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bunny584 · 6 months

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A Girl with No Name

A/N: This one shot POURED out of me. All because of this incredible art by @chu-cho Thank you for creating this masterpiece. Hope I can do your art justice.

Ok, let me set the scene. Euphoria, SKINS, and Degrassi procreated in the basement of Kappa Alpha. Keg to the right. A designer tray of substances to the left. The boys in the middle. And you…you crack the whi— what? Who said that?

CW: Frat AU, implied substance use, mature 18+, MDNI

‘Ain’t a pill that I didn’t take’

Lyrics that feel too familiar tread water between Suguru’s ears. They glide along his skin. Which feels like silk, by the way.

Silk.

Who ever made that is a Nobel laureate.

‘Cause Imma sleep when I R.I.P.’

Euphoria.

Who chose the lights?

They’re vivid. Swarming. Like the walls are a tile dance floor. Yeah. Light picker deserves a Nobel too.

“You are so fucked right now.” His best friend’s sharp ass voice dices his lucid thoughts to smithereens.

“Shut up, Satoru.” He’s not wrong.

“We took the same shit.” Suguru perches on the solo cup ridden kitchen island. Sitting is good.

“Plus, I’m bigger than you.”

“If you wanna compare dicks just say so.” Satoru sneers, he’s cockier when inebriated.

In any other instance when Suguru is of sound mind, Satoru would’ve caught a jab to the chest. But two reasons why that can’t happen.

One, he’s currently tripping balls.

Two, you just walked in.

Like you own the house.

Maneuvering your body around the active pong table. Slipping past the chatty women gawking in their direction. Gearing for attack. Shifty and nervous, but the vodka cranberry is courage elixir.

The boys have about 45 seconds to engage with said women or divert.

But you are currently leaning over the counter reaching for a shot glass well out of your zip code. A little red dress on. All curves, no brakes. With an ass that could make anyone believe in God.

Sorry, girls. Tonight, they are going to divert.

Suguru catches Satoru’s heady gaze. No words needed. They share instincts. The boys have been in stride since the day they met.

They saunter over to the counter you’re mounting. An easy reach for them both.

“Didn’t realize your name was on the lease, princess.”

Satoru plucks the double shot glass down from Mount Everest. Handing it over between two fingers.

Still propped up on the counter with one knee, you peer down at them both. Letting the white noise of utter disinhibition drape the space between you.

Suguru planned on softening Satoru’s blow, but then you smile.

Cavalier and gorgeous.

Like it’s a golden ticket into spaces you don’t belong in.

The answer to questions people don’t realize need asking.

The cure for everything.

And right now? It is. The cure.

Suguru stands stupefied as you brace yourself on his shoulders. Thank God his hands still know what to do. They snake around your tapered waist and pull you to solid ground.

Speak, dumbass.

“You didn’t? It’s in the fine print.” Your voice beats him to it. And is fucking dessert.

Bad for you. Horrible for you. But good in the way self-indulgence is.

You take your shot glass (really, anything in the house is yours if you want it). And steer away to the refrigerator.

Your absence jumpstarts Suguru’s out-of-commission brain.

“Excuse him, he was raised by monkeys. Can I help you find something?”

Suguru and Satoru reposition themselves behind you while you rummage. Bent over at the waist. Head nearly submerged in the pull out freezer.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Are you trying to be a cocktease?

Satoru isn’t even attempting to stop eye-fucking you.

Suguru pulls his tongue ring in and out of his teeth. Anything to stop ruminating on the melody of sounds that’ll fill the room when his hips slam into your ass repeatedly.

“There it is,” you stand back to your full height. Triumphant. Jack Daniels in hand.

Your eyes are pools of quicksand. Why else would Suguru’s mouth feel more stuck than his feet?

“You’re a whiskey, kind of girl?” Satoru smirks, amused at your vice choice.

Again, the boys follow your movements like two expertly trained German Shepards. Flanking you when you settle at the corner of the island. Meticulously over-pouring your first double shot.

“I’m a good time kind of girl.” The way your slender neck tilts back is immoral. Throating the dark liquid like water.

…what else can that throat handle?

