face won’t cooperate—it wants to smile, to give in, to break in all the ways she makes you break.

ellie takes one step closer, and now she’s really in your space. the music blurs behind you both. voices fade to a dull, distant buzz. it’s just her, now. her and that look in her eye. the one she saves just for you.

“you miss me?” she asks, soft and unserious and too real all at once.

you could lie. you’ve done it before. you’ve done it so many times—shrugged her off with sarcasm, buried the truth under something wry. but right now?

right now you’re toeing the edge of something dangerous, and it’s never felt more tempting.

you don’t answer. you just let her look at you. let her wait. and ellie…ellie takes that silence like for a yes.

her grin fades, just a little. her eyes dip to your mouth, then back up again, slow, like she’s memorizing the way you’re holding yourself together for her.

“come upstairs with me,” she says, gentle now. no teasing, no game.

your heart slams against your ribs. you shouldn’t.

“okay.” you say.

and she doesn’t smile this time just nods, once, like this is the moment she’s been waiting for. like she knew you’d say it eventually.

ellie takes your hand. she doesn’t ask. just does. and you let her. because of course you do. because it’s ellie. and you’ve always been hers, even when you swore you weren’t.

you follow her out of the kitchen like a shadow, steps quiet, careful. she doesn’t look back. she doesn’t need to. the music is louder in the hallway, vibrating through the walls like a pulse. it drowns out everything—your thoughts, your doubts, the little voice in your head telling you this is a mistake.

she leads you up the stairs, weaving past bodies draped over railings and sitting cross-legged on the floor. no one notices you. no one stops you. it’s like the two of you are moving through a world that doesn’t quite exist. like this is some strange little pocket of reality where everything is charged, unreal, and fragile. only you and ellie.

her hand is still in yours when she opens the door to your room. she only lets go once it’s shut behind you both, the lock clicking into place with a soft finality.

the room is dim—just the string lights across the ceiling casting a golden glow over everything. a mess of clothes on the chair. an unmade bed you can’t stop staring at. why couldn’t i clean up after i got ready for this shit of a party?

ellie sits first, casually, like this is just another friday night. leans back on her hands, legs spread, jaw set. watching you carefully. the smallest movements you make she’s there to catch them. you stay near the door. back pressed against it like it might keep you grounded.

“you okay?” she asks after a moment, like the tension isn’t loud enough to swallow you both whole. the blurred absence of the music and shouts makes you feel somewhat better. but that bitter feeling doesn’t seem to slip away.

you nod. too quickly.

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you always do that thing with your hands when you lie.”

you look down. fuck—she’s right. your fingers are twisted together, knuckles going white.

“i didn’t come up here to fight.” you say finally, voice thinner than you want it to be. ellie doesn’t move. she just keeps looking at you. her gaze is steady, unreadable.

“i know,” she says. “i didn’t bring you up here to make you uncomfortable.”

“then why’d you bring me up here?”

a pause. her eyes soften.

“because i couldn’t look at you all night without wanting to touch you.”

your breath catches.

“ellie—”

she cuts in, quick. “i won’t. not unless you want me to.”

the silence after that is almost unbearable. you stare at her. she stares back. her face is open, honest in a way she rarely ever lets it be. you want to say something sharp. something deflective. but the truth is boiling over in your chest, and it’s too hot to ignore. you want her to touch you.

“you scare the shit out of me.” you say, with a breathy laugh feeling awkwardness flair up inside of you.

ellie blinks. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

she lets out a breath—quiet, amused, fond in that infuriating way of hers. you hate it.

“you scare the shit out of me, too.”

and just like that, the air shifts. the room tilts. everything feels precarious, like a match held too close to the fuse. your face heats up again.

“come here,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you hesitate. only for a second. then you do.

your feet move before you know it. you walk to her with your heart in your throat and your guard barely holding, and when you stop in front of her, ellie doesn’t move—not until you do. not until your knees brush against hers, light as a question.

she answers it by reaching up, slowly, fingertips grazing your hips. her eyes stay on yours. you’re confused again. you don’t understand why she wants to touch you, like this of all ways.

“still okay?” she murmurs.

