#only to find their way back to each other one way or another

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Era: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[yogrtshake]

coming home ( 7dream ) genre : fluff word count : 0.8k summary : how 7dream return home after a day away from you

—

( mark ) ⋆ practically melts into you once you spread your arms for a hug in the doorway, whispering how much he missed you into your hair (“i know i said it yesterday, but i’m serious, this time i’m not letting you go”) ⋆ after a quick meal, he settles in bed with you laying by his side and picks up the philosophy book he’s been reading that week ⋆ pokes you every so often to share an excerpt that sparked an idea in his mind, loving the way you comb your fingers through the ends of his hair as he rambles cutely ⋆ tired from his long day, his eyes start to flutter shut and you place his book on the nightstand for him, kissing his temple to wish him sweet dreams

( renjun ) ⋆ the sight of you after a long day always paints a special smile on his face: one that’s infused with adoration and longing, and it makes you melt every time ⋆ finds it precious that you wait until he’s home to unwind from your day with him, both preferring to help remove each other’s makeup and wash your faces side by side ⋆ lots of giggling is shared as he gently tries to lay a sheet mask over your skin and he plants a kiss on your lips once he’s done arranging the mask around your features ⋆ a completed skincare routine means it’s time to wind down together — this consists of soft music and catching up on your days apart, his sparkling, attentive eyes not leaving yours as he listens to every detail

( jeno ) ⋆ takes a bit longer to arrive home because he always stops to pick up takeout dinner for you to share, your favorite weekly tradition ⋆ finds you half asleep and softly hums a greeting, careful not to stir you while he settles back in, then wakes you gently so you can eat together ⋆ sits criss-cross on the floor with you, thoughtfully searching the table for the best looking bite and leaning over to feed it to you ⋆ relishes the comfortable silence between you, occasionally sharing tidbits about your days as you unwind together over your warm meal

( hyuck ) ⋆ kicks off his shoes and tosses his bag on the floor, dramatically explaining how today felt like an even longer day away from you than yesterday, despite his practices being the same length of time ⋆ before you know it, he’s swallowed you in an inescapable hug (“hyuck, i’m suffocating” “no no, we’re not done hugging yet”) ⋆ tells you a funny anecdote from practice, the sound of your laughter refilling his lungs that had exhausted throughout the day ⋆ soon enough grows sleepy and insists you lay down with him, pulling you closer every time he feels you shift until you doze off together

( jaemin ) ⋆ the second he walks in, he’s pressing kisses to your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your forehead — everywhere, over and over again, to make up for what he’d missed over the past several hours he was at work ⋆ pulls away only to grasp your hands in his and ask what you’ve eaten today, if you got your errands done, and what’s planned for the two of you tonight — it goes without saying the rest of your evening will be spent together ⋆ requests more kisses from you between every step of his nighttime routine, not bearing to spend another second without your touch he’s missed all day ⋆ after some quality time together, you notice he's drifted off to sleep with his arms draped around your waist, and when you kiss the top of his head, you can almost see a smile form on his lips

( chenle ) ⋆ almost as though he never left your presence, you received a lot of texts and random photos throughout the day while he was working ⋆ scolds you playfully for having missed answering one when he returns home (”but le, i replied to all of them at once—” “i wanted INDIVIDUAL REPLIES!”) ⋆ quickly forgives you, of course, pecking your cheek before changing into lounge clothes and making his way to your familiar spot on the couch to watch a drama with you ⋆ after a few minutes you feel that his shoulders are no longer tensed and his head rests on your shoulder, and you smile knowing he feels relaxed with you

( jisung ) ⋆ files into your bedroom after his long evening at the studio, appearing a bit more tired than usual, and immediately falls into your lap ⋆ you toy with his hair as you let him vent about the latest routine he’s given his all to, praising him for working hard and watching his eyes slowly start to brighten ⋆ he cherishes how you give him the space to talk about even the littlest details of his frustrations while comforting him with your touch ⋆ wordlessly insists you spend the remainder of the night in each other’s arms, him shyly dotting your hands with kisses to show his appreciation until his eyes close

[blueywrites]

someday I'll get it

eddie munson x fem!reader eddie comforts you when the lingering memory of your ex brings shame with soaked sheets.

3.1k

cw: 18+. toxic ex, feelings of self-doubt, referenced verbal abuse, hurt/comfort, smut, squirting, first time piv with new partner, no y/n, no physical descriptions.

this is for my fellow infps & all the girlies who fall fast and hard. a bit of a departure from the other naughty nights entries - not as filthy, quite a bit more emotional. I really liked writing it! check out the original ask here.

enjoy xx

Two months after you and David broke up, you downloaded Hinge. Your best friend helped you make your profile, and after some careful crafting over brunch mimosas to soften the flaws you saw in your photos and loosen your lips to make you clever in your bio, you were happy with the facsimile of yourself you’d presented to the dating public. The nerves only crept in during the Uber ride back to your apartment. What if no one liked you? What if what David said— that you’d never find someone that cared about you like he did— turned out to be right? You knew, deep down, that David’s idea of ‘care’ was not what you wanted. But as the weeks went by, your hope began to dwindle; your heart shriveled a little more each time a potential connection faltered and died. And though you kept reminding yourself how bad things were with him, how small he made you feel and how little he truly gave you, you couldn’t help the fragment inside you that hissed in a raspy twang:

Maybe I’m all you’re good enough for. Maybe my love is all you really deserve, and without me, you’ll just end up alone.

And then you found Eddie. 

His was the first conversation that lasted longer than a handful of back-and-forth messages, aside from that one rushed first ‘date’ that turned out just to be an attempt to get some dick’s dick wet. Eddie was chatty, maybe a bit excessively so, but you’d take that over the dry single-sentence replies most guys seemed capable of. It was refreshing not to be the one sending double- and triple-texts for once. And he didn’t do it in an anxious way, either, or one that made you feel you weren’t answering quickly enough. It seemed more that he just wanted to talk to you about whatever popped into his head, and that— along with his pretty brown eyes and smile, his lobe piercings and hand tattoos, and that one blurred photo of him playing guitar on some cramped bar stage, looking all sweaty and alive— piqued your interest in a major way.

Eventually, he took you on a first date, which was followed quickly by a second. And after a full month or so of officially seeing one another, now, following an afternoon spent together, you’re in your bed with him— laid out along your sheets, his weight having dipped the mattress beside you enough times that it’s just starting to feel familiar. 

Looking up at Eddie above you, you’re hit again by how sexy he is, sexier than his Hinge profile would’ve suggested, even though that initial photo made your finger pause in the first place. In it, his hair was tied up at the nape of his neck; it’s loose now, hanging around his pale face in loose tangles ‘cause you’d run your fingers through it while he kissed you. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and it is again, except now there’s the pink flush of arousal across his cheeks and a sheen of sweat gleaming off the bulb of his soft nose, visible in the dim light from your lamp. That first time you saw him, Eddie's fingers were wrapped around a tattoo gun, frozen mid-stroke as he carefully etched ink into skin. Now, they’re quite in motion— just as deft and strong, but instead of using them to crawl the needle across the expanse of someone’s back, he’s plunging them into your swollen pussy, winding you up tighter and tighter ‘til you’re writhing on your own sheets.

He’s been at it for a little while now, coaxing your pleasure out with those thrusting fingers and the rough pad of his thumb swiping over your clit. You moan, letting your eyes slip closed as your orgasm starts to rush up, ready to let that wave wash over you before you happily return the favor. But when Eddie presses the heel of his palm firmly into your lower stomach, flicking his thumb faster against your clit as he fingers you, your mounting pleasure twists, thrumming into something more intense. 

Oh, fuck. 

The feeling is ecstasy but beneath it, there’s also panic. Because you know— and dread— what comes next. 

You gasp, choking on the words of warning stuck in your throat, your hand snapping to grip his wrist. You mean to pull it off but you don’t, just clutch him tight in a way he must take as encouragement because he starts to talk you through it. “That’s it, sweetheart, soak my fuckin’ hand—”

It’s inevitable now, so you stop trying to fight it. Like a flipped switch, you release the resistance, leaning into the feeling, which triples in size the moment you do. You seize up, crying out as you cum around Eddie’s fingers— eyelids fluttering, mouth hanging open, the gush of fluid against your inner thighs a secondary sensation to the gut-wrenching orgasm wracking your body. When it subsides, your body feels wrung out in the best way, sunken into the mattress, languid and boneless and like you’re so light you might float away if Eddie wasn’t pressing kisses into your neck like praise.

The peace has to break though. It always does. The second you shift and feel the sodden sheets below you, that familiar shame triggers, quick on the heels of a cruel twang bouncing around your skull. 

You draw your legs up, inadvertently kneeing Eddie in the belly. When he pulls back to look at you, you’re curling into yourself, staring up at him so mournfully his heart must twist ‘cause you can see it written on his face.

He searches your face for a moment. Then Eddie’s eyes widen and his face blanches; you see the concern give way to horror. His adam’s apple bobs on a thick swallow. “A-Are you okay?” Eddie croaks, hovering awkwardly now, seemingly stuck between wanting to reach for you and give you space. “Did I hurt you? Did you not want—?”

He looks sick, but you’re quick to shake your head, feeling even sadder now that you’d made him worry. “No, m’sorry,” you say in a small voice. “I’m so sorry, I’m— I didn’t mean to.” You take a breath that hitches in your chest. “I-I made a mess…”

Instantly, Eddie looks relieved. He even huffs a little disbelieving chuckle. "So? You think I care about a little mess?" he asks, squinting as he tips his head at you, aiming for levity. But his attempt to make light of things can't break through to you— not after all the times you've been here before, cowering in your own cooling puddle as David beat you down with his caustic words, leaving you with bruises on the inside of your ribs. 

When your expression crumples further, any amusement slides off Eddie's face, leaving him utterly somber. Quietly, he says your name. "Are you alright?"

Your mouth works soundlessly for a moment before you find your voice. It feels jagged, like it’s been broken apart and splintered back together. “My ex… he used to get really mad when that happened. Said it was gross, that it was my fault now he’d have to wash the sheets.” An ache rises up your throat, and you avert your eyes. “He’d make me do it and change the bed before I could go to sleep.”

A severe wrinkle forms between Eddie’s brows— confusion, indignation, maybe both. “Wait, but— couldn’t he feel it coming? It feels different inside when a girl’s gonna squirt. Why would he keep doing it if he didn’t want you to?” He’s plain, as direct as he always is, and in the face of such a bald question, you have nothing to reply with but the barest shrug of shoulders weighed heavy under a burden you haven’t yet been able to shed.

When some seconds pass in silence, Eddie realizes you aren’t going to elaborate. He softens. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For what it’s worth, sex is supposed to be messy. And I really wanted to make you feel good. I’m glad I did.”

You can’t see them, but you can feel his fingertips brush against your ankle. When you nudge into the touch, he places a tentative hand on your foot, letting his thumb press into the center just below your toes. He raises his eyebrows, looking something like a puppy dog. “D’you wanna take a break? Can I get you some water?”

You shake your head, then open your hands to him— not quite able to extend your arms out for a hug, feeling too brittle and pathetic to make your wanting so obvious. You find with relief that Eddie is perceptive enough to know what the gesture means. Carefully, he leans over you and plants his palms beside your upper arms, sliding them under to fold you in. When he goes to lower himself in a slant on top of you, you let your knees fall open in a silent invitation instead. You’re very happy you did when, after some mutual shifting and shimmying to make yourselves comfortable, Eddie’s weight slots against you— your collarbone to his chest, his lap held in the cradle of your thighs, your arms wound underneath his to clutch his bare back as he presses you into a comforting embrace.

You focus on the feeling of Eddie on top of you— his belly expanding and contracting against your navel, his heat seeping into you head-to-toe, his herb-musk scent clinging to his shoulder when you tuck your face there, slowly letting him ease you. For a while, you breathe into him like that, letting yourself sink into the intimacy of all his bare skin against yours until the physical sensations swallow up that hissing voice, and it finally falls silent. With a heavy sigh of relief, the last of the lingering tension from the memory of David leaves you. 

Finding you now relaxed, Eddie hums against your hair, a rumble that sounds like satisfaction with himself that he was able to bring you comfort. He untucks one of his hands from beneath you then, shifts his arm along your sheets so his forearm frames your head. You pull your face from his hot skin, letting your head thump back against the mattress as the final surrender to your recovery. 

Eddie’s thumb strokes along your hairline as he looks down at you, his hips cradled by yours, his flagging but still present erection pressed intimately against the crease of your thigh behind his boxers. Quickly, you realize how much easier it was to be embraced like this when he wasn’t looking at you. Under his gaze, you feel exposed, almost too much to bear-- too vulnerable, your soft underbelly revealed for him to sink his teeth into. But he doesn't. Maybe, you think, Eddie never would. Where David had fangs, Eddie's teeth are blunted; capable of damage if he were to try hard enough, but more suited to playful nips, which is all he ever seems to care for anyways, at least for how little long you've known him. He's still new, and you're still learning how it feels for him to see you and decide what he'll do with what he finds. 

It's thrilling and downright scary to let him, but you let him. You blink up at Eddie, deliberately resisting the urge to master your expression and hide from him. Your heart thuds and squirms as he observes you for a long moment, still stroking your forehead with his thumb like you're a skittish rabbit, kept only from fleeing by a gentle, hypnotizing touch. 

After a long moment, Eddie's features ease. One corner of his lips tugs up into a crooked, dimpled smile. "Pretty girl," he murmurs, and something releases inside you. Your hands skate down the hot plain of his back, skimming slowly over its topography-- the elegant jut of his shoulder blades, the solid strength of his lats, the low, curved dip just before the hill of his covered cheeks. Those you spread your fingers over, gently pulling him in closer to you, and you flutter at the shaky breath he exhales over your lips as his shaft presses tighter between your bodies.

"You want to?" he whispers, his eyes flitting between yours. You know what he’s asking. In the month you’ve been together, you’ve done pretty much everything but gone all the way with him. You weren’t waiting for anything in particular, more just a sense that it would feel right to connect with him that way.

You feel that now.

So you respond with a kiss— firm, decisive, one that Eddie opens his mouth instantly to. His tongue finds yours eagerly, slick muscle against slick muscle, and the wet sounds of you meeting and parting have your arousal stirring up into a flurry of excitement and desire. Your fingertips ease beneath the waistband of his boxers, pushing the fabric down to bare him, and you crane your neck to keep kissing him until eventually you can’t reach any lower. Eddie helps you shimmy them off then, his lips falling still as he concentrates on wiggling his hips and kicking his legs to get them down to his ankles. You feel him kick one final time, followed by the faint shlump of fabric hitting the ground before he’s suddenly propped on his elbows and his hands are cupping your cheeks, tilting your face to kiss you so thoroughly it steals your breath away.

And you think— expect, maybe— that now that you’re about to have sex, the energy between you and Eddie will keep escalating until you’re caught up in a rush: both panting, desperate, fervent in your need for completion. But it doesn’t happen like that. Instead, your kisses slow, turning into lingering, open-mouthed presses, a sensual ebb and flow of lips and tongue and teeth— deep, savoring, as if the pleasure of what you’ll both feel when he joins with you is so certain, there’s no need to hurry it along. You raise your knee to open yourself up, and with a nudge of Eddie’s narrow hips, his shaft nestles into the slick wetness between your puffy lips. You press up to meet him, grinding slowly in time with your kisses until your abundant arousal coats him thoroughly, easing the way for you to reach down and guide his tip to catch at your entrance. And when you lift your legs, joining your ankles at the back of his thighs, you feel Eddie enter you for the first time.

There’s no resistance. It’s just a slip, a glide, and an exquisite stretch as he sinks inside, splitting you with his thickness. Eddie moans low as his cockhead meets the deepest part of you. It’s a gravelly sound, one that rumbles against your breasts when you twine your limbs tighter around him, already covetous of the feeling of him touching every bit of you he possibly can. Your pussy flexes and flutters, testing the welcome intrusion, preening when she elicits an answering twitch from his length before he draws just slightly back and rocks in again. You sigh softly, smiling as your eyes slip closed when you feel Eddie’s curved lips press to your temple. 

The rhythm you find together is natural, if rather shallow— shallow because your hands are clutching at his back and his arms are wrapped tight around you, keeping you close as can be. He can’t pull even halfway out; his hips rock in the barest gap that remains as if neither of you can stand even that much distance. There’s no lack of enthusiasm, though, no lack of passion as he pushes in so tight that the pressure has your swollen clit jolting with a delicious spark on every thrust. The heat between you grows, turning you sticky and damp with sweat down the length of your bodies. The pleasure grows too, quickly for you with all the stimulation until you’re panting against his shoulder. It grows unimpeded until Eddie nestles his face down further toward you, inadvertently feeding you a mouthful of his hair.

You turn your cheek and try to spit it out, but the thick, dry strands stick stubbornly to your lips until you have to enlist his help. "Your hair's everywhere, Eddie,” you murmur, more amused than anything.

"Ah, shit.” You have to hide a smile against his jaw at how put out he sounds. “Sorry." He tries to shake it away from you, craning his neck back but unwilling to stop embracing you.