“Okay, good time girl wh—“

“Listen.” You snip Satoru’s snide remark at its base. Leaving both of them silent. Watching. Waiting.

“Brad,” you pointedly look at Suguru.

“And Chad,” eyes dagger into Satoru.

“Thank you for the warm welcome but I’m not interested in talking.”

The back of your hand swipes against your full lips. And Suguru can’t seem to pull his eyes off of them.

Satoru, after a moment of stunned silence, lets out his laugh. The one that means you’ve won his undivided attention for the night.

“Close, but no cigar baby. Try again.” Satoru leans onto his forearms. Tilting his intoxicated gaze up at you.

“Right idea, though.” Suguru chimes in. Tongue finally deciding to work.

“Ahh, I hear you loud and clear.” You retort, golden-ticket smile back on your face.

Your nose wrinkles in feigned concentration and Suguru nearly passes out.

Are you really this hot? Or is he just that blasted?

“Preppy,” your hand cups Satoru’s face. And his Adam’s Apple bobs deeply.

Good, Satoru is feeling this as hard as he is.

“And Edgy.” Suguru gawks at the way your lips hang open after your snarky guess at his name leaves your mouth.

Satoru’s wolfish chuckle is what re-tethers Suguru to this dimension. How the fuck is he keeping up with you right now?

“No, no. I got it.” You pipe up.

Placing one hand over each of theirs. Suguru greedily intertwines his long fingers between your petite ones.

“Thunder.” You squeeze Suguru’s hand and his soul nearly leaks out of his dick.

“And Lightening.”

Cotton candy dusts Satoru’s nose to his ears when you look up at him. Suguru can see the vulgar scenarios on cinematic repeat in his best friend’s mind.

And it’s tame compared to the ways Suguru wants to disrespect you.

“We can work with that.” Suguru flashes a smile of his own. Purposefully keeping his tongue ring out of your view.

“And what can we call you?” Satoru probes. Zeroed in because no one else in the room exists.

Your hands return back to your side, and Suguru misses your warmth immediately.

“No name.”

Flippant. Lighthearted like what you said was normal.

“What was that?” Satoru spurts out. Saliva bubbling in his half open mouth.

You glide away from the kitchen. Into the den with bodies colliding. Walls thrumming. Lights strobing.

Delicate hands cup around your mouth. Turning back to face your new guard dogs.

“Not here to talk, boys!”

The three of you are interwined at the center of the crowded room in seconds.

But time is warped.

Because Suguru is traversing Death Zone altitude on the mountain. And Satoru is swimming at Abyssal Zone depth in the ocean.

You are the 8th cardinal sin.

You writhe and undulate your curves in and out of their grasp. Gripping onto Satoru’s neck, strumming his undercut when he’s facing you. Winding your hips against Suguru’s crotch when he’s behind you.

Suguru’s cock has never been this hard, he’s half worried it could snap in half. Hissing against your neck. Groaning behind your ear. So goddamn grateful for the music drowning out his desperation.

But his skin is on fire. He can feel every vessel pulsate.

You are not a want.

You are a need.

“Need you.” Suguru gruffs in your ear. Flickering up to Satoru, who is mirroring his hooded gaze.

Suguru watches your pretty hand trail down Satoru’s chest. Satoru rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. Apt nickname you chose for him, because there are lightening bolts in his eyes.

“Take me upstairs,” you whisper back, tilting up to capture Suguru in your web.

And he is so captured. So entangled.

The boys lead you to Suguru’s bedroom in the frat house. Even though the walk felt like miles, exactly no time passes when you three close the door behind you.

Suguru’s lips magnet to yours. Insatiable in the way he sucks and pulls on your lips. Tongue tasting every corner of your sweet mouth.

Satoru drops his head to the crook of your neck. Sucking bruises. Tracing his large grasp up and underneath your dress. No time or room for manners with how his cock is tenting against its weak restraints.

“So eager, boys.” You giggle in between their hungry kisses.

And you’re right.

It’s embarrassing, their display right now.

But neither one of them have the capacity to stop.

And hold it together.

And lead. Like they both are used to.

“Sorry,” Satoru grunts into the feminine slope of your neck. You let out an airy laugh when he starts to dry hump you