“yeah,” you whisper.

and then she pulls you in. you crash into her, not fully losing control of your body but enough for her to take control and maneuver you to straddle her. her touch isn’t rough nor is it rushed. it’s small but has power. ellie knows what she’s doing.

she doesn’t kiss you. not yet. she waits. waits for you to decide.

and god, you want—no, you crave it, in that feral, bone-deep way that makes your skin itch. you want her mouth on yours, soft at first, maybe, just to mock you—but you want it to dissolve, fast, into something hungry. something unholy. you want her to kiss you like she’s starving, like she’s trying to crawl inside you through your mouth.

you want the spit. need the spit. thick, hot, shared and messy—her tongue in your mouth, sliding against yours, teeth knocking when it gets too desperate. you want it to drip, to smear, to cling to your lips and chin, to mark you in the most revoltingly human way. like her saliva belongs in your mouth. like yours belongs down her throat.

you want her to spit into you. mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, breath panting between kisses—and when she pulls away, you want it to trail between your mouths in slick strings. sticky, glistening. you want to taste her down to the root of your tongue.

you want it to ruin you. make your lips swollen, red, wrecked. make your jaw ache. you want to feel her breath enter you and exit in shudders. to drown in the taste of her, sweet and sharp, like blood and peaches and the end of the world.

the silence was killing you. like a sword penetrating skin. you stare into her eyes, deep and honest. if ellie wanted, she could get every confession out of you. she could make you admit how much you like her, she could make you say how badly you need her. make you tell her all the nasty thoughts your intoxicated brain is frying up.

your hands sneak to rest on her shoulders and you just hope she doesn’t say anything about you being desperate for her. she knows you are but ellie isn’t any better, after all, she did bring you up here for the exact reasons you’re thinking.

ellie moves in closer now—much closer than she was back in the kitchen. she’s always been bold like that. you’ve seen her before, at one of your brother’s parties, hand already halfway down some girl’s pants like it was nothing. she never cared who was watching. didn’t even seem to care how the girl felt about it, not really. maybe it was a distraction. maybe she just needed something to do with her hands.

if she wanted, she could’ve had you like that in the kitchen, but she chose to bring you to your room and be more open with her words. none of the teasing that make it seem that she was joking. she’s serious about this. she really does want you, needs to touch you.

her nose is touching yours, she doesn’t blink, just looks at you with a shine to her eyes, if you looked deep enough you could see that she’s holding back. she could take you right here right now but she chooses not to, she waits for you. she doesn’t want to take advantage. because it’s you, and she couldn’t live with herself after if she were to do so.

“ellie…” you say her name breathless, eyes trailing towards her lips. your tongue sticking out slightly licking your upper lip. you move your eyes back up to hers, reaching you hands to the back of her head to twist her hair between your fingers.

she answers you by slowly crashing her lips into yours, moving them against the plush skin when you open your mouth a little for her to slip her tongue in.

she kisses you like she means it—like she’s been waiting. her mouth is warm, slow at first, but there’s weight behind it, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you. her tongue grazes yours, testing the waters, and you hum into it, your fingers tightening in her hair. she breathes in sharp through her nose, like she wasn’t expecting that.

ellie’s hands wander off around your body squeezing at your waist and hips, needing the flesh above clothes. she unsure about her touch, as if she squeezes you in some way you’ll tell her to stop, she careful but needy at the same time. she’s not rough or aggressive, but there’s a possessiveness to her hold, and it’s dark and full of desire.

ellie pulls back just barely, lips brushing yours as she speaks, her voice low and raspy. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

and she’s kissing down your neck, toying with the skin between her lips, making sure she leaves a mark to tease and laugh at you tomorrow. you know this but let her mark you either way, you’ll yell at yourself when you’re sober; realizing this was a mistake on your part because you gave in this easily.

but it was going to happen sooner or later, so why not now?

and you know exactly what you do to ellie. maybe not everything, maybe not the exact details, but you know what your presence does to her. the way she looks at you like you’re a loaded gun—dangerous, tempting, too easy to lose control around.