"S' okay." Gently, you extract your arms from under his, huffing a little chuckle at the tiny whine of protest that rumbles in his throat. He props himself up so you can carefully clear his face: nudging his bangs out of his eyes, then pushing back the bulk of his curls, tucking them tenderly behind his ears. 

"There," you say, sweet and warm, your smile growing at the way the hair almost springs right out again. Unable to be contained, a lot like Eddie. 

A lot like the way you feel about him. 

"I love your hair," you tell him suddenly, your heart twisting at the way he lights up in response. Eddie rubs the very tip of his nose against yours, smiling boyish and wide, and emotion wells up inside you-- potent and poignant like the sting of happy tears, sweet like coming home and tender like a bruise all at once. 

And it’s like the second you say it, you can’t stop thinking about what words really want to spring from your lips. But it's too soon, far too soon, so you cup his face, draw your thumb along his cheek, and kiss him instead, keeping yourself occupied so those words will stay inside.

You kiss him until he’s moving steadily within you again; kiss him until you’re squirming beneath him, whining into his mouth. Kiss him as he drives you over the edge of bliss and then follows you, groaning when he throbs and spills inside. You kiss Eddie until the pleasure fades into contentment, until you both are sated, until those kisses gradually slow and gentle and turn to chaste presses of swollen, love-bitten lips.

Your mouths finally part. And when you see the way Eddie’s looking at you— the curl at the corner of his lips, the subtle tilt of his brow, the warmth in his deep brown eyes— you remember what David told you before you made him leave.

You’ll never find someone who cares about you the way I do.

You knew he was wrong then. But now, you know it.

[lymtw]

What does toji gets love boners over :3

Toji gets love boners because of you so often that every once in a while, he feels foolish for realizing that he is tethered to your happiness. His body reacts to your laughter, your smiles, your kind gleaming eyes in a similar manner to when you're intimately touching him or when he is touching you.

Toji only finds it embarrassing in the beginning, when it's first happening. His pretty girl is curled up on the couch, reading a book. There are no easily spotted turn ons in this scene. Not unless it's Toji doing the spotting. He will find too many things that get him hard at this simple sight. Just in the way you hold the book, he already feels his stomach start to stir. Your hands are clasped around the spine and covers, your knuckles protruding in the form your hands take. Your pretty, unpainted nails reflect as the light hanging from the ceiling casts light on them. As you turn the page to your book, your index finger and thumb pinch the page. Your fingers look so delicate, and he knows it to be true because even when he holds your hand, he can't squeeze too hard when he laces his fingers between yours, because he'll crush them. You look content, and part of it bothers him. He's not jealous of the book bringing you this state of serenity, but he does wish you were looking at him with that much focus instead. You would see the things you make him feel. The way his body reacts to you, and how even when you are in an idle state, you manage to make him desire you.

Toji doesn't feel as embarrassed when you indulge his desires that are brought on by you. Immediately after you fulfill his needs, he's grateful to have gone through another one of those humbling experiences that happen because he is so attracted to you. You're soft to the touch, you sound pretty, and you touch him in a way that shows that you enjoy having him so close to you.

Another one of his triggers for his love induced hard ons comes in the form of making you laugh uncontrollably. Sometimes it's flattery, like him telling you you look nice when you're on a date. The humor slightly outweighs the charm when he tries to compare you to things he thinks you might find pretty. He'll say, "you look pretty, doll. Like..." and then he can't find anything good enough to compare you to for a good ten seconds or so. "...that red flower over there," he finally says once he finds something. The gap of silence as he searched made you laugh, and the turning of his head as he scanned the area only added onto it. After a few seconds, he notices you're not walking next to him anymore and looks behind him to see that you're keened over, laughing. He walks back to you, a grin gracing his lips as he stands in front of you. Your cheeks are pink and your eyes are glossy with tears of joy welling in them. You mention that your stomach hurts through high pitched laughter, luring a chuckle from Toji. You try to compose yourself, standing up straight while taking relaxing breaths but as soon as you look up at Toji, you're wheezing again. He can't explain the feeling that formed within him at the sight. It was happiness with a tinge of something else. There he was trying to be romantic, and failing so hard that you had a fit of laughter instead of swooning at his words. He found himself swooning over you instead. He felt a sense of relief when he realized that even if he couldn't make your heart flutter romantically on purpose, he could always make you laugh, and for him that was just as good because watching you laugh was such a turn on for him.

Another thing that gets Toji going in a loving way is when you're in the same room but aren't next to each other, and you make eye contact with him from wherever you are. You smile at him, kindly, warmly, lovingly, and yet it goes straight to his crotch. It's the way you look at him, so longingly when you're merely across the room. All you have to do is walk a few feet and you'll be together again, but it feels like you're miles apart. You play eye contact tag as you get separate tasks done, and Toji always beats you, being the last one to look away. His gaze bores into the back of your head when you don't spare him anymore attention, and it always makes you turn around when you feel it like some sixth sense. You smile, happily losing focus on whatever you're working on to look at your handsome distraction sprawled out on the couch. He looks at you with a sly smirk. He knows what he's doing, but what you're doing is worse. Smiling so pretty at him like that, knowing he can't be next to you for at least another twenty minutes. He tries to entice you by looking you up and down while playing with the hem of his shirt. Your willpower starts crumbling when he's like this so you quickly turn around with wide eyes. He grins before letting out a sigh of impatience. The tent in his pants is unbearable, and god he wishes he had the same level of restraint as you, but he doesn't, so stands from where he is, and he personally lets you know how much he wants you.

[tearsofcalamity]

Boothil has me on a chokeholdI want to fuck him so bad.Maybe install a few softwares, up his sensitivity, play with his mind.. Or maybe a lewd virus.. Make him so horny and needy, his head can literally think of you fucking him so good..Or him accidentally plugging the wrong USB, thinking it's his usual data after rebooting, but it's your USB and it messed with him.. I want to fuck his pretty hole so bad

hi anon this is tasty oml

imagine his sensitivity's been all off, some kinda glitch maybe from an incident during one of his missions. one moment it's been too low, and the next (just like now) it's way, way too high. for every other touch it's just annoying, but every time you've brushed past him today, he's failed to mention his issue with just how aroused he feels himself getting. it's different when it's your touch.

when he finally bucks up and admits that he's been having issues, you're so caring, so much more considerate of his senses (he wishes you wouldn't be - he really just wants you to fuck him dumb every time you so much as graze him) as you set out a few USBs and ask him to wait while you go grab some other tools to fix up his sensors. he asks what they're for, and when you tell him they're various types of sensations compiled into USBs to better test each type of touch, he figures he might as well just get a jumpstart with the testing so he doesn't waste your precious time.

he opts for the USB sitting the furthest away. the fool, he hadn't even asked you what sensation each one was before trying it out. it could've been pain, a ticklish feeling, but no, he got arousal. it was like he was overwhelmed like an animal in heat at once, his eyes shooting open as his cock strained against his trousers painfully. images of you involuntarily flashed through his mind, and he had to fight to keep himself breathing normally, but it was no use...

you get back to find him practically humping the air, strands of black and white hair sticking to his forehead as he pants and moans and begs for your help. you're concerned until you see the USB sticking out of his port and realize at once what he's done, lightly chastising him (horrendous torture for him in this state, surely, to have your breath so gently tickling his ear as he suffers) on not touching your tools without asking you first.

unfortunately, it'd be too risky to go in and fix this via his inner wiring while he's this worked up... it might burn you with how much he's overheating. so the only solution is to fuck his brains out until he's at least semi-conscious enough to cool down. good thing you made sure he'd be able to fuck in any way a normal man could when adding his sensitivity! giving him all the facilities is coming in handy.

poor guy doesn't even have the time or mental faculties to ask why the hell you had an arousal USB among the testers present.

ooooh, maybe use a toy on his cock while you pound into him... it'll give you a nice view of his face while he's being completely overwhelmed, his eye filled with hearts, rolling back as his tongue sticks out from behind those pretty lips of his. a nice, slick onahole should do wonders to cool him down after one, three, five... maybe more orgasms, even as he begs you to stop despite his hips continuing to rut into the gadget. the fun thing about fucking a robot is that he can go a lot more than a human can, and as much as boothill tosses his head from side to side, actual tears beginning to spill, you can also see the drool beginning to fall from his lips, his lolling tongue as he groans your name over and over.

he's got a pseudo-prostate that you make sure to nail with precision every time your strap slides inside of him, the impeccable design of his insides allowing you to slip in and out with ease. you remove the onahole from his weeping cock (another feature that aids the toy and your current activities as a whole), pushing his legs up and folding him in half into a mating press, just to see if he can cum only from his prostate. and cum he does - his voice coming out higher and higher pitched as he wails in both euphoria and humiliation at your treatment of him.

finally, you slow when you realize he has indeed begun to cool. his eyes are rolled back, hair messy and splayed across the table, harsh scratches made by his metal nails into the steel table (somehow). he's not quite unconscious, but he certainly can't form any further words, his breathing heaving with small, scattered moans as he tries to regain himself. his emergency cooling procedure had kicked into high gear at last, aiding you in fixing up his sensitivity.

oh, but perhaps leave that special USB lying around. mark it clearly, and pretend not to notice when boothill digs through your messy desk to find it and plug it back in, acting for all the world that he didn't mean to use that special little one on himself again. he's got too much pride to admit it, after all. oh well, it seems you'll have to help him once more!

[dcxdpdabbles]

Am going feral for Danny's grill, I'm salivating for another part, perhaps the batfams reactions to Tim's theory of Danny being fae and just "ohh oh that tracks, that tracks a little too well, but atleast he's a nice fae? Also I vainly remember Constantine drunkenly complaining about a pariah being a bitch king so maybe Danny is actually fae royalty which is why he can afford to be nice??"

Sry for rambling ♡

Tim's investigation updates are alarming, to put it nicely. Bruce can't say he's thrilled by how his son discovered a new Fae court or that his son is now untraceable within the said court.

He would think Tim was missing if it weren't for the reports he finds at family information locations. Thankfully, the fae seemed benevolent—at least for now.

Bruce would be the first to admit that he did not like how, out of all his kids, Tim always seemed to get involved with the oddest of missions.

Reading the Young Justice reports always gave him a headache- baseball game for the plant? Accidentally killed Santa Claus?!? - So, he not only figured out a Fae had appeared in Gotham but also ate the food the Fae offered him? Yeah, that was his Tim.

Bruce had picked up Tim's progress reports before anyone else. His other children were focused on a missing person case and their own cases.

Bruce figured that as long as Tim was treated right, he could spend time searching for a way to get his son home safely without worrying about the others. He has spoken with every member of the Justice League Dark, interviewed any god or goodness in the Justice League, and done extensive research on Faes themselves.

Almost everything had given him the same result: A human could be returned from the Other World only if the Fae allowed it.

It's not impossible to trick a Fae into releasing Tim, but it must be delicately done. Those types of beings rarely forgive and never forget.

He had planned for this to happen to him long before he became Batman—after all, he knew those creatures were real after learning of Aliens—but each of his plans to escape the Fae had an "It's alright if I die" in progress.

He could not apply those plans to Tim, as he did not care if his son lived.

He was replaying his interview with John Consitiante- seeing as that man had a lot of practice swinging his soul as a bargaining chip- when Jason came stomping down the stairs.

"I can't find him!" He swears, throwing himself in a computer chair with a huff. Bruce lowers the volume on his computer, making a sound in the back of his throat. It's the usual noise he makes to convey to his children he is listening and is curious about what is upsetting them

Jason, easily able to understand his sounds now, ranks a hand through his hair with a scoff. "The favor one of my contacts called in. Alvin Draper. I can't find anything on him before my contact took him in"

"Could be a fake name," Bruce offers, typing into his search engine some keywords John spilled in his drunken state. He reads over the runes that pulled up while considering Jason's words. "He gave your contact his name in the same breath as his work. He would unlikely have trusted him that much, so he creates a false name to cover up his street name, which he only gives to customers. His birth name is even less spoken."

"Yeah, I thought the same, so I took the initiative to look at anyone working in his usual areas. Some working girls who answer to me have also asked around. Anyone even remotely matching the description has been tracked down and kept safe, but none were the target. I've even had the others look into it just in case the few corner boys didn't trust Red Hood would be more forthcoming with information. Nothing. Zip. Nada! I'm not an amateur, Bruce. " Jason snarks and Bruce fights off the wave of pride. Of course, his children were able to do all that without him. His kids were incredible at their work.

"No one has seen or heard of Alvin within the industry. If he's a corner boy, he's a private one. Those are the worst because it usually means the clients are crazy powerful and extra careful to not be seen."

Bruce pauses, mind rushing at lightning speed. "Power, not seen and....does this Alvin Draper happen to work on these streets?"

He pulls up a map with various colored dots on it. Bruce had been carefully tracking down where Tim and his Fae had been going through. Tim mainly stayed at the Fae's manor but was allowed to go out to work. One of the reasons Bruce truly believed it was benevolent.

If he ignored the information in the packages, it seemed like Tim was taking some personal time off. His other children surely thought so. They all just laughed at the fact Tim was not about but was still solving the most cases out of all of them.

It was primarily remote work, which Bruce didn't mind. Tim needed a vacation from Red Robin and Wayne Enterprises' CEO.

"Yes!" Jason gasps, leaning towards the map. "How did you find all the targeted areas? My contact said Alvin moved almost every night."

Bruce weighs his options before carefully admitting. "It wasn't my intention to get Alvin's area. I have been tracking a new Fae court that followed these paths."

There was a significant pause before Jason asked with great patience. "There is a what in Gotham?"

"A Fae."

"...Okay, and how long has this been in our city?"

"About two months now."

Jason takes a deep breath. He reaches around Bruce to press the communications line, which he presses four times. At once, the cave is filled with the noise of his children going about their night- either in or out of costume.

All but Tim, since he is still within the Fae's castle. It's a setback that Bruce can't find the castle, even after Tim tells him exactly where it is with coordinates.

He assumes that he, as a human, has no access to the building. Nothing on his computers or tests proves that there is a building there, but Tim swears that's where he's been.

"We have Faes in Gotham. B. has known about them for two months," Jason announces, cutting everyone off. The lines go very silent, and Bruce blinks, confused when he can pick up some anger in his children's silence.

"B?" Dick says in that You better tell me everything right now, old man voice. It's the strangely sickly sweet tone he uses that disguises danger.

Bruce is mystified. Why is he angry? "Two months ago, Tim informed me that a stranger had caught his attention and that he was going undercover. He mostly noticed inconsistencies with his target, but it was only after following the suspect home that he realized the man was not human-"

"Father, are you saying a Fae has Red Robin?" Damian interrupted which is unusual. His youngest almost never does that; he's far too polite and disciplined.

"Yes. He's been in his castle the whole time he's been away."

"Did he eat anything the Fae gave him!?" Duke's cries sounded almost hysterical.

"Yes, he has been there for two months. Tim needed to eat."

"RR has been gone for almost three months, B.!" Harper snaps. She was out as Bluebird for the first time in a while. Her college assignments were really cutting into her hero time.

"Is he okay?" Cullen asks quietly. Bruce had always suspected the lad had a crush on his son, flushing deep red whenever Harper brought him over.

"He is fine. Tim has kept contact with me and seems to be thriving with the Fae. I have been working to get the being to give him back without causing him harm."

"That's what all the research you've been doing lately was about?" Barbara demands.

Bruce squints at the screens where voice lines are beside the images of his children. He doesn't know why but understands that even she is cross with him. "Yes."

"Master Bruce, we will be having a conversation later," Alfred hisses- actually hisses, and Bruce feels cold, hard dread slip down his spine. Oh no. Had he done something wrong again?

Should he not mention his theory that Tim and Alvin are one in the same? Would that make things worse or better?

Jason lets loose a series of swears in Spanish. He leans against the table, pitching his voice loud enough that the rest of the Bats can hear him. "Crude, I think the Fae collects people with the same physical characteristics. Tim and Alvin are known as people of the same height, eye color, age, hair color, and even skin color."

Dick, Damian, Duke, and Harper all swear in their own native tounges, which makes Bruce fight the urge to sink down. Yes, it is better not to mention his other theory of Jason's contact being said, Fae.

Not until he has proof, at least.

"Let me guess." Steph chimes in with a sigh. "Tim followed the Fae because he's pretty."

Bruce remains stubbornly silent, but he thinks that Tim finds the Fae or "Danny" quite handsome. Why else would he spend three paragraphs of his report describing Danny's hair?

"I think we all need to come together to work on this," Dick says next, voice taking charge. Bruce's pride and adoration for the children grow a few notches higher when they all agree without thought.

"Who knows what Tim or Alvin are going through."

Meanwhile, Tim sighed as one of Danny's "hired" help carefully worked out some knots in his back. How long has it been since he had a spa day? Too long. "Was that too rough?"

"No, it's the perfect pressure."

"Wonderful. After we are done here, would you prefer a mud bath or a soothing seaweed wrap?"

"Oh, a mud bath for sure."

[petew21-blog]

Swapcation

I can't believe I finally did it. I was so afraid to use my powers I got and now look at me.

A fat kid like me would never walk around like this. Parading around

I still feel guilty though

14 hours ago:

My family spoke about receiving my powers for many years. They all got their chance for a few years when they were young but one day their power run out when they got too old. It took a few years for each person.

But now I was the youngest out of our family and they all were looking forward to use my powers to swap them into younger bodies. I hated this idea, cause they usually picked a family they knew and replaced them. What did my family do with the other swapped family are you asking? You don't wanna know.

And that's why I escaped the night before my family got their hands on me. I couldn't let another family get killed of like so many before. I just have to swap soon enough before my family finds me a tries to use me for themselves. Unfortunately it won't be easy, cause after centuries of swapping, they got themselves into the higher class and got enough money to do whatever they wanted.

I ran through the forest with my backpack and got to the nearest road. It was the middle of the night and there weren't cars nearby. I walked for an hour and arrived to a 24/7 diner. Perfect. I can hitchhike from here.

The only three people in the diner were the chef, waitress and some guy. He looked like a bussiness man coming from some trip. Sipped his coffee, maybe heading somewhere and trying to get some cofein to not fall asleep behind the wheel.

I aproached him:"Hey, I was just wondering if you were taking hitchhikers by any chance?" I asked with a shaky voice.

He looked at me with his exhausted eyes:"Where are you heading? Got a name kid?"

"North," I exclaimed, " and the name is Kenneth. Nice to meet you."

I saw a spark in his eyes. Maybe it was just a coincidence. "Really? North? There isn't anything but wilderness for miles." I didn't respond. And just nodded. He continued:"Well we got a lot to talk about then"

We headed to the car. He was driving a black Toyota. That's all I could say about that car. I knew shit about cars

His car was clean, but he had a lot of bags in the trunk. Probably from the business trip, I thought.

An hour of smalltalk about my life and himself followed. His name was Matthew, and he worked as a marketer on west coast. He quit university a few years ago and went on to get more money. From the talk all I could notice was the way his hands moved, his beautifully manly hands. His biceps was carefully wrapped around by the blue short sleeve of his T-shirt. I could only imagine what it would be like to kiss his beard and continue to his chest. Burry myself there. I wondered if he was hairy there just as his arms were.

As I was dreaming about this beautiful specimen I didn't even notice that he made a few slight turns. As he kept talking and I was admiring him, out of the pitch black forest a diner emerged. The same diner we came back from.

I looked at him horrified

"You didn't think that your parents would let you get away? Sorry for the change of your plans for the vacation, but your family needs you and I was promised a lot of money. So I gotta get you back."

Fuck. No. I can't let this happen. I can't go back. I gotta find a way out of here.

The doors were locked, so there was no way I was getting out of there. Begging didn't seem like a valid option. I noticed the time 2:09. It's my birthday. I wonder. If this doesn't work then I am dead. If I don't do anything my family will use me. I can't let the happen.

I concentrated hard enough. I have never swapped before, but I knew how from my family. They all went through it many times.

I felt warmth coming straight from my head, following to my hands.

We were few miles from my home

Now or never

I jumping at him. My right hand grabbing the wheel and turning it to the right. My left hand grabbing his shoulder.

A moment of darkness. For a short glimpse I saw my own face shocked and screaming. Then we hit the tree.

I got out of the car as soon as possible. My body didn't move. I killed him. I did the same thing, like my family to all the others.

I ran to the backseat, grabbed my backpack a ran striaght to the forest. I could hear sirens in the distance. I have to run now.

Present

I think it has been far enough for now. The forest ened with a beautiful large meadow between two massive mountains. Sun already shined and I could slow down for a minute.

I took off my ripped shirt and jeans. If someone saw them they would think that a bear attacked.

In my view were now two beautifully sculpted hairy pecs and even more beautiful abs. I went through every ridge my fingers found. The skin was tigh and warm. After the run I completely forgot I was now Matthew. Not Jake anymore. But Matthew. Beautiful hot sexy Matthew.

I spoke out. What a manly voice I now possess I though. My hand touching my neck and the other my lips and beard as I spoke. I smelled my armpit. The stentch of sweat was extremely strong but erotic. I went to admire my new hairy legs. I slowly started from my strong thighs, through the thick carpet of hair covering them, following to my new feet. I took off the shoes. My feet are massive now.

The last thing I didn't see yet was already awaiting hard. I got completely naked. There I was. A man! A hot sexy man. Sculpted like a statue with a hard and large dick in hand. I jerked off slowly and with my other hand I kept on exploring the already touched areas. I went on to masturbate rapidly just until the streams of cum kept pouring out off me.

I stood there smiling, laughing.

And then the clarity hit. I took Matthew's life. I did that to stop my family, but that didn't make it easier.

There was no going back now. I took my backpack and the rest of my clothes that weren't destroyed, hoping I would get a chance to get some on the way.

"I am Matthew Daniels and I am on a vacation. I am Matthew."

I went into the beautiful nature to continue my journey. I still feel guilty. Maybe the feeling will pass. I hope...

[bg-brainrot]

**BANGS DOOR OPEN**

I DO DECLARE IT BE HORNY HOURS!!

What is your opinion on Astarion’s fav positions?

Oh and what about him being a bottom!? (Pegging?)

**RUNS AWAY**

Ohoho! Don't run away, we have horny hour headcanons to discuss!

I do think this depends on spawn or ascended Astarion, so I split this up-- NSFW below the cut! CW: Astarion's past and trauma

Spawn Astarion

I've said it before in my headcanon post and I'll say it again and again and again: Spawn Astarion wants to stare into his partner's eyes during sex. Especially as he tries to grow more comfortable in sex, I think he would be open to trying out a few different positions, but ultimately find that he wants to be able to remain connected to them as best as he can, and that means seeing them, knowing that they're enjoying the experience as much as he is. After some time, he'd grow fond of other positions, but not for a while (see: The Thousandth Time).

That all being said, favorite position: missionary. I know people joke about this a lot but I think he really would enjoy it the most! He'd also be a fan of cowgirl/cowboy, and really any position that allows him to kiss his partner throughout, like sitting in each other's laps. He would hold their hand, press cool kisses to the sweaty sheen of their temple, anything to keep himself in the moment. It would be an active effort for a while, but soon it would become habit, effortless as he grows used to chasing his own pleasure without any thought at all.

Now top or bottom? I am of the opinion that Astarion is a switch with a preference to top at the start of his journey -- this is entirely because of the power dynamics at play. He'd been so used to being "on his back" literally and metaphorically that I think that first time in the woods is a moment of taking charge and one that he'd hold on to for a bit. Eventually? I think he would be comfortable as either top or bottom, and would certainly be willing to forgo some control if that's what his partner wants. It would really boil down to: 'I want us both to be happy in our experiences, let's figure what works for us both best' (so it would depend on his partner)

When the topic of pegging is brought up (either by himself or his partner), he would be cautiously excited at first, especially knowing how much his partner cares for him/his relationship with sex and how good it will feel. He's no stranger to being pegged, no stranger to enjoying the sensation, but it would be the first time in centuries that he actually wouldn't feel used by the end of it. So he enjoys it thoroughly that first time, all of his fears melting away with the way his partner coaxes the pleasure out of him, he may even make some noises he hasn't heard from his own mouth in years. Ultimately, it is one of the many ways he reclaims control and, for that, he can't get enough.

Ascended Astarion

Conversely: Ascended Astarion couldn't care less about eye contact during sex. In his act 3 romance scene, he only briefly makes direct eye contact, and it's mainly to get into a better position. To him, it's not about the inherent intimacy of sex, it's about the sensations that him and his consort both feel, that they both bring each other undone utterly and thoroughly.

So his favorite position? Doggy style. He likes deep penetration, and a position that gives him a lot of control. He sets the pace, the pressure-- he would feel every bit the lord he is while his consort begs for more beneath him. Another favorite position is 69, as he loves how he and his consort slot together so well, each heightening the others' pleasure throughout. To him, the more both he and his consort get out of it, the better, and if he can make them squirm with what a skilled lover he is at the same time? Delectable really.

Top or bottom is tricky here. Because I believe he starts out as a switch before Ascension, as Spawn Astarion does-- only I think his relationship with sex takes a different path than Spawn Astarion's, namely because he doesn't metaphorically lay his past to rest in the same way. As such, for a while he refuses to bottom. He sees it as demeaning, beneath him and, as his consort, his partner ought to understand and be willing to accept their place. Then, as he and his consort have more and more sexual encounters, he finds himself growing detached from sex. It becomes a rote power play in which he's more of an observer than an active participant. That is, until he finally lets go of some of that power. When he finally allows his partner to top, oh he enjoys it. A lot. Certainly more than he's willing to admit, but his consort would be able to tell easily enough, especially when Astarion all but demands it. That's not to say he relinquishes control entirely-- while he does enjoy being submissive to his lover, more than he expects, he certainly harnesses what it means to be a power bottom.

Ascended Astarion brings up pegging first, and it comes across as more of a casual topic of conversation than the excitement of a vampire lord ready to come undone. Again, his consort would know though. He wouldn't be able to hide the lustful gleam in his eyes when his consort agrees, he wouldn't be subtle about the way he whisks them away to their bedroom a moment later. He enjoys it in the moment surely, but is surprised by how little it entices him again. Being submissive is one thing, but he's left feeling oddly vulnerable afterward-- he doesn't care for that uncomfortable aftermath. When his consort next suggests pegging he shrugs it off, deciding to opt for something that focuses more on making sure that they get off instead.

Thank you so much anon 🫰🏽this was fun and hope you enjoyed horny hours!!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, birth control discussion, dirty talk, making out, lots of touching

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part Sixteen of Ink & Needle

You and Simon explore Edinburgh before heading to Johnny’s family farm in the Highlands. At the secluded cottage on property, you and Simon finally have the chance to be truly alone.

Chapter Fifteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Green grass. Fall rain. Endless gray sky.

Funny how the simple things, the things you don’t expect, can bring you joy. They ground you in a singular moment, capturing the present like a snapshot. Simon’s head is quickly filling with these pictures. They are consuming. Perfect. A calmness that he often feels just before the first sip of tea.

It took twenty minutes—and all of Simon’s willpower—to pull himself from your arms and out of bed this morning. He would have stayed but this is so much better. This is freeing. A complete separation from the stresses of his life. Since waking, Simon hasn’t thought about a single fucking worry all day.

No 141 Ink. No British Intelligence. No Kit Walsh.

Nothing.

Simon even forgot to care that he didn’t pack or wear a balaclava for this trip.

There has only been you.

You—who is the bright light in the dark that is his life.

It’s raining in Edinburgh, but that doesn’t appear to dampen your mood one bit. If anything, it makes you wilder, and Simon loves watching your intense satisfaction in everything you see around you. Right now, you stand in the middle of a cobblestone street, staring up into the cloudy sky, smiling at the soft rain as it lands on your face.

Simon is on the pavement, grinning like an idiot as you make your way back to him. Before you reach him, Simon presents his hand. You take it without question, the two of you effortlessly coming together.

It is natural. It is instinct.

The connection between his actions and his brain are so seamless, Simon doesn’t realize what he’s doing until after it has already happened. Each movement flows into the next, and it keeps the worries at a distance.

You are right in front of him. You are here and whole and all his.

Nothing compares.

With the rain, Simon sticks to indoor activities. The two of you linger in little trinket shops and old bookstores, explore winding streets, and watch the rain from café windows. You are curious, and this curiosity forces Simon to see the world around him differently. Simon always stops in Edinburgh when he visits Johnny’s family farm, but it’s just another stop to him. Nothing more.

At this point, it is routine, but watching you explore the city with new eyes gives Simon pause. It tells him to slow down, to consider that he can enjoy what’s before him as it is. Because watching you is shifting something inside of him. Not like a knife to the gut that twists and turns, but a healing with thread and needle and a tenderness that he can’t place but feels in his marrow.

When the rain stops and the clouds clear out, you and Simon stop for a sandwich before trekking up Calton Hill. Simon has seen this view hundreds of times. He stays back, allowing you to take it all in. There are other people up here—mostly tourists—but unlike them, you do not pull out your phone to snap photos. You simply admire, and inhale deeply, just living in the moment.

Simon does not interrupt. He does something he hasn’t done in ages.

From his coat pocket, Simon removes a small sketch pad and pencil. Finding a comfortable spot in the wet grass, he starts to sketch, allowing the graphite to lead. Simon sketches, simply existing, until you turn your back to Edinburgh and extend your arm to him, fingers wiggling in invitation.

Simon is the one that moves, taking your hand instead of you taking his. Again, like all the other times today, you step into his space, molding to him as if you’ve always belonged there. Bending down, Simon brushes his lips against the crown of your head before departing.

The drive to Johnny’s family farm up in the Highlands is peaceful. You sleep most of the way, and Simon doesn’t wake you until he pulls into the drive. He parks off to the side next to the tarp-covered quad and shuts off the car. Simon promised Johnny he’d check on the place before heading out to the cottage at the edge of the property.

Simon gently places his hand on your shoulders and squeezes. “We’re here.”

You stir, eyelids blinking slowly before opening fully. Sitting up, you yawn and glance around, realization dawning. “This the place?”

“Cottage is elsewhere. Stopping here first. Promised Johnny I’d look in on the place.”

“You mentioned no one would be here.” You have the passenger door open before Simon can hop out and open it for you. He comes around the front of the vehicle as you shut the car door. “Are we checking on the animals?” you ask, hopefulness in your tone.

Simon chuckles. “Absolutely not. Think I know how?”

“No,” you reply automatically, laughing. Your grin is infectious, and Simon cannot help but match it.

“You have so little faith in me?” he teases, placing one hand above the passenger window, creating a barrier between you and the house.

Simon leans in and grins when he receives the reaction he wants. You’re flustered and sweet, your gaze darting from his face to his chest in embarrassment.

“Never,” you murmur, lips parting slightly.

Your pupils widen and Simon has to swallow down a growl. Just a few more minutes, and the two of you will be where you need to.

Simon pushes off from the car and nods toward the house, walking backward. You follow, clearly eager. The main house is single-level, rectangular, and made of gray stone. The cottage is similar but boxy, housing a single room instead of several.

Approaching the front door, Simon begins lifting the edges of rocks that make up the flower bed with the toe of his boot. Usually someone is always here when Simon comes for a visit and all that’s required is just a knock on the door. But whenever the farm sits empty, a key is placed under a rock, and it is a hunt in finding where it is. The key is never in the same place twice and Johnny always forgets to remind Simon where it might be located.

A flash of metal catches Simon’s attention. He overturns the rock and bends down, snagging the key, jostling the rock back into place with his boot. Simon slides the key into the lock, and the door gives. Simon enters and you follow on his heels.

Simon loves this house. It’s cozy and comfortable. A true home. He’s spent many Christmases here, sleeping on the lumpy sofa and stuffing his face at the large wooden dining table. Hesitantly, you step forward as Simon tosses the key on the kitchen counter.

“Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, turning in Simon’s direction.

Simon shakes his head. “Just checking that windows are locked. I’ll walk the exterior after.”

You nod, slipping your hands into your coat pockets, strolling further into the house. Simon starts in the interior room before moving on to the bedrooms and bathroom. Everything is secure. Nothing is out of place, but the lock in the main bedroom is loose.

“Simon,” you call out. He tenses slightly at your raised voice but you don’t sound nervous or afraid.

Cautiously, he reenters the main room. You’re standing in front of the fridge. When Simon appears, you glance at him, the corners of your mouth turning upward into a bemused expression.

“What is it?” he asks, suddenly apprehensive.

Your head slowly swivels back to the fridge and that is when he notices a small piece of paper attached to it by a magnet.

“Simon,” you begin, reading from the paper. “I’ve stocked the fridge with all your favorites. Harold is taking care of the animals. Heard you’re bringing a lady friend. Hope you bring her at Christmas.” You turn back to Simon, one eyebrow arched in question.

Bloody hell.

The next time Simon sees Johnny, he’s strangling him.

“It also says to strip the bed before we leave if we—” you glance back at the note, “make a mess.”

Johnny, you’re a dead man.

Simon nearly chokes at that last bit. “It doesn’t say that,” he grumbles, striding forward to snatch the note off the fridge. Simon turns the paper over, revealing a familiar sprawling cursive. That is Johnny’s mother’s handwriting. He reads over it and then crosses his arms over his chest, staring you down.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as you giggle uncontrollably.

“You’re fucking done,” he says, pointing in your direction before folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket. Simon tries to keep a serious demeanor but utterly fails. He’s grinning too as he rummages around for the toolbox under the sink.

After fixing the lock, Simon takes a lap around the perimeter of the house. Finding nothing, the two of you return to the car and head out to the cottage. It isn’t far and the dirt road that leads to it borders the pastures.

The cottage is a near replica of the main house. It too is made of stone with a small flower bed out front.

“Is this where we’re staying?” you ask as Simon opens the boot and removes the bags.

“You like it?”