“then show me.” you whisper, a challenge and a plea in one. you move your palms to cup her face, tugging her up and kissing her harder this time, and she answers with a soft groan against you, her hands sliding beneath your shirt, palms flat against your spine as they pull you flat against her body. her hands, they’re calloused, warm, grounding. she doesn’t rush. her touch is reverent, tracing you like you’re something fragile and holy.

but you’re not, and she knows.

her teeth catch your bottom lip, not hard, just enough to make you gasp. she pulls away again, panting now, forehead pressed to yours. “if we do this…” she swallows.

“i need to know you want it. really want it.”

your thumb brushes the edge of her jaw, and she’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the world worth watching. she’s so close you can feel her heart racing against yours.

you nod. “i do.”

and ellie’s restraint finally snaps.

her hands move down to the plush flesh of your thighs, feeling the warmth of your blood beneath her fingertips as they grope you hard.

she kisses you again, rougher this time—hungry, desperate, her hands slipping further under your shirt, palms splayed wide across your bare back. her fingers dig into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that you know she’s grounding herself with you. your mouth parts against hers, a quiet, needy sound slipping out before you can stop it. ellie swallows it down like she’s starved for it, chasing the noise with her tongue.

she shifts underneath you, tugging you impossibly closer by the hips until you’re straddling her properly, your thighs bracketing her waist. the heat between your bodies makes you dizzy. she presses her forehead to yours, breathing heavy, like she’s trying to hold herself back, but failing.

“gonna lose my mind,” she mutters, half to herself, before she kisses you again—messier this time, open-mouthed, your tongues sliding together with a slick, desperate sound that makes you ache in places you didn’t know could ache.

your hands roam too, almost frantic, pushing under her hoodie to feel the solid lines of her stomach, her ribs, the thin cotton of her tank top clinging to her. you tug at the fabric and she gets the hint, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the hoodie off over her head, ruffling her hair and making her freckles stand out sharper under the low light.

“better?” she teases, breathless, voice wrecked and full of something dark.

you just nod, too stunned by the sight of her like this, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing you. and she’s looking at you like she wants to ruin you, hands resting heavy on your thighs, thumbs stroking lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt.

ellie tugs at the hem of your shirt, fingers curling into the material. she doesn’t pull it off yet, just slips her hands under it again, feeling your bare waist, the dip of your lower back. her thumbs brush just under the edge of your bra, and you shiver.

“can i?” she asks, and you barely hear her over the pounding in your own head.

“please.” you whisper.

and that’s all it takes. she lifts your shirt over your head slow, almost reverently, like unwrapping something she’s been dying to get her hands on for years. your hair gets a little messed up in the process and she smiles at the sight of you, like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen.

her hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your flushed cheeks. her eyes are wide, a little wild, like she still can’t believe you’re here, half-naked in her lap, asking for her.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder. anywhere she can reach. you’re squirming in her lap now, needy and impatient, your hands clutching at her tank top like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you let go.

ellie groans low in her throat when your hips grind down, just a little, testing. the friction pulls a sharp breath from both of you. she grabs your hips, holding you still.

“easy,” she mutters, voice thick, “wanna take my time.”

you whimper at that, and she grins against your skin, proud and a little smug. ellie mouths at your chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the top of your bra, teasing, teasing, until you whine and tug at the straps, silently begging.

“okay, okay.” she chuckles, voice rough and fond, like she’s never heard anything better than you falling apart for her.

she helps you shrug out of your bra, tossing it somewhere across the room without looking, too busy staring at you. her hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing experimentally over your nipples, watching the way your body reacts—your back arching, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

“jesus christ,” she mutters under her breath, more to herself than to you. “look at you.”

and then she’s leaning in, mouth closing around one nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking, while her other hand toys with the other breast. the heat of her mouth sends sparks shooting straight to your core. you gasp, hands threading into her hair, holding her there like you might fly apart if she stops.

you rock your hips against her without thinking, chasing any kind of friction. ellie growls low in her chest, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“needy.” she mutters, pulling off you with a wet pop, dragging her mouth back up to kiss you again—deeper, messier, less polished than before. her hands slide down your back, squeezing your ass, dragging you harder against the ridge of her thigh.

“wanna feel you,” she rasps against your mouth.