“It’s lovely, Simon.” Your gaze softens. “Thank you.”

His heart stops and then melts, becoming liquid in his chest. “We both needed a break.”

You nod. “We did.” Your glance at the bags hanging off his shoulder. “I can take mine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, pushing right past you and to the door.

You are not lifting a finger this entire trip. Simon won’t allow it. If you need anything, he will provide it.

Simon has the key in the door before you can form a protest. You’re grumbling behind him, but Simon ignores you, pushing open the door and stepping inside. Slowly, Simon slips the bags off his shoulder and places them at his feet.

Like the main house, the cottage is old. It’s seen two world wars, rebellions, and invasions. While the exterior hasn’t changed much, the interior has been updated to accommodate modern amenities. It consists of one large room and a small bathroom. Across from the entry door, on the other side of the room, is the hearth. It is the focal point of the room, and other than some general upkeep, it hasn’t changed since it was first built. Simon could comfortably crouch inside it and still have room to move.

Simon can build a fire in it, but he cannot fucking cook with it. Johnny’s mother certainly passed on her knowledge but it never stuck. Thankfully, there’s an actual fucking oven. The kitchen area itself is relatively small with limited counter space and a small fridge. Next to that is a tiny breakfast table that segways into a little sitting area with an armchair and sofa that seats two.

Directly inside the door to Simon’s left is the bathroom, and to his right is the bed. Its wood frame is weathered but sturdy.

“This is where we’re staying?” you ask softly, as if you don’t believe it to be true.

“Until Wednesday,” answers Simon, suddenly nervous.

Do you like it? Is it enough?

Simon cannot see your face. You’re turned away from him, walking further into the room. He stands awkwardly near the door, and the only thing in his head is how much he desires your approval. This trip isn’t much, but it’s something.

When you remove your coat and shiver, Simon’s response is immediate. “I’ll start the fire.” Grabbing the wool blanket off the bed, Simon unfolds it and holds it at your shoulders for you to accept.

This time, Simon finally sees your face, and the softness in your features dissolves any doubts. You are happy, and when your gaze meets his, Simon is momentarily lost, delving into your endlessness.

And yet again, Simon’s movements do not register until he is already reaching for you.

He drapes the wool blanket over your shoulders and then wraps you up in it, pulling you against his chest as he does so. Simon does not ask. He does not hesitate. There is no trepidation when he claims your lips. All Simon knows is that he wants this, wants you, and you are here with him.

No one can take you from him.

You open, and Simon advances. The second your taste finds his tongue Simon knows that he’ll slaughter anything and anyone who attempts to steal you away.

They will only know the shape of his fists.

They will only know the flavor of lead.

Suffering will be their sleep and their memory upon waking.

You are too good—too fucking sweet for Simon—and yet he’s never giving you up. Will never drop the addiction. If you leave, Simon can only follow.

The kiss deepens, your fingers finding the back of his neck. You’re smaller than him but you still try to show a bit of force. It’s cute how you’re pulling on him, telling Simon you crave more. Eagerness is pumping in your blood, and Simon is ready to explore that need. To understand and match it with his own.

He wants to fill his lungs with it.

Breathe you in so deep you’ll leave scars.

While Simon would love nothing more than to remove everything beneath the blanket, he needs to warm this place up and put some food in your belly.

Reluctantly, and with harrowing effort, Simon pries your fingers away from his neck. You whimper in response, and that sound goes straight to his dick. The sudden rush of blood is what snaps Simon out of his haze. When he draws back and notices your puffy, pouty lips and blown pupils, Simon nearly submits all over again.

But even that is not enough to completely shatter him.

“You’re distracting me,” he mumbles.

Your smile is gentle. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

Simon reaches up and runs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip. “Curl up on the sofa. I need to grab wood.”

“Let me help,” you say, tugging on his jacket.

“Rest. I’ve got this.”

Your palm goes flat against his chest before dropping away. It leaves a lingering warmth behind. Backing up, you plop onto the couch, bending forward to remove your shoes. Simon turns away quickly, running his fingers through his hair as if that will calm his racing heart.

He retrieves wood from the pile on the south side of the house, stacking it all next to the hearth. Removing the correct tools, Simon sets to work. It won’t take much to warm the room, and Simon gives just enough life to the fire to take care of other tasks. Given the right conditions, the fire will do what it needs to on its own.

Opening the fridge, Simon snorts. Johnny’s mother truly did stock it. She not only prepped for dinner but left plenty for breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea. Amongst all that are various snacks.

We won’t need to leave at all.

That is what Simon ultimately wanted, and it’s exactly what he’s receiving.

Simon begins heating the small oven and selects one of the prepared meals from the fridge. Johnny’s mother even left a couple bottles of wine and a small bottle of scotch on the counter. While Simon loves a strong drink, he prefers Kentucky bourbon, but he won’t turn down what’s freely offered.

By the time the two of you finish a bottle of wine and dinner, it’s dark out. Simon shutters the windows, cleaning up the cutlery and wine glasses before joining you on the sofa. The old thing sags under his weight but it’s comfortable, and you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his arm.

Simon doesn’t feel anything but contentment. He’s like white linen hanging on a clothesline under the summer sun. No cares. No worries. There is nothing but you and him and this cottage for the next few days.

Shifting in his arms, you look up at him, your chin slightly digging into his shoulder. Simon glances down at you, and without hesitation, places his large palm against the side of your throat, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

“Ready for bed, love?” Simon means sleep, but that idea utterly vacates his brain when you swing your leg over his thighs. Still keeping his hand on your throat, you move from his right side to his lap. The wool blanket is still around your shoulders, and it falls open slightly as you raise both hands to rest against his chest.

“Simon.” His name on your tongue is honey-thick. “You know what I want.”

“I know,” he says, because it’s what he wants too.

Two months. Two months since he first saw you standing in the doorway of 141 Ink. He thought you a phantom, an illusion of the mind that happens to him sometimes. But you were real that day. You were real and fate brought you to him.

Simon has waited three fucking years for you.

And he’s going to make up for every missed second.

His hand drops from your neck only to settle on your hips. Simon squeezes, filling his grip with you, imagining when there will no longer be a barrier between his skin and yours. It’s what he’s been thinking of, what he’s been wanting, but that’s not the whole picture.

You are more than what you can offer him physically, and while that is the final piece, it’s not everything. Simon adores your kisses and kind smiles. He loves your silly jokes, and the sense of peace that comes with your presence. The instinct to protect and possess is a constant thing. It sits in the back of his head and between his rib bones.

A model relationship isn’t something Simon knows. He grew up with violence and made a career of it. Every person Simon has ever engaged with on an intimate level have always been quick and efficient affairs. Simple need fulfillment. Nothing more.

But this? With you?

It’s so much more. It goes beyond the bounds of reason. It is suffocating as much as it is lifegiving. There is no doubt in Simon’s mind about how he feels, only beautiful truth.

Your hands venture away from his chest. One comes to a rest in the muscled dip where his neck and shoulder meet. The other is low, nearly in his lap, toying with the end of his shirt like you want to delve underneath but aren’t sure if you should.

“Do you want me?” you ask, and Simon hears the gentle break.

Do you truly think he’ll reject you?

“Always,” he answers. “Constantly.”

Simon’s hands slide up to your waist, holding tight, drawing you closer. Your head tilts in invitation and Simon matches your movement. The connection is electric and yet completely comforting. This feeling is a tangled web of warmth and anticipation. It courses through Simon’s veins until it buzzes in the tips of his fingers.

Again and again, Simon is lost in you. The craving is unending. You press in, roll your hips, and Simon snaps. Breaking the kiss, Simon grasps the nape of your neck. The gasp you release upon separation heats his blood.

“We need to talk first,” he says.

You whimper and try to return to him, but Simon’s grip is firm. He doesn’t want to deny you this but the two of you need to discuss protection before anything continues.

“Listen to me, love,” coos Simon. Your gaze goes from his lips to his eyes. “If we’re doing this, I want no barriers.”

The middle of your brow creases in confusion. “You have me, Simon. Completely.”

Simon shakes his head. His left hand falls away from your waist and slides over the curve of your ass, dipping between your spread thighs. Pausing, Simon cups your pussy and your eyelids flutter with pleasure.

“No barriers,” he repeats, pressing slightly until you make a sound in your throat that shoots a bolt of need to his dick. “That’s what I want.” Your gaze darts over his face, but you don’t say anything.

The silence is excruciating, and he needs an answer. “Do you want that?” he asks, even as the uncertainty of your answer bites at his resolve.

If you say no, it’s not a big fucking deal. Simon packed an entire box of condoms for this very reason. Whatever you decide, he’ll respect it, but he just needs to know. Because whatever you tell him, the two of you will need to make a plan moving forward.

Simon will fuck you bare. He wants you dripping with him. To see it between your legs and know that you belong to him.

“Simon.”

“Tell me.”

“Yes.”

Fucking hell.

“Yes, what?” he prompts.

“I want you,” you breathe. “No barriers.”

Simon removes his hand from between your thighs. “Are you sure, love? Don’t say yes just for me.” His fingers tighten slightly on your neck, and your eyelids flutter in response. “Not looking to put a baby in you.”

Not yet.

The unspoken words hang in front of his eyes, and Simon freezes.

Fuck.

Not yet. Not. Yet. Why the fuck did he think that? Why is his head even considering that as an option?

Because it’s true, even if Simon has only given the idea a few seconds of consideration. When Amelia showed Simon the photo of you holding Lillian, he couldn’t help himself. He imagined the small infant as yours. The one he’d have with you. Wanting a child is not something Simon has ever entertained, but then again, he didn’t have you in his life.

Pieces of him—pieces that were nothing more than scattered fractures—are beginning to reform. They’re finding each other, fusing, collectively forming the image that is Simon.

It is happening.

Slowly. But happening.

He is finding himself in the void.

“Is that something you want?

 Your question pulls Simon right out of his silent musings. He considers his next words carefully.

“It’s on the table.” Because it is, but only if you want it. “In the future,” he amends, making it clear that is not what he wants at this particular moment.

Even if he did where would the infant go in his flat? There isn’t any fucking room.

You simply nod and say nothing. Simon senses an unease radiating off you but he’s not entirely sure why and it’s unclear if he should push the topic.

“You on birth control?” he asks, deciding it’s better to receive verbal confirmation.

“I am,” you reply.

Simon sighs audibly and squeezes your thighs. “Good.”

You smile coyly. “You’re very sweaty all of a sudden, Simon. Are you nervous?”

Simon swallows and his salvia sticks in his throat. He coughs, almost chokes. “What?”

“Your cheeks are flushed.” The backs of your knuckles graze the line of his jaw. “Haven’t seen that before,” you murmur, almost as if you’re speaking to yourself and not to him.

“Come here,” growls Simon, pulling you in for a kiss to cover up whatever has caught your attention.

You giggle, playfully swatting at him, only to soften with each lingering kiss. Your muscles relax, and you melt into him, lengthening and deepening each meeting until you’re pliant in his arms again.

This is how it should be.

You become absorbed in him, and Simon revels in it. All this time, all these years, Simon believed his need for you was entirely one-sided. But with you in his lap, and your hunger flaring hot, Simon understands that you just as desperate.

Squirming, you tug on the front of Simon’s shirt as if you can pull him closer. “I want you inside me, Simon.”

You say these words against his lips, branding his flesh with your desire. Sweet victory roars beneath his skin like an animal. Simon is going to fuck you senseless. Take you over and on every possible surface.

“How, love?” he replies. “Use your words.”

When you answer, it is with shaky breath. “No barrier. Want you. Only you, Simon.”

Using just his hold on your neck, Simon draws you back to him. The kiss is chaste, more of a whisper against skin. “Can I come inside you?” Simon flexes his hips upward, rubbing his growing need against your covered pussy.

Your own hips answer back, arching into his touch as you beg. “Please.”

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs as he gives you what you need.

Why are these kisses so much sweeter? So much more addictive?

Simon craves another the moment the last one is done, as if the second they stop he’ll lose them forever. This desperation makes a home in his stomach, filling him with a smoldering demand to completely possess every part of you. Like a feral beast, Simon awakens, seeking his meal.

Without losing his hold on the nape of your neck, Simon removes the wool blanket from around your shoulders. He discards it to the side, not caring where it lands. Returning to your mouth, Simon seeks and tastes until everything within him shatters.

He is made of splintered bones, and you are the adhesive glue that will fuse him back together. To achieve that, Simon needs renewal, a blessing of your flesh.

Your top and bra are only simple obstacles. They surrender to him easily, and neither of you gives either item a second thought. It is meaningless now.

There is only bare skin against bare skin.

Simon’s palm explores, running up and down your stomach to the valley between your breasts. Everything is touched. Everything is savored until his blood roars in his ears.

Groaning, Simon forces himself to release that lovely mouth. He aches until he finds you again. Simon’s head dips, lips brushing against your throat. The kisses he leaves along the line of your neck are simple things that slowly shift and ebb, transforming into playful nips that turn to claiming bites.

Your fingers find his hair, threading and tangling, pulling slightly until Simon growls. The hold you have on him is pleasurable as much as it borders on pain. He moves lower, and it’s an odd fucking angle, but Simon doesn’t give a shit. Every inch of you deserves his mouth. When his lips skim just above your right breast, you instinctually lean back, giving Simon better access.

Simon runs his tongue over and around your nipple. You shiver in his arms, fingers lightly digging into his scalp as he teases it to a hard peak. Once stiff, Simon switches to the other, giving it just as much attention.

But it is not enough.

Sliding his hands to the backs of your thighs, Simon lifts you up as he stands. Your arms immediately lock around his neck as your ankles cross behind his back. The fact that he doesn’t need to instruct you in this pleases him.

Simon travels from the couch to the bed, and this one action reminds him of Riot Room when he lifted you in the air and bounced you on his cock. He was observing the expressions on your face as you watched him enter and exit your body. Witnessing that was fucking bliss.

He’ll do that again. But not yet.

At the edge of the bed, Simon eases you down onto the comforter. While your legs come to the bed, your hands take longer to retreat. Your fingers linger, nails lightly dragging across the back of his neck and then down the front of his chest.

Simon lets you have this.

But once you completely fall back onto the bed, Simon’s resolve is absolute.

He doesn’t demand or ask.

Like your top and bra, Simon simply grabs and tugs until you’re in nothing but your underwear. His fingers trace up your bare legs, stopping at your thighs momentarily before his hands drop away.

You’re fucking beautiful like this. A banquet. A feast he’s about to gorge himself on.

Leaning back on your forearms, your bare chest is completely exposed, breasts pushed forward in his direction. Your nipples are still hard and raw from his mouth, and Simon has to bite back a groan at the sight.

There is plenty of time to enjoy all of you. Simon needs to get a fucking hold on himself before he pushes your legs wide and buries himself without a thought for you. His blood is electrified, buzzing until it bounces around in frenzy, attempting to convince Simon to claim you until there is no doubt who it is you belong to.

He needs to slow the fuck down. Wednesday is the day the two of you return to civilization, and neither of you are leaving this cottage until then. There is only him and you and this bed.

Slowly, Simon returns his hands to your legs. He begins at your ankles, roaming up your shins and then your knees, sliding down your thighs to stop at the band of your underwear. He considers them a moment and then roughly fists the fabric. In two quick tugs, Simon has them down and around your ankles.

“You don’t need these,” he says, tugging one last time and tossing them aside.

Much better.

Your lips part and your thighs quiver. Simon’s mouth salivates from that alone. All this time, and you crave him just as much. Pride swells in his chest with the knowledge that you want to be here, and that you want this with him.

“What about you?” you ask, nodding toward Simon.

Here you are, naked and on your back, and Simon hasn’t taken off a single fucking thing. His mind was too focused on stripping you down than thinking of himself.

To answer your question, Simon reaches behind him with one hand, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Yanking it up over his head, Simon tosses the shirt to the side, leaving him in only his jeans and black socks.

“Better?” he asks, extending his hands outward slightly.

You nod, pink tongue darting out just before you nibble on your bottom lip.

Simon draws his hands back to his sides, turning them into clenched fists as a small tremor hits him causing his hands to shake. He’s worked up, and his cock fucking aches, but no matter how much he’d love to spread you wide to pound into you, your pleasure is just as important.

You’re not taking anything until you’re prepped and ready for it.

“Spread those gorgeous thighs for me,” he commands through clenched teeth. Simon watches as you part them slightly, but it isn’t nearly enough. You’re still hidden from him.

“More,” demands Simon, desperately needing to see that sweet pussy.

Again, you part your legs further, feet sliding across the bedding, but it’s still short of what Simon is after. He needs to wide. Completely open.

“No. Like this.” Simon slides his hands between and forces your thighs apart until he can see fucking everything.

The sight of you steals the oxygen from his lungs.

You are glossy. Slick. Wanton.

Fucking hell.

Simon is going to devour you.

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[vampiricgf]

☆ BEDROOM HYMNS

ᝰ Astarion comes home from a night of hunting to find his darling lover needy and perfectly pliant to hear his idea of having another child together (repost from my old account)

f!reader, breeding, pregnancy, blood drinking, masturbation, fingering, teasing

Rain patters the roof, each droplet striking like a drop of metal against the terracotta though it’s not the only thing that robs you of sleep.

It’s been two years since the birth of your child. Two years of milestones, two years of putting all else on hold for the wonderful little girl that slep soundly just one room over. You may be horrifically biased but the two of you were lucky enough to have created what was possibly the most charming babe in all the realms. For Astarion you knew it was love at first sight.

The adoration he held for that child was next to nothing, it’s own category of madness and love. Recalling it brough the faintest whisper of a smile to your face as you turn over, groggily eyeing the glaringly vacant spot beside you in bed.

He’d gone hunting, as you both kept calling it long after no longer being in the wilds. It was just… familiar. And it kept curious little ears from asking too many questions that required as yet too complex answers. Hunting was easy to grasp and kept their shared befanged appearance from being something other than a simple trait of her fathers she was overjoyed to have. On days that ended with you feeling haggard and worse for wear he would ardently refuse to feed from you. This had been one such day.

One of many. How long had it been since you had more than a brief window to take advantage of if you wanted to indulge in each other? How long had it been since you felt your lovers teeth scrape the tender flesh of your neck, since the shivers of anticipation crawled down your spine?

Too long.

Familiar longing makes you squeeze your thighs together beneath the duvet, biting your fingers recalling previous trysts that had left you all but a puddle of water in his hands.

Gods only know how long he’ll be gone, and you know self pleasure is a quick path towards sleep.

As your mind drifts to vivid images of him your hand slips between your legs: the feel of his hair when you give it faint tugs while he languishes between your legs, the way his gaze becomes something predatory when he looks at you in a certain light and how it makes your heartbeat speed into a reckless gallop, the way his tongue feels against your skin-

Before the coil in your abdomen begins to tighten you hear it, the tell tale graon of the windowsill supporting his weight. In some faraway annoyance you remind yourself to tell him again that you have a perfectly functional front door.

For some reason you remain frozen beneath the covers, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as you hold your breath. Even with your eyes closed you know hes there, even with lesser senses you can hear his snow soft footfalls, but even so his speed still catches you off guard. Gasping as he manuvers you onto your back, crouched over you with pupils blown so wide the crimson of his irises is barely visible.

“I take it you’ve had a good night?” you smirk, nearly preening against the feeling of his hands gripping your wrists gingerly to hold them on either side of your head.

“Hm it smells like you were having an even better one,” his voice comes out a playful whisper. Before you can react he brings one of your hands to his face, making heat blaze beneath your skin.

Your mouth falls open watching his tongue slide against the fingers that had been sliding through your own arousal not seconds before.The feeling of him taking your finger into his mouth, licking around the appendage in the most obscene way, makes your thoughts cloud and your heart pick up into it’s familiar racing tempo he conducts so effortlessly.

Your eyes follow a strand of glittering spit connecting your finger to his lips, so focused you nearly miss him speak.

“Won’t you tell your lover what was on your mind while you were touching yourself?”

Your voice cracks. “You.”

He gives a playful hmph before letting go of you, leaving your hand to fall dumbly against your sternum.

“Well, that was a given.” He leans down to press his face against the side of your neck, inhaling before pressing his lips to your feverish skin. “Any specific debauchery, though?”

You struggle for words, mentally grasping at air mid free fall as his hips press down to grind himself against you.

“Since the cats got your tongue I have proposition for you,” He breaths against your cleavage as he nuzzles his face over your heartbeat. As your breathing grows heavier he continues, making your own eyes widen as each word goes straight to your cunt.

“I think we should have another little vampling.”

It’s as if he yanks all the oxygen from the room, leaving you starved and struggling even harder, dizzy against the feeling of his erection pressing against you and the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm.

“Another?

“Mhm,” his tongue licks a fat stripe from between your breasts up the side of your neck.

All coherent thought has faltered for you, replaced by fractured urges as your hips buck up against him in response. You aren’t thinking about the practicality of another child, theres simply no room for it when your every sense is being crowded by each aspect of his presence above you.

Quickly the duvet is discarded, flung off your body and your nightdress hiked up to give him access to your now damp underwear. He takes full advantage, rubbing his tumb over your clothed clit and clearly enjoying the way it makes you give a little yelp, the way your legs jerk as if touched by live electricity.

“Can’t you just picture it? I know I can,” his fingers pull the thin fabric to the side, sliding easily through the mess of arousal between your folds as he whispers against your panting lips. “You looked so beautiful before, all swollen with child and milk. Radiant. Decadent.”

You’re reduced to primitive noises, speech completely failing now as he slides two fingers inside you, knuckles easily sliding past the relaxed muscles before he starts lightly scissoring them against the slick velvet of your walls. Your fingers twist against the fabric of his shirt at his back, teeth catching your bottom lip as you moan his name in choppy syllables.

Smugness and desire mingle in his expression as his lips devour yours, drinking down your noises and gasps as if you’re a fountain of the finest wine. Your hips move to grind against his hand as his thumb presses against your throbbing clit once more, keeping light, consistent pressure but no movement.

His habit of teasing always shone through.

But your impatience is infectious, and once he deems you sufficiently ready as quickly as possible his fingers withdraw and he leans back on his knees, undoing his trousers with fumbling fingers before mauvering to shimmy them off. The garment is flung into the murky depths of your bedroom floor as he cages you with one forearm, the other hand busy guiding the head of his cock through the mess between your legs before lining the head up and beginning the slow push inside.

It never fails to leave you lightheaded, no matter how many times you’ve taken him before. The way your body accommodates him so eagerly, the way he sits heavy inside you as inch by inch slots perfectly against your walls, the head of his cock brushing against the spot that turns your viscion to static the more stimulation he gives.

As if you were made for one another. You wholeheartedly believe it.

He gives you little time to adjust, rather immediately setting a deep, steady pace. His rhythm isn’t harsh or bruising, not even as he cages you with both arms now and as your uneven breathing mingles in the milimeter of space between your faces. Each pull out is deliciously slow, allowing you to feel every vein and curve before the push back has your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

As the slick squealching fills the room, the sound of skin sticking to skin joining in some pornographic symphony, your legs come to wrap around his hips and your ankles lock behind him. Pressing lightly with your heels your urge him on, urge him to make good on his word and give you more.

He answers in kind, teeth nipping against your bottom lip as his pace picks up speed and he presses forward just enough to shift your legs even higher and give himself better access to hit deeper inside you. It makes you nearly wail, broken sounds now joining in the bedroom hymn and a particular urgency grips your body like a coil winding tight. Your breathing comes in wheezes as he presses even harder against you, cock hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and your mouth drop open in a silent wail, fingernails scraping against his back and your thigh muscles scream from the exertion of tensing so harshly.

The pressure of your cunt clenching around him in a vise grip makes choppy groans fall from his lips but his rhythm never falters as you crest the high of your orgasm, your moans taking on a higher pitch and your hips wriggling beneath his as his own keep their course driving into you again and again.

However, the barrage of mental images of you carrying yet another babe makes him devolve into a sloppy, broken pace rather quickly. It’s an urge, an ache he carries so deeply inside himself and he has to give this to you. Like a man posessed, acting on base desire his hand comes to cradle the back of your head and keep your steady as his fangs create their usual pinpricks against your neck before widening them as they find a home against your vein.

The taste of liquid metal explodes against his tongue at the same time his hips hit one final time against you before he can’t resist any longer, spilling ropes of thick, hot cum inside your greedy cunt. He can feel your equally warm blood smearing against his lips and chin as he messily laps at the side of your neck, keening like some pathetic animal as your walls massage his cock as if to take every last drop he has to give.

Wet sucking sounds and animalistic grunts replace the previous bodily meoldy, as the final, haunting notes on the decresendo of some sweeping piece. Your fingers move to tangle in the sweat damp hair at the nape of his neck, lightly caressing and encouraging him to have his fill.

You’ve always been so sweetly accommodating, it makes his fangs ache.

With a few more licks to help somewhat clean up the mess hes made of your throat, he lends back, pulling out of you with a gravelly sigh but keeping ahold of your thighs and maintaining the pushed up position of your legs.

Even with your eyes closed, impossibly heavy now from the exhaustion and afterglow, you can feel his eyes zeroed in on the sight of his cum dripping from you and you already know you’ll be left in a state beyond exhaustion by the time the early morning hours roll around.

But that was a problem for the near future version of yourself. Your lovers primal tendancies become your own, making your eyes crack open hungrily and hold him steady in your gaze.

The sight of him, still panting, lips slightly parted and your lifeblood smeared in wild tracks across the lower half of his face makes something click into place inside your head and your arms reach out for him once more.

As he wastes no time in pressing himself against you anew you can’t help the satisfied smile that lazily works across your features and bleeds into your kiss.

The strange symphony of your bedroom resumes anew, enveloping you both tightly as the rest of the world continues it’s unaware slumber.

[nuitfilms]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 𝐋𝐄𝓝𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝓥𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐒 ] jeon soyeon

␥ (g)i-dle’s soyeon x fem!reader ␥ 784 words 🚨 SMUT, power imbalance (senior-junior), idol non-au, hair pulling, recording session, gagging on her fingers ␥ there’s always room for one to learn, and you learn a little more about you (and her) after spending three days recording a song with her.

Jeon Soyeon is an ace in the game and everyone knows that.

She captures the audience with her charismatic stage presence, wows her industry seniors with her rapping skills, and churns out more songs than she could ever utilize for her career. Some of them get gifted or sold to other artists to avoid them being locked in the archives.

That is how you were able to be connected to the idol rapstar herself. While you have chosen to remain in the shadows with your music as an underground artist, Soyeon’s discovery of you leads you to the transition of a more public career. You quickly amass a social media presence, find yourself slipping away from SoundCloud, and cementing yourself on Spotify’s million monthly listeners club along with your favorite artists.

You, too, have a way with words in your lyrics, but you could never deny the opportunity to learn more, and to be better. Being talented enough to be gifted a song from Soyeon is one thing, but actually working with her in the recording studio is another.

You’ve been seeing her in her element for over three days. While you can swiftly tune and refine your work, Soyeon takes a little more time to do so. There are minor details that she will rework, and you patiently work with her through it because this is a new perspective for you. Your production will certainly differ from a seasoned idol’s production.

But spending three long days together has made you both discover some new things about each other.

And yourselves.

It’s the middle of the night. Your heavy eyelids threaten to draw to a close, but your back is pinned up against the wall of the small recording booth. Soyeon is tucked between your legs—one of them propped over her shoulder—and her mouth is doing inexplicable things to your pussy as her slender fingers are inside you.

Your head tips back, mouth falling open with sharp pants and suppressed moans as you struggle to stay upright. The flickering red light that indicates the session being recorded doesn’t go unnoticed but you’re too out of it (or way too into it) to care. Your mind is simply polluted by the flicks of her tongue on your throbbing clit, the sharpness of her teeth when she sucks on it bringing your back to an arch.

You fist at her hair, clenching at her roots and pushing her head closer, and she greedily laps at your dripping cunt.

“Don’t be shy,” she coos, her curled fingers thrusting deeper. “Let the mic hear you loud and clear.”

“I’m trying,” you gasp.

“Try harder.”

A sudden smack on your pussy breaks your silence. You yelp as the sharp sensation persists, her hand repeatedly swatting where you’re most sensitive. Your hip bucks at each hit, your moans gradually morphing into pathetic cries, pitched yelps, and pleas for mercy.

Soyeon gets an ego boost as she watches you crumble. Your creamy wetness coats her fingers and drips down to her wrist as she fucks you. If only she had her strap on hand, she would’ve completely ravaged you into the early hours of the morning but who would really carry that around?

And who knew you would give in so quickly?

“Soyeon.. sunbae,” you pant as your thighs tremble. “So close, so close, so close..”

Her mouth promptly finds your clit and the rapid strokes of her tongue—partnered with her fingers inside you—brings you to ecstasy. She moans as the prettiest noises fall from your lips. Your exposed tits hang from the neckline of your low cut top, and she observes them jiggling as you rock your hips against her face. She gladly accepts her fate of nearly seeing the light when your thighs lock up around her head.

When you release your grip on her hair, she falls back and marvels at the lewd, disheveled sight. You’re clawing at the walls behind you, panting and catching your breath. She eyes your slick-coated thighs. Her gaze lowers a little more, and she smirks at the puddle of your cum on the floor.

“What a messy, messy girl,” she remarks as she gets back on her feet.

She approaches you, closing you off with her hand to the wall above your head, and shoves her slick-coated digits into your mouth. You didn’t expect her to do that, therefore gagging at the sudden intrusion.

“You’re gonna sound so good on this song.”

Heat rushes to your face, and warmth steadily flows to the pit of your stomach again. Looking Soyeon in the eyes almost gives you a glimpse into the future.

One that involves you being pinned down on her bed instead.

[ourautumn86]

Filthy Rich

Spencer Reid x Fem! reader PT.2

☆ pt1!! pt3!

✧ Synopsis;; Spencer Reid was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 22. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty! inspired by bridgerton!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

WARNINGS PART TWO: cursing, blood, violence and a nude scene(?)

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WORD COUNT;; +2,5k

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

‘Because from now on you belong in this castle.’

You stepped back at his words, his smile never dropping as you amused him with your fighting against the maids that had returned in a clap of his hands. “You shall let them help you with your clothes and washing, I promise you you’ll feel better once you’ve found yourself clean.” he tried to convince you, his hazel puppy eyes glistening under the lights and his voice soft as a caress.

“I can take my clothes off myself.” you spit, your hands making your way to the back of your dress to unbuckle the single button that was left, among those who had fallen off through the years, and undo the bow that molded it’s skirt to your waist, letting your clothes slip to the floor and around your feet, leaving you completely naked to their sight since no petticoat had been given to you by your old family.

The maids gasped, as you had dared to undress yourself in front of the prince, whose eyes never left yours, not really budging at your actions for he was a ‘gentleman’. His smile only grew up more, which you’d started finding pretty goddamn annoying.

“Then, I shall excuse myself… Ladies.” he bowed to the maids, who did the same and said their goodbyes.

“Oh, bless my soul!” Gideon exclaimed as his eyes accidentally took a glance of your naked body once the door had opened, quickly adverting them to his right.

You gave them your back as he closed the door with a mocking smile towards his right hand, your feet, and later on your whole body, being surrounded in clear warm water for what you thought it was the first time in your life.

You sighed in relief and sank deeper into the bathtub, letting your eyes close once a pair of hands started washing your long hair, getting lost in the feeling of it all, in its warmth.

“I won’t put that on.” you shook your head at the dress that was currently being showed to you. Starting from the fact that it’s skirt was way too big for you to freely and comfortably move around, the puff on its sleeves looked ridiculous and seemed really troublesome and the corset which strings stood in the back really threatened your ability to breath. It was a simple and definite no for you. And the color! That shade of yellow won’t flatter you, that’s for sure.

“It seems that the dresses that Lord Gideon sent are no good…” one of the maids sighed, tossing the last one of them aside.

“What a pity…” you falsely pouted, adjusting yourself in the padded chair you had been forced to sit on so the women could take care of your hair.

“Well, there’s still the one that the prince sent! Let’s give it a try.” a brunette one smiled, to which you huffed, you hair being combed by another maid that simply giggled, really entertained by your reactions. “Where was it…, ah, yes!” she seemed to find it, her gentle fingers taking a grip on the strip sleeves of the dress to reveal it to the rest, who let out a delighted gasp.

“Crumbs*! It’s beautiful!” the maid that combed your hair exclaimed, her eyes shining as brightly as the rest of the ladies’.

It was a really simple dress, though it looked more like a nightgown. It was made out of the most beautiful lace you’ve ever seen. It was light blue, and large, enough to cover your thighs, ending below your knees. It had different layers of silk and lace of all types with little ruffles and decorations. The chest was made out of two triangles of silk with lace surrounding them in a soft-looking way that made you…, not hate it. In fact, it was really beautiful.

“Would you like to try it on, miss?” they all inquired, hoping for a positive answer since they seemed to have fallen in love with the dress.

“Well, it’s the most… pleasant to the eyes,” you muttered, trying to not show your true feelings about that piece of clothing, winning excited smiles from the ladies, who helped you to stand and took off your body the towel that embraced you to help you get on the dress.

You felt free in it. It moved with you and it let you breath, and it was so soft. You jumped and twirled, testing the waters. Nothing seemed to get exposed, what made you really happy. Your incredibly long hair caressed your almost bare back, falling to your waist. Your fingers went through it in awe, no knots being found. You smelled like pure lilies and you felt so clean and soft that you almost felt the urge to cry once you’ve taken a glimpse at your reflection in a mirror the maids lent you. You touched your clean face in disbelief, your cheek was bruised and stung when touched, the same as your lips, but your wounds had been cleaned and your skin looked so pure you felt unrecognizable, always being greeted by your reflection full of dirt, cuts and bruises in the pond’s water you used to visit when the mistress’ clothes needed washing.