“wanna make you cum just like this. fuck.”

you moan, high and broken, grinding shamelessly against her now, feeling the roughness of her jeans against the soaked fabric of your underwear. the friction is almost too much. almost not enough.

ellie kisses you harder, teeth clashing, spit slicking your chins together, hands everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your back, your ass. she rocks you against her thigh, murmuring filthy things into your mouth, barely coherent.

“so wet for me.” she pants, pulling back just enough to look down, to watch you rut against her thigh.

“fuck, look at you. makin’ a mess all over me.” you whimper, desperate, lost in it. in her.

“c’mon, baby,” ellie coaxes, voice rough and tender all at once.

“wanna feel you cum for me. just like this. show me how bad you need it.”

you shudder, the pressure building, unbearably sweet and sharp and right there. ellie keeps rocking you, keeps whispering in your ear, dirty, soft, wrecked herself.

and when you finally cum—when you break apart with a soft, bitten-off sob against her shoulder—ellie holds you through it, arms wrapped tight around you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, kissing the side of your head.

you slump against her, boneless, trembling, feeling like you might float away if she let go.

but she doesn’t.

she keeps holding you, kissing you, whispering promises you don’t have the strength to hear yet, not really. but it’s okay. you believe her anyway.

because it’s ellie. and she’s always meant it.

and just when you think she’s done, ellie shifts you, pushing you gently but firmly onto your back on the bed. climbs over you, fitting herself between your thighs like she belongs there. her hands trail down your sides, slowly, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your skirt, dragging it down your hips with agonizing patience.

you lift your hips for her without thinking, needy and frantic now, again. ellie’s mouth trails down your body as she goes—kisses on your belly, nips at your hips, leaving little stinging bites that make you gasp. she’s taking her time, savoring every inch of you like she’s been dreaming about this. maybe she has. maybe you have too.

when she gets the skirt off, she sits back on her heels for a second, just staring down at you, panting and trembling under her.

“you’re unreal,” she murmurs, voice rough with something almost reverent.

you reach for her, impatient now. “ellie—”

she smiles, wicked and sweet all at once, and leans down to kiss you again—deeper, slower, taking her time wrecking you. her hand slides between your legs, over the damp patch of your underwear, and you whimper into her mouth at the first touch.

you whine, hips bucking up into her hand, chasing the friction just like you did on her thigh. ellie shushes you, soothing, almost tender, rubbing slow circles over the wet spot right over your clit.

“gonna take real good care of you.” she promises, voice thick and syrupy.

you nod frantically, desperate for her, dizzy with it.

she slides your underwear to the side with one hand, not even bothering to take them off, and runs two fingers through your folds—testing, teasing. when she brushes your bare clit you gasp, clutching at her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

ellie’s watching your face the whole time, eating up every little reaction you give her like it’s her new favorite meal.

“you’re gonna let me make you feel good?” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked with want.

“yes—yes, ellie, please—”

that’s all she needed to hear.

she slides one finger inside you, slow, careful, watching you for any sign of hesitation. when you moan—high and breathy—her restraint snaps. she pumps it in and out, building a rhythm, adding a second finger when you start grinding against her hand like you can’t help yourself.

her thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles, and the pleasure starts to crest fast—faster than you’re ready for.

“that’s it,” ellie coos, mouth brushing your ear. “god, you’re so fucking pretty like this. wanna see you fall apart for me.”

you sob out something that might be her name, might just be a broken noise, as you tumble over the edge, more overwhelmed this time—clenching around her fingers, trembling so hard your vision whites out. ellie fucks you through it, slow and sweet, murmuring praise into your skin until you finally, finally go still beneath her.

a dragged out orgasm flushing inside you, stick around her fingers still deep inside you, toying with the squishy spot.

ellie doesn’t pull away immediately—just presses kisses along your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear, whispering how good you were, how gorgeous you are, how she’s never wanted anything so bad in her life.

and when you finally catch your breath enough to open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you—soft, adoring, like you hung the stars in her sky.

“still scared of me?” she teases.

you laugh, too weak to reply.

you whisper something incoherent, and pull her back down into a kiss. because if this is what being scared of her feels like, you never want to be brave again.