“You look truly wonderful, miss.” one of the maids said, the rest nodding and agreeing with her, and just when you were about to thank them for their help with a smile, two knocks at the door caught yours and their attention, the prince stepping in after a short minute just in case you were still getting dressed.

“I apologize for my intrusion, ladies. Is everything alright, here?” he asked as he stepped in, along with Gideon, his eyes quickly finding your back and later on when you had turned to face him, your eyes. He simply stood there, silently staring at you, his eyes capturing every single detail in your body and sinking deep in the way you looked…, with the dress he had chosen himself. “You chose it…” he smiled, his eyes finding yours once again, his soft voice reaching you.

“Well of course, it is the most comfortable amongst them all.” you said, looking down at the dress, catching him staring as you did.

He cleared his throat before bringing his hands from his back to the front, letting you see a couple of, really low heels, almost flat silk shoes. “I brought these, though I couldn’t find anything more comfortable, I’m afraid.” he awkwardly smiled, stepping closer and kneeling in front of you, what caused you and the maids to step back in astonishment and Giddon to whisper-yell a ‘Your highness!’. “May I?” he inquired, one of his palms facing upward as he signaled to your feet. You slowly and unsurely nodded, surprised by his actions, but allowing him help you put on the shoes.

You could guess what everyone was thinking at the moment;

Why in the world was the prince of the realm, no one else than Spencer Reid, kneeling and helping a slave like you put on some shoes?

You slightly bent down to take a better glimpse at them. They were white with a little piece of lace surrounding its collar. They were beautifully simple, and they looked really comfortable. When you put your feet back down on the floor you could agree on your judgement by their appearance. Compared to your wooden ones, this shoes felt like walking on clouds. When your sight drifted from them, your eyes met the prince’s once he had gotten off the marble floor once again.

“Well?” his eyebrows rose in anticipation, wanting to know your opinion on them. Everyone seemed to.

“They are not too bad.” you shrugged, your pride making him smile and let out a soft and short laughter. The tension inside the room seemed to dissipate with that sound.

“I’m glad to hear that.” he nodded, making his way back to the door. “Then? Are you ready to go and eat supper?” he offered you, opening the door whilst his eyes looked into yours.

You glared at him for a couple of seconds, still not truly trusting nor liking him, but still decided to take your first step. And after the first one came a second, and later on; a third.

His eyes never left your body as you exited first, waving your hand to the maids as a quick goodbye, which they returned. He bowed at them before closing the door. You awaited next to Gideon in the corridor, which was carpeted with crimson velvet carpets and glistened under the candles of the chandeliers above your heads.

“Shall I fetch the cooks and maids to set up the table, your highness?” the brunette spoke, his hands intertwined behind his back, which stood straight, awaiting for an answer.

“You shall not.” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t like them to work so much this late at night.” the singing of the cuckoo clock hitting midnight catching your attention as your eyes met with the wooden cuckoo that jumped in and out of its home. You wandered through the corridor, your fingers detailing the marble and wood of the oak chest you found on your left, plagued with porcelain decorations and flowers. There were multiple of them through the interminable corridor, perhaps for embellishment. “Though I would appreciate it if you could fetch something for her. I could wager all the gold I have in my hands that she hasn’t eaten for days.” he seemed concerned, his smile fading for a couple of seconds before appearing once again when he saw you twirling around a porcelain doll sculpture of a ballerina.

Not even his friend could understand his actions nor read whatever wondered inside his mind. But he thought he could just wait for whatever the future would offer.

“Sure, your highness. I’ll make sure to send it to her room in no time.” he nodded, after a ‘thank you’ from his friend and prince heading the other way.

You were about to place down another sculpture that you had picked up when his voice startled you.

“It’s Greek.” you felt your heart plummet to your stomach when it slipped from your hands, his being quick enough to catch it in the air. “Almost a was.” he mocked you with a smile, putting it back down on the chest amongst the others.

“Didn’t know the prince would be into collecting porcelain.” you winded him up.

“That would be my mother, the queen.” he chuckled. “Along with the king she has parted to the east to meet Rembrandt and discuss about his new works of art.” he explained, making you now understand his announcement at his ball, asking forgiveness for the monarchs’ absence. “Though I must admit, I take pleasure in pretty things.” his eyes met yours and for a moment you felt as if you were frozen in place, the only warmth you felt being the touch of his fingers gracing yours on top of the oak chest, after his hand had fallen near yours. Your eyes met his hand and later on his eyes again, pulling away from his warmth after a couple of seconds.

“And what does beauty mean to you, your highness?” you inquired him, giving him your back and taking a few steps away from him. “Perhaps gold? Diamonds? Maybe castles?” your hair softly fell on your shoulder as your turned back to face him once again, your dress beautifully dancing along with you.

He just silently stared at you, his hands once again on his back as he took a couple of steps closer to you, a smile tugging on his lips. “I guess I still have yet to find out.” his brown eyes found yours once he stood by your side, the amber of the candles shining on them. There was something in them that you could not read. “Then, shall we?” his eyes left yours just to show you the way in which you supposed you should head to to meet ‘your room’. You seemed unsure for a couple of seconds, to which he decided to taunt you a little bit more. “After you, sweetheart.” he moved aside, giving you a little bit of space.

“Don’t you dare call me that again.” he laughed at your rudeness.

You gave him a side look before taking a step forwards, and then another, and another, the moonlight of the windows hitting your skin, perfectly matching with the color of your dress.

He took a deep breath before following you.

What beauty was…, huh?

“I hope you find the room to your liking. If you are in need of more pillows or sheets just ask for them, alright? You can ask one of the maids to light up the chimney for you if the night gets too cold too.” he said while opening the door and letting you step inside. It was spacious and beautifully decorated. As you stepped in, the very first thing you could see was a huge window that met the gardens of the castle, to your left a chimney with red velvet sofas and a central tea table with books on top of it, you could find more of them on the willow bookcases on both sides of the chimney. And to your right you could find a queen size bed with puffy white sheets, a white dosel and an incredible amount of pillows of all kinds, along with oak nightstands with candles and a big white closet. When you looked upwards your eyes met with the shiniest of chandeliers.

Once you’ve turned around to meet his eyes once again, these caught a glimpse on a food trolley.

“The maids discussed that since you’ve probably not eaten in days it would be better for you to eat something soft so it wouldn’t upset your stomach.” he said, while taking off the top of the plate cover, the smell of chicken stew along with baked potatoes and steamed vegetables making your mouth water. But that was not really what caught your attention. “I apologize if you find it too-”

And before he could even finish his sentence or take a hold onto your actions, his back was slammed against the half-open door from which you’d entered the room, closing it in a very harsh slam exactly when Gideon seemed to be back to check on the prince.

“My prince?!? My prince!!” he desperately knocked on the door, trying to open it but finding it imposible due to the weight of both your bodies on the other side. “Guards!” and as he called for the guards that rounded the corridors…

“Give me a single reason for which I shouldn’t kill you right this moment, my prince.” your breaths intertwined as you stood completely pressed against his body, a knife that you’ve snatched from the trolley threatening to cut his throat as you pressed it against the skin of his pale neck.

He seemed astonished at first, his hazel eyes staring into yours as your heavy breath caressed his lips, which parted as he spoke.

“You wouldn’t dare.” he pressed against the knife to get even closer to you, its edge sinking into his skin and the vermillion of his blood making its way to his collarbones like a river flowing down the hills.

“And what makes you think that?” he smirked at your inquisition, his fingers brushing delicately your arm, its pads descending. From your shoulder to your elbow and later on to your free hand, which stood slightly hidden behind your dress. You gritted your teeth as he slowly and carefully rose it up ‘till both of you could clearly see it. You were trembling, so much it was actually impressive that you could hide it so well.

“Your body speaks to me, sweetheart.” he answered, caressing your palm with his thumb as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on its back.

And before any of you knew, more blood spilled as you rose the knife.

To be continued…

*Crumbs;; used for expressing surprise.

[harlowcomehome]

Babysitting gone wrong:

A requested Hazel and Jade fic.

“But dad- I’m twelve! I can watch Jade! She’s not a baby anymore and neither am I!” Hazel groaned, throwing her head back as she felt like her dad wasn’t listening to her.

“Why would you want to? Is twelve even old enough to be alone at the house? ” Jack didn’t even look at her as he chaotically packed his suitcase, he had waited until the last minute despite your constant reminders.

You had overheard the tale end of the conversation and made your way into the bedroom with Jade tailing behind you.

“Mom! Tell him!” Hazel whined she had been tiptoeing into her pre-teen angst and it showed.

“Tell him what bug?” You tried to hide your smile, knowing she was a carbon copy of her dad’s attitude and it was very obviously getting to him. Jack's face was flush as he shot you an irritated glance, the way he was packing his suitcase bothered you as you walked over to him, softly moving him aside with your hip as you folded his shirts to fit better.

“Thank you baby” he leaned into you, kissing your cheek. His curls were a mess, his eyes were tired. He was running on fumes but still looked as handsome as ever to you.

“I asked if I could babysit Jade tonight when you guys leave. Grandma and Grandpa have bingo at six and instead of them missing it I can watch the house!” She spoke so quickly it took a moment for you to catch up to what she was saying.

“B-I-N-G-O and bingo was his name-oh!” Jade chimed in as she crawled on the bed and got under the covers immediately.

“You didn’t tell Mom why you want to do that” Jack smirked, stifling a laugh.

“Money, I assume?”

“Nothing in life is free” Hazel shrugged making you giggle at her hustler mentality.

“Grandma and Grandpa are at bingo for like two hours! I can do it!” Hazel looked up at you with big puppy dog eyes and pouty lips. “I won’t be alone! Lucky and Olive are here!”

“Our dog and cat are not going to help you take care of your sister. Having to be the only one in charge is exhausting.” Jack looked at you and you knew by the look in his eyes he wanted you to say no with him.

“Sidebar” You and Jack always said that to one another when you had to speak to each other privately. He stopped packing and followed you into the hallway leaving Hazel and Jade alone in the room.

“Babe, It’s just a few hours, we have the cameras to watch her too” you whispered not wanting to undermine Jack in any way.

“Do you think she’s ready for that? Jade is a lot older now but she’s still significantly younger than Hazey” he bit his lip, a telltale sign that he was nervous about it.

“I mean, you used to watch Clay all the time right?”

“I wasn’t that good of a sitter though” Jack chuckled, immediately remembering the time Clay fell off the bed and busted his knee open on his watch.

“It’s your call, big daddy. Whatever you wanna do” You squeezed his bicep knowing that would make him blush, as it always did.

Jack nodded, rubbing his beard with his hand. “You had to do that huh?” The smirk on his face told you what you already knew as you followed him into the bedroom.

“I’ll call your mom and tell her bingo is still on” you giggled as you gave him a quick kiss and went to find your phone to call Maggie.

Jack entered the room with a serious furrowed brow and stern look. “Your mom and I decided that you can watch Jade while grandma and grandpa go to bingo. You’re not allowed for any reason to use the stove or oven when you’re alone. You call us or grandma if you need anything at all, okay?”

“Yes! Thank you!” Hazel hopped off the bed and hugged Jack. “Now let’s talk about some benjamins!”

“You’ve been talking to your Uncles too much” Jack obnoxiously cackled, making Hazel sigh.

“You’re also wild if you think you’re getting paid racks on racks to watch your sister”

“What if I do an amazing job?” Hazel batted her eyelashes at Jack.

“Yeah, daddy! Hazey will do a good job!” Jade backed her older sister up with a big grin earning a high-five from Hazel.

“Then you’ll be hired again” you chimed in as you entered the room again. “Daddy and I will discuss your allowance when we get back.”

••••

When you and Jack had finally left the house you could tell he was anxious, you kept your hand on his knee the entire ride to the tarmac. You both had given Hazel a long talking to about calling 911 if there was an emergency, but Jack still didn’t feel at ease.

“It’s just for a few hours, my love” You handed him your phone with the security camera footage, giving him your airpod to listen.

“Okay, Jadey! What do you want to do now that it’s just us?” Hazel stood at the front of the living room.

“Can we eat candy? Oh! And play princess tea party? ” Jade was going to take full advantage of the situation, knowing Hazel would be more lenient than Mom and dad. She hopped off the couch and followed Hazel into the kitchen wiggling her loose tooth.

Jack handed you the phone back, deciding to trust the process and earning a kiss from you as you locked your phone.

“We can drink tea and eat some cookies, how does that sound?” Hazel used the step stool in the kitchen to get some tea bags from the cabinet.

“Uh oh!” Jade slapped a hand over her mouth, as Lucky started to pee inside the house. He had been waiting by the door but nobody had noticed for longer than his little bladder could hold.

“Bad lucky!” Jade ran over to him to open the back door but Hazel was already getting the towels and tile cleaner from under the sink.

“I got it Jadey- just go set up the tea table okay?” Hazel was trying to hide her annoyance as she cleaned up the mess that Lucky left dribbled on the tile floor.

It wasn’t long before she heard a big crash coming from Jade's bedroom, shutting the back door quickly after Lucky came running back inside.

“JADE?” A horrific scream came from Hazel as she ran toward her little sister's room, the plastic table they usually did tea parties on had fallen over, but nothing serious happened otherwise.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” Jade was cleaning up the stuffed animals and plastic plates that had fallen on the floor of her bedroom. Hazel helped her set the table up before asking her to follow her to the kitchen to get the tea and cookies.

“You can carry the cookies and I’ll carry the tea.” She handed Jade the box of Keebler Danish wedding cookies as she opened the fridge to get a can of cold brisk tea.

“Cold tea?” Jade tilted her head to the side knowing normally you’d boil water on the stove.

“Daddy said I can’t use the stove” Hazel shrugged as she followed her little sister back to the bedroom.

The two of them were having a princess tea party as they usually did when Jade let out a shriek, her tooth barely hanging on by a thread.

“Oh my- Jade!” The color on Hazels face completely disappeared, trying to remember what you and Jack would do. “Don’t move!”

Hazel ran to the kitchen to get some paper towels to wrap her fingers in. When she got back to Jade she was crying and panicking.

“What do we do?” Jade sniffled as she tried not to move her mouth too much.

“I have to pull your tooth out Jadey! It’ll be fast okay? You trust me?”

“I’m scared” Jade whimpered as Hazel quickly tugged on the tooth that was barely hanging on.

Just as Hazel pulled the tooth out both Maggie and Brian arrived home from bingo causing a commotion as Lucky barked and Olive jumped down from Jade's book shelf.

“Do you think the tooth fairy will bring me lots of money?” Jade giggled as she held the napkin up to her mouth.

“I’m sure she will” Hazel sighed relieved that her grandparents were finally home.

“How did babysitting go?” Maggie asked the girls as she checked on them.

“Great!” Jade chimed in, “I lost a tooth!”

“I need a nap” Hazel groaned as she lay down on the floor. “Tell my dad he was right. I am exhausted.” she rolled over on the carpet closing her eyes and earning a stifled giggle from her grandma.

[moonshynecybin]

i feel like maïna sent me an ask/prompt about. SOMETHING. like this for forced coming out au genuinely so long ago but i can’t find it for the life of me so perhaps i simply made that up. anyways here’s a short fic set in that universe about them dealing with the panopticon. and in fact being pda whores in the panopticon. bon apetit

“There’s a photographer over there,” Marc whispers in his ear, breath warm and close. He loops his arms around Vale’s neck as he says it, sounding nonchalant, but Vale knows him better than that by now, can see the tension tucked in his shoulders, hidden in the carefully collected smile on his face.

“Hmm.” He replies, amiably, nosing at Marc’s cheek. They’re in the paddock and they’re together— of course there’s a photographer on them. There’s probably seven photographers on them. Par for the course in years past, but especially these last couple of months.

And Vale’s always believed that if people are going to look, he might as well give them a show.

He lifts a hand and flips Marc’s cap off of his head, setting it down backwards so the brims of their hats arent competing. Marc’s face catches the sun, and Vale leans in to kiss where it hits the jut of his cheekbone because he can— because it’s what he would do, if they were actually together. If Marc was a girl. If any of this had happened the way it was supposed to, for people like them.

His stomach clenches, involuntary. He thinks he can hear the click of a camera firing. Good.

“Now he can see me.” Marc complains, leaning closer. He tries to hide behind Vale, using their height difference to squeeze himself into his shadow, and Vale laughs, tugging at where his hair is starting to curl behind his ears, where Marc’s skin is smooth and warm.

“It’s been a few weeks— We should probably give them something to see.”

“It has.” Marc agrees, sneaking his hands down now, snaking them inside Vale’s jacket and under his shirt. “We should.”

Vale yelps, curves his body inward reflexively. They’re like ice.

“That’s cold!” He pulls a face. Camera flash.

Marc ignores him, cackles an evil little laugh into the fabric of Vale’s shirt around his collarbone. Vale lets him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans back in, making sure Marc is the only one who can hear. It’s their preferred mode of communication these days— close, edging on the line of plausible deniability. His lips catch on the delicate skin of Marc’s temple as he speaks, and they’re in public, so it’s okay to keep them there.

“Karen from PR asked the next time we are available, so we can, ah, do another date.”

Just a few months ago this would all have felt like a minefield, but when he raises an eyebrow —a question— Marc just nods easily. Understanding without words. They’ve been getting good at this part, after everything, all the press and performance and years on track, years in each other’s beds. In MotoGP, you have to be adaptable, able to read another rider’s move, know how they’re going to take a corner almost before they do— and there’s a reason Marc and him are the best at what they do.

“We’re in Phillip Island next week— do you want to try out that place we went last year?” Marc responds, voice lower a little more reserved. His fingers edge under the elastic of Vale’s waistband. His hands must really be cold.

Vale nods, even as his chest clenches, resentment and something less empowering spiking through him. Last year. Right at the end. Phillip Island.

Not a good memory.

He lays a hand to Marc’s neck, thumb hitting the hinge of his jaw. Tilts him where he wants him. Marc goes— like he always does, moving easily with him, body pliable everywhere but the track. His brown eyes focus in on Vale’s face, intent. Unsettling, if you know how he catalogs information, if you know how what sort of instincts he has on the bike— shoving in beside Vale on track without a thought. Risking a bit more than Vale’s ever been able to comfortably stomach.

But Vale’s always thrived in high pressure situations, under attention, and the way Marc’s eyes laser on him only makes him settle. Makes him sharper. Clearer. Hot danger zipping under his collar, shivery and sweet. He wonders what Marc will let him do, out here in the middle of the paddock, with a photographer on them.

Marc’s hands flex, where they’re pressed under Vale’s shirt, like he can understand what Vale’s thinking, that same uncanny ability to predict a move rising to the surface. His nails scrape a little, dragging along the skin of Vale’s lower back.

“Let’s do that.” Vale says. He doesn’t really remember what were they talking about. A date, he thinks. Marc all to himself.

Alone.

The careful attention of Marc’s eyes drop to his mouth, then once, quick, over his shoulder. The photographer. Right.

The show.

“Okay,” Marc says, eyes searching Vale’s face, uncharacteristically serious. Contemplative. Like he’s thinking about something. Vale raises an an eyebrow, but before he can say anything the look on Marc’s face condenses, and he leans up to kiss Vale sweetly, open and a little messy.

And this has always been the thing that’s worked most between them. Easy and magnetic. The push and pull. The perfect picture.

And then Marc’s pushing forward, deeper, licking into Vale’s mouth. Kiss skewing dirty, dirtier than they usually get nowadays, making Vale’s pulse jump— a dare. How far are you willing to go? it asks, that same impudent instinct he has when he’s diving up the inside of Vale’s race line coloring the kiss, and Vale answers.

His teeth bite at Marc’s bottom lip, exercising a little more control, and he crowds forward, using his height to push Marx’s head back, hand splayed on the edge of his jaw. Directing him, coaxing him. And Marc relaxes like that, back arching into Vale as the kiss extends. A surrender.

Vale’s got him where he wants him, and he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to lift a thigh, get Marc pressed up high and tight against him, wants to drag him off to his motorhome, see how far Marc is willing to let him go, wants to—

Another camera shutters, louder, closer, and it breaks the thread between them, bringing them back to reality. To why they’re here. Vale clears his throat, and Marc ducks his head.

Suddenly Vale’s chest hurts, feels cracked open with Marc tucked up against him, nose edging inside his jacket to find some warmth against Vale’s collarbone. So solid and warm and real. The only way Vale gets to hold him anymore is like this, for the cameras.

Love you, he lets himself think, probably for the first time. Love you, he doesn’t say. The camera shutters, and he pulls Marc closer into the well of his body.

[felixsramen]

Beating Hearts

Pairings: Hyunjin x Jisung x Reader

Word count: 5k

Song inspiration🎧: Half of my heart by Josh Makazo

Warnings⚠️: Vampire Reader, Vampire Hyunjin, Human reincarnated Jisung, Mention of Vampire Minho, Mention of blood draining, Hyunjin is a Dom, Reader is a switch, Jisung is a sub, Oral fixation, Jisung doesn't know he's reincarnated yet, Cum eating, Oral, Mention of blood play, MxMxF, Overstimulation, Use of Pet names, Bulge kink, that's it I think? I'm not sure I'll update it if I think of anything else.

Notes: I hope you enjoy it. I really enjoyed writing it and thinking of making a part two with Vampire Minho. Let me know if I should.

Your eyes look around in the crowd. You can't help but be eager for your next prey. "You're not even listening to me, are you?" Your eyes turn towards your boyfriends. He's crossing his arms. "You're already looking for someone?" You sigh out as Hyunjin frowns at you. Your hand comes to lay on top of his.

"I'm sorry, my love. It's just been so long." You tell him. The frown disappears from his face. Then he rolls his eyes. "You're dramatic. It's been only a few weeks. You're just so picky with the humans you drain." Hyunjin was right, though. You're very picky, but how are you supposed to drain someone's blood if they look unappetizing.

Hyunjin huffs out, making you look at him once more. "Just choose someone tonight. You haven't drunk blood in a while. I'm starting to be concerned. Minho won't be happy either if you aren't high on blood when we get back home." The mention of your other boyfriend has you sighing out. He's right. You've been drinking from him for the last few weeks to keep yourself healthy.

"Plus, you're starting to get wrinkles. I don't want to date a grandma!" Hyunjin whines out. He truly is so overdramatic, but he's your overdramatic boyfriend. "I am not. You're being mean now. What would Minho say?" You ask him with a raised eyebrow.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes once more. "Something along the lines of 'You're both being childish. Now go find someone yn. I'm not letting you drink from me once more.' Then when you can't find anybody, he'll let you drink from him once more." Hyunjin is leaning back in his seat relaxing.

Your eyes fall on his body, and you can't help but admire him. Tall, handsome, and exuding pure confidence. He truly looks like something out of a book. "Quit staring at me as if I'm your next meal. You and Minho turned me almost 100 years ago. You can't drain the blood from my body, sweetheart. Immortal." Hyunjin reminds you.

You remember that day as if it were yesterday, really. You and Minho had visited a bar. You were dressed as a flapper. Meanwhile, Minho had a cigar between his lips. His hand was around your waist the whole time. Minho was always the jealous type. However, as you both had a shot of Tequila, you both had heard Hyunjin on stage. He was a singer. Beautiful voice that matched the beautiful face.

Hyunjin had come to the bar after the show. A simple shot of tequila. He had thrown it back and had made a face of disgust. You and Minho couldn't help but smile at each other as you made your way over. You had taken Hyunjins right side, and Minho had taken his left.

"You have a beautiful voice." Minho had told him. Hyunjin had looked up surprised to have found him in between the two of you. "Oh, uh, thank you." Hyunjin replied with a smile.

"Beautiful face too." You commented. He was clearly taken aback at your comment. "Thank you as well, Mrs?" You couldn't help but let out a laugh. He was clearly nervous. "Not Mrs. I'm not married. You can just call me yn though." You tell him with a smile.

"Okay. Yn. I'm Hyunjin." He still looks nervous, and that's when Minho gestures for another shot of Tequila. It's set down in front of Minho. He slides it in front of Hyunjin. "Maybe this'll help. You seem nervous. Don't be." Minho tells him, and he flashes him a smile showing off one of his fangs. Hyunjin doesn't run away in terror and instead grabs the glass and chugs it once more. He places the glass on the table. Once more, with a disgusted face.

Your hand comes to lay on top of his. "You're quite handsome, Hyunjin. I'm sure you know that, though. I'm sure there's many women and men lining up for you." You tell him. Clearly, he's taken aback at your statement, though. "Men?" He asks back nervously.

Minho places a hand on his lower back. "Well, you're a gorgeous guy. I'm sure there's plenty of men trying to take you to bed." Minho is smirking at him. You can hear Hyunjins heart beating out his chest, and you almost want to laugh. Hyunjin quickly shakes his head, though. "No? What a shame." Minhos hand rubs Hyunjins back.

"No women or men, really." Hyunjin is looking down at his glass clearly unnerved by yours and Minhos presence. You lean up to his ear. "How would you like to go to bed with us, Hyunjin? We can show you a good time." You tell him. You watch as he shivers, and Minho chuckles.

"My girl knows what she wants." Hyunjin looks at Minho. He's clearly unsure, and Minho smirks at him. "Would you like to share us Hyunjin? You could fuck my pretty girl and I could fuck you?" Minho asks lowly. Hyunjin tenses up at Minhos words but then he relaxes. He looks between you both. He slowly nods though.

Minho gives him a smile, showing off his fangs once more. He has to notice it, you think, but he says nothing again. You take Hyunjins hand, and Minho walks behind you both out of the bar.

Hyunjin had made so many pretty noises, and that's when you and Minho both decided to keep him. In the heat of the moment Minho had asked if he could bite Hyunjin and when he nodded his fangs had sunk into Hyunjins skin making him cum once more. Hyunjin had only noticed the two small bites when he had gone to yours and Minhos bathroom.

Minhos' hands had wrapped around Hyunjins waist. "You're ours now. Forever." Minho had told him as you showered not too far away from the both of them. Hyunjin was in slight shock, and that was until Minho had explained everything. Then he was surprisingly calm about it.

"Sweetheart? You're not listening to me again." Hyunjin is frowning once more. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about how we had met." You admit to him. Hyunjin then laughs at you. "Sweetheart, that was almost 100 hundred years ago. You're thinking of past me when I'm currently in front of you. You could jump my bones now instead of thinking about the first time we had sex." Hyunjin leans across and presses a kiss to your lips.

"Could you sing for me, my love?" You ask as he pulls away. Hyunjin gives you a smile and presses a sweet quick kiss to your lips. "Later. I'll sing to you and Minho. I'm sure he'll be tired after his meeting. It'll help lure him to sleep." Hyunjin gives you a smile, and you nod.

"I love you." You admit to him. Hyunjin smile doesn't disappear. Instead, you think it gets even wider. "I love you too. Have for the last 99 years. Now, please find someone to snack on." Hyunjin presses a kiss to your head.

Your eyes scan the crowd once more. No one catches your eyes until you see a curly haired man. You even think your heart stops for a second. Hyunjin must sense your panic, and that's when his eyes trail off towards your target. You think you hear his heart stop for a second, too.

"That's not- That couldn't be right?" Hyunjin asks you. If it's not you, then you think you're seeing a ghost in the flesh. "Please tell me we're looking at the same thing." Your eyes can't seem to leave the curly haired boy. It's been almost fifty years. Fifty years since he had passed in your arms.

"Jisung?" Hyunjin is quick to stand up and grab your hand. He's pulling you in the direction, and you're not sure if you can face him. What if it's not? What if he remembers? What if he knows his death was all your fault? Hyunjin notices you on the verge of a panic attack, and he's turning towards you once more.

"Hey, calm down. I can hear your heart beating out of your chest." Your eyes stay locked on Jisung, though. Hyunjin grabs your face, though, and forces you to tear your eyes away. "Sweetheart, that was never your fault. You did everything to save him that day. Okay? Me and Minho know that, and I'm sure Jisung knows that. If he remembers, I'm sure he doesn't blame you." Hyunjin tries to reassure you. It helps some. He presses a kiss to your lips.

"Do you want to go sit back down? We don't have to do this. It might not even be him." Hyunjin is looking at you worried. You shake your head because deep down, you know it's him. "No. Let's go. I need to know for sure." You admit to Hyunjin. He nods at you, and then his hand intertwines with yours once more.

Hyunjin looks back over to the booth. Jisung is sitting alone, and you both make your way over. Hyunjin, let's go of your hand as you go over, and you both slide into the booth on both sides of him.

Doe eyes look up at Hyunjin, and then they fall on you. You can feel your heart in your throat. It's definitely Jisung. His cheeks are a little rounder, and glasses now adorn his face. He has a striped sweater on, and you want nothing more than to pull him into your hold.

"Oh hi." Jisung tells you. He's clearly surprised by both of your presence, but he doesn't look at you full of hate. "Hi. We saw you across the club. You're all by yourself?" Hyunjin asks, and Jisung shakes his head. You wonder if it's already too late.

"No. My friends dragged me here." He tells Hyunjin. Hyunjin is looking at him as if he has the world in his eyes. "Why'd they leave someone as cute as you alone? Anyone could just come over and scoop you right up." Hyunjin tells Jisung, and that makes him laugh.

Jisung shrugs his shoulders. "They wanted to drink and get laid." You still haven't said anything, and Hyunjin glances at you. "What's your name?" You're finally able to ask. Jisungs eyes fall on you. "Han Jisung. My friends call me Han." He tells you with a smile.

"What if we wanted to be more than friends? Then what would we call you?" You ask him with a smile starting to relax. Something always had you relaxing around Jisung. He laughs at your question once more. He shrugs his shoulders, and you can't help but want to kiss the man in front of you silly. He's just too cute. "I guess whatever you want to call me then."

"What are your names?" He asks, turning towards Hyunjin. Your eyes fall to his throat and look for a sign of any bite marks. Your eyes don't find anything, though. You glance up at Hyunjin, and he shakes his head. None whatsoever. He's not turned.

"Hyunjin. This is my girlfriend yn. She seems to be obsessed with you more than me, though at the moment. I can't blame her, though. You're cute." Hyunjin watches as Jisung gets flustered at his comment and chuckles.

Jisungs eyes fall back on you. "Thank you both. That's nice to hear. I get a lot of compliments. Usually, it's just to get me in bed, though." Jisung admits to you. You can't help but feel jealous at the comment.

"Well, you're definitely gorgeous. I can see why people would want to take you to bed. You seem so kind and genuine, though." You tell him, and you want to run your fingers through his curls. You wonder if he moans how he used to.

Jisung gets shy at your words. "Thank you. I wouldn't mind sleeping with you both, though." Jisung mumbles out. Hyunjin looks at him with lust filled eyes, though. "Are you a virgin?" Hyunjin asks clearly unbelievably turned on at the idea of corrupting Jisung all over again.

Jisung looks away from his gaze and down at his sweater paws. "Yeah? I'm sorry if that turns you off. You can leave. I know I'm not experienced, and you're probably looking for someone with more experience." Jisung is playing with his sweater paws, refusing to look up at either of you. How many people had turned down this gorgeous man after finding out he was a virgin?

Hyunjin is bringing a hand under Jisungs chin. Hyunjin looks like he's going to devour him any second. "Would you let us?" Hyunjin asks the lust seeping into his voice. Jisung looks at him confused. "Let us be your first?" Hyunjin is looking at Jisungs lips. Jisungs lips dart out to wet his lips. He nods at Hyunjin. Hyunjin smiles at him, showing off one of his fangs. He's turning Jisungs head towards you.

"Kiss her. You can go ahead and kiss her. I don't mind, and neither would our boyfriend." Jisung is clearly taken aback at Hyunjins words. However, hearing Hyunjin give him the okay has Jisung leaning in. His lips meet yours, and they're perfect against your lips. It's like they melt together, and Jisung is clearly enjoying the kiss as much as you.

When he pulls away, his glasses are threatening to fall off his face. Your hand comes up and pushes them back onto his face with a laugh. He already looks dazed out.

Jisungs eyes look at Hyunjin. "Want a kiss from me too, pretty boy?" Hyunjin asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Jisung nods, and then Hyunjins lips are Jisungs. It's something you could truly watch forever. You can't help but wonder if Jisungs lips would mold just as well with Minhos. You were sure it would. Hyunjin pulls from the kiss and you think Jisung might just cum in his pants already.

"Your place or ours?" You ask him. "Mine. It's only a few blocks." Jisung gets out, and Hyunjin chuckles. "Someone eager to be played with." Jisung nods at Hyunjins words. Hyunjin grabs Jisungs hand, and Jisung takes yours. Your heart beats out of your chest as he holds it all the way to Hyunjins car.

Even as Jisung slides into the passenger seat, you can't help but stare at him. You wonder if this is some kind of ancestor of the Jisung you knew, but you highly doubted it.

Hyunjin starts the car and places a hand on Jisungs thigh. Jisung looks nervous, and you can't help but want to calm him. "My love." It falls from your lips without thought. Jisung looks at you but says nothing about your words as you lean forward. "You look nervous. We won't touch you unless you want it. The whole point is to enjoy tonight." Your words seem to calm him somewhat, yet he still looks slightly nervous. You knew a part of him was bound to be nervous sleeping with two strangers.

Jisung nods finally, but you watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. You can hear his racing heartbeat and the blood pumping throughout his body. You wish you could sink your teeth into him right then and there, but this was not the same man who had let you drink his blood so many years ago. Your eyes travel over his body. "Right here." He tells Hyunjin, and he pulls into a small one bedroom apartment.

It doesn't take long before Jisung gets to the front door, and he fumbles with his keys slightly. "I'm sorry. Don't mind the mess, please. I don't really have people over, and I didn't have time to clean up." Jisung opens the door while you and Hyunjin follow behind him. He slips his shoes off at the front door while you and Hyunjin do the same.

Your eyes look over the room, and it's perfect, really. It's small and minimalistic, but Jisung had never been one for much detail. Even in his past life. There's a takeout container on the counter, which Jisung is quick to get rid of. You can't help but giggle out. Jisung looks up at you doe eyed and clearly a little confused. "It fits you. It's cute, really." You give him a small hoping he knows you're genuine. He smiles at your words.

Hyunjins hands slip around your waist, and he places his head on your shoulder. "I should go clean my room some real quick. I'm really sorry. I just wasn't really prepared. Give me like two minutes." Jisung brings a hand up to fix his glasses, and when you both nod, he disappears into his room.

"He's just as cute as before." Hyunjin presses a kiss to your neck, and you sigh out. "He is. He's still as clumsy and messy, though. Remember when he had tried to make dinner on our first anniversary." You laugh out, and Hyunjin chuckles against your skin. "I'm glad Minho had stopped him. This version of Jisung at least can order takeout." Hyunjin is smiling against your skin.

"This is cute, though. Maybe we should have Jisung decorate our house. Minho doesn't really have an eye for decor." You remind Hyunjin, and he snickers. The door to Jisungs room opens.

"You can come in. I fixed it up somewhat." Jisung tells you both, keeping his door open. Hyunjin lets go of you and follows behind you as you make your way into Jisungs room. Your eyes glance around, and it's just as simple. A laptop sits on the table, and a small lamp sits by his bedside.

You turn around to face Jisung once more. Hyunjin watches as the door closes as Jisung looks at you both. Hyunjin is quick to pin him against the back of his door. "Pretty boy. Do you want to know what I do to pretty boys?" His hands pin Jisungs above his head. Hyunjin lips hover over Jisungs.

"What?" Jisung asks as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Hyunjin smirks at him. "I eat them." Hyunjin has a playful glint in his eyes, and you watch as a shiver goes throughout Jisungs body.

You come beside them, and Jisungs eyes look at you for help. Hyunjins face moves away from his. Hyunjin refuses to let Jisung go, though. Your hand comes up to Jisungs jaw, making him look at you. "You're so pretty. Can I kiss you?" You ask him. He nods his head quickly, and you smile. Your lips go to Jisungs, and he's quick to relax into it. They're soft, just like how you remember them. You could truly kiss him forever. You try to file away how they feel against yours. You pull away only when you hear Hyunjin chuckles.

Jisung is breathing heavily, and you're not sure how long you had kissed him. It had only felt like seconds, really. "I thought he might pass out, sweetheart. You were trying to kill him, huh? Death by kiss?" Hyunjin teases you, but then your lips are on Hyunjins. Jisung is looking at both of you in wonder and awe. You and Hyunjin just seem to fit so well together. You pull away, and Hyunjin smirks at you.

Hyunjin looks back down at Jisung. "You want another kiss from me? You seemed to really enjoy the earlier kiss. Or would you prefer my cock in that pretty mouth of yours." Jisung whimpers at Hyunjins words. Hyunjin laughs out and presses a kiss to Jisungs lips. It's quick and yet so passionate. Everything about Hyunjin was passionate though.

Hyunjin lets go of Jisungs wrists. "I'll let you play with sweetheart here first. She loves breaking pretty boys like you. The tears turn on her." Hyunjin whispers against his ear. Jisung lets out another whimper as Hyunjin moves away.

"Don't let him fool you. He's a needy little sub usually." You tell Jisung. Jisung glances at Hyunjin, who rolls his eyes. Hyunjin sits on Jisungs bed, manspreading while leaning back on his arms.

Jisung eyes come back to lay on you. Your hands come to his hips, and he's looking at you clearly affected already by the mix of yours and Hyunjins presence. "I'll be gentle tonight. I can't say the same for Jinnie, though." Your eyes glance at your boyfriend who looks smug at you.

Your lips place a gentle kiss at his throat. He moans out, and you can tell he's sensitive. Your lips continue to kiss his throat, and eventually, you start leaving hickeys. Jisung is like jelly in your hands, and you think if it wasn't for your hands on him, he would've already fallen to the ground.

You pull away when you think you've left enough, and he looks so gone already. "You want me to ride you pretty boy?" You ask Jisung. He takes a deep breath at your words. "Please?" It comes out breathless and so desperate. You chuckle as you lead him to the bed.

You climb into Jisungs lap and press another kiss to his lips. Your hands go to his sweater. You grab the end of it and pull it over his head. You watch as he whines as the cold air hits his nipples. Your hands run over his chest. "Look at you." You can't help but stare, and he gets shy at your words. Your hands go to his face, moving them. "Don't hide that pretty face." You tell him. Jisung turns red at your words.

You stand up once more. Your hands go to his pants and lifts so you can remove him jeans and boxers. Your eyes land on his painfully hard cock. "Pretty." You mumbles out making him shy once more. Your hand goes to the bottom of your skin tight dress and lift it over your head. You see Jisung hold his breath as you drop it to the ground.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Hyunjin asks Jisung. Jisung nods, not being able to take his eyes off your body. "Gorgeous." Jisung mumbles out, and you smile.

You climb in his lap once more. He looks uncertain about touching you. "Go ahead. You can touch me, Sungie." The pet name falls from your lips, and he gulps. He still hesitates, but then you grab his hands. "Take my bra off." You tell him moving his hands to your back.

Jisungs hands go to your bra. He struggles for a second before he's successful, and it slips down your arms. Your breasts are now on display, and Jisungs eyes get even wider. His tongue darts out his lips once more as his eyes stare at your chest.

"You want a taste?" You ask him, and his eyes finally look up at you. He nods gently. "Go ahead." You sweetly tell him. His lips attach to your nipple and he sucks on it gently. He looks so sweet with his glasses on as he suck on your breasts. His eyes stare up at you as you moan out.

Jisung eventually pulls away, but it's only to bring your other breasts into his mouth. Hyunjins eyes are on the both of you, and it only serves to turn you on more. Your hand goes to Jisungs hair, and he eventually releases your breasts with a pop. His lips are wet with saliva and puffy. You think he would've continued to do that if you hadn't pulled him away.

Your hands go to your panties, and you slide them off. "You still want this?" You ask once more. Jisung eagerly nods. You line yourself up with him before you sink down slowly. Jisung lets out a whimper, and your head falls into his throat. One of your hands stays in his hair, holding him to you. You can't help but moan. After fifty years, he's once more inside you, and he couldn't feel more perfect to you.

His hands are on your waist, and eventually, you bottom out. His fingers, however, dig into your side. It's painful yet pleasureful. You were sure there'd be crescent moon shapes at your waist when he'd pull away. You let him adjust to the feeling. Eventually he's trying to roll his hips up and fuck into you. You ultimately give in and almost completely rise up off of him but then your hips are coming down once more knocking a moan out of yours and his lungs.

You start a good rhythm, and it seems to be driving Jisung crazy. Your lips are against his neck, and you can hear the blood rushing throughout him. For a second, you think about turning him right then and there, but you couldn't do that. You didn't have the heart. Especially knowing Jisung didn't want to be turned until your second anniversary that he had never made it to.

You want to cry having him in your arms once more, but that would ruin the mood. Instead, you kiss his neck once more, relishing in his touch. You know Hyunjin can sense how emotional you are right now, and that's why he doesn't comment. He doesn't tease like he usually would. Instead, he's staring at you both with hearts in his eyes. How he wished Minho was here to see this.

You can tell Jisungs close because his whimpering and moans have gotten higher. "You're going to cum? Cum for me Sungie. You can cum inside me." Your words turn him on unbelievably more and it only takes a few more bounces and he's cumming inside you. You ride him through his orgasm and soon you're pushed over the edge. Your hips stop moving and your moaning into his neck. Jisungs grip on you is harsh and rough.

Jisung whimpers as you move against him once more wishing you could fuck his cum deeper but he's clearly overstimulated. You pull off of him and he whines at the loss. Your lips meet his trying to quiet him and it seems to do the job.

You pull away, and his glasses are falling off. You push them up onto his face once more. Your body feels weak having cum so hard. You move from him and Hyunjin places a kiss on your head. "You did such a good job." Hyunjin whispers to you.

Hyunjin looks at Jisung, who seems dazed but not out of it completely. "You're really so pretty. I know I've said that, but it's true." Hyunjins hand goes to Jisungs cock. He strokes it once and Jisung is trying to pull away from his touch. "Would you like me to fuck you Sung? I know your poor cock is sensitive right now but I really want to know what your pretty ass feels like when I fuck into it." Hyunjin asks and Jisung nods at him eagerly at the mention.

Hyunjins hands go to undo his own belt, but then Jisung is moving his hands. "So eager." Hyunjin looks at him like he's his next prey as Jisung pulls his pants and boxers down. Jisung gulps at the size of Hyunjin. He's long, and Jisung doesn't even think he has a toy the size of Hyunjin.

"What if- What if it doesn't fit?" Jisung looks up at Hyunjin. He realizes what he's said, and his face turns red as Hyunjin laughs. Hyunjins hand comes to Jisungs face. "I'll make it fit, baby. Haven't taken anything as big as me?" Hyunjin asks Jisung, and he shakes his head. "That's okay. It just means I'll have to be careful." Hyunjin tells him.

Hyunjin presses a kiss to Jisungs lips. "Turn around for me and ass up." Hyunjin watches as Jisung does as he asks clearly still unsure how Hyunjin was going to fit inside him.

Hyunjin runs a hand along Jisungs back trying to relax him. "You got to relax or it won't feel good." Hyunjins eyes looks at you. You're in front of Jisung and he's biting his lip nervously.

"You want Jinnie to fuck you right?" You ask and Jisung nods. "You have any lube?" Hyunjin asks Jisung. "Dresser." Jisung eyes are still on you. "You have to relax. Jinnie doesn't want to hurt you baby." Jisung nods at your words and he slowly starts to relax.

Hyunjin squirts some lube out of the tube. "It's cold." Hyunjin warns him as he squirts some over Jisungs ass. Jisung shivers and lets out a moan. Then Hyunjin is pushing a finger inside him. Jisung takes a deep breath and you distract him by kissing his lips. Eventually the pained expression on his face leaves and its replaces by pure pleasure. Jisung is moaning into your mouth and you pull away. "There we go. Think you can take another?" Jisung nods and Hyunjin pushes another finger inside making Jisung go limp.

Your hand goes to Jisungs hair running a hand through it. He relaxes even more and eventually Hyunjin has three fingers inside him. "You ready to take Jinnie?" You ask Jisung. He lifts his head up with a nod. "Please! Fuck me Jinnie!" Jisung begs and Hyunjin pulls his fingers out. It makes him whine for a second but then the moan that leaves his chest as Hyunjin enters him is guttural.

Jisung is completely limp and his head meets the bed once more. Hyunjin has already set a brutal pace and Jisung seems to be taking it well. "You're taking Jinnie so well Sung." You tell him and he's lifting his head up. His tongue lolls out his mouth and his eyes are trying to focus on you but it's hard when Hyunjin is fucking so deep into him.

"You're so tight Ji. Going to make me cum already." Hyunjin breathes out harshly letting out his own moans and groans. Jisung glasses are sliding off his face and your hand is coming up to fix them. Jisung is totally blissed out between the both of you.

Jisung has never felt this good. None of his toys have ever hit this deep inside him. It's driving him insane and to the edge once more. Each thrust just seems to be deeper and deeper. Then he feels it. Hyunjin hits his prostate and Jisung loses all his thoughts once more. A shriek is heard and Hyunjin knows he's found it. He's thrusting into that spot over and over.

Hyunjins hand is wrapped around Jisungs waist keeping his whole body from meeting the sheets. "You feel this?" Hyunjin is grabbing one of Jisungs hands. He presses it to Jisungs stomach and he can feel Hyunjin bulging through him. That's enough for Jisung to cum once more.

Jisung cums so much that he thinks he might actually pass out and for a second he does lose consciousness. Once he's blinking his eyes open he can feel Hyunjins cum inside him. Hyunjin is still rolling his hips throughout his high.

"You did so good baby. Took Jinnie so well." Your hand is cupping Jisungs face and placing kisses all over it. It's so intimate but Jisung doesn't register it. He does register when Hyunjin pulls out letting out a whine hating the feeling of being empty already.

Hyunjin is scooping some of Jisungs cum up and bringing it to your lips. Your lips wrap around his finger and Jisung thinks he might cum again. He's so exhausted though.

Jisungs eyes are already shutting and Hyunjin is lifting him off the bed carrying him to his bathroom. You're left in his room and he sees you stand up off the bed and grab his sheets. That's all he can see before Hyunjin brings him into his bathroom.

Jisung is sore. He hears Hyunjin start a bath for him and place him on the counter. He should be grossed out at the feeling of Hyunjins cum leaking out of him and onto the counter but he's too tired to care.

Once the bath is filled with water. Hyunjin places Jisung gently into the tub. He can feel his muscles relax and Hyunjin disappears from the bathroom. It's only a few seconds Jisung thinks but his eyes keep closing so much that it could've been an hour. Hyunjin has clothes for Jisung.

You're then entering the bathroom. "You did a number on him Jinnie." You tell him crossing your arms as you lean against the counter. Hyunjin looks back at you. "As if you didn't." Hyunjin replies back. "Touché." You reply back with a smile.

"You can sleep Sungie. We'll take care of you." Hyunjin tells him. Jisung really tries to keep his eyes open but sleep calls him. His eyes close and drifts into unconsciousness.

[aimbutmiss]

"Finally, we have some alone time." Shanks sighed as he settled into the comfort of the expensive armchair, away from the intimidating presence of Crocodile and the judgemental eyes of Hawk Eye. It was a random decision, dropping by Cross Guild's headquarters. Of course he knew that two emperors meeting would draw the government's attention, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the spontaneous act as he stared at the lovely clown in front of him.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you."

"Huh?"

Buggy rolled his eyes at the red head's easily swayed attention. "I wouldn't be so sure that we are alone."

"... You think they're listening?" Shanks turned to the closed tent door in worry.

"No, I made them promise not to and they wouldn't break my trust like that. However... Croccy's really good at finding loopholes. I'm certain Daz is listening to us as we speak." He cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Daz? If you're there can you please knock twice on the door?"

Silence.

"Ugh, come on. If your boss can use loopholes so can I. Did he specifically say you had to be discreet?"

After a short moment, two small knocks were heard.

"Thank you!" Buggy turned back to Shanks, lowering his voice to fit the casual conversation they were having. "See?"

Shanks scoffed in disdain. "I can't believe he trusts you so little."

"He trusts me just fine. It's you he doesn't trust. Rightfully so, may I add."

Shanks' shoulders sagged at the formal speech. It's like there was a thick, invisible wall between them, and it hurt too much to bear.

"Buggy... Come to the Red Force with me. We can at least have some privacy there."

Buggy shook his head. "Absolutely not. As much as I would love to see Benn and Lucky Roux, it's not worth it."

Shanks could have made a joke about him not including Yasopp but he was too confused by the rest of the statement to do so. "What do you mean it's 'not worth it'? Too lazy to walk to the shore now?" He asked jokingly but the worry was evident in his voice nonetheless.

"Of course it's not that, idiot. I just don't want to be alone with you in your own turf."

The room was dead silent but Shanks could swear he could hear his heart shattering. "You trust me that little?"

The clown sighed, already tired from where the conversation was heading. "Shanks, this isn't about trust. It's about letting go of the past."

"So you do not miss me?"

Buggy lips tightened to a thin line.

"Because I miss you."

"Wrong thing to say with someone listening in..." Buggy mumbled under his breath. "Croccy will throw you off the island at this rate and even Mihawk won't be able to stop him."

Shanks' brow twitched at hearing the stupid nickname again, dropping from the bluette's lips so casually. "He respects you two that little?"

"No, he respects us that much. He cares, in his own, weird way. He's a good man."

Shanks smirked at the ridiculous answer. "A good man? You truly believe that? I can see your lips curling you know."

Buggy rolled his eyes. "He's a good man to the people that matter. He's good to me, Shanks. And neither of us are saints you know."

"Even so-"

"I have fame, money and power... But more importantly I have people who care about me to share it with." Buggy cut him off before he could get another word in. "People who protect me and help me when I need it but never push me. People who treat me like their equals. And for once in my life, I'm truly happy. And you're upset that you're not a part of that happiness. To that I say; move on, Shanks. I have, so should you."

"..."

"It's better for the both of us really."

Shanks bounced his leg up and down restlessly as his thoughts became cloudy. If anyone would have told him 25 years ago that him and Buggy would be where they are, so close yet so far from each other, Shanks would have never believed them.

He thought of a million things to say, questions to ask, to beg, but he could only bring himself to say one thing. "If that's your wish."

Shanks got up and turned around to leave, but Buggy spoke up last minute. "I do care for you, you know. I always have."

It wasn't a love confession, not really, but it was the closest thing to it that Shanks would ever get. "I know."

He didn't quite care how rude or embarrassing it was to avoid Mihawk's eyes as he boarded the Red Force to leave Karai Bari, he just did it because he knew the man would instantly know from one look what had just transpired between him and Buggy. And he didn't want to give him and Crocodile the privilege of knowing they won. They would still know, of course, but at least Shanks kept his pride (in his heart, at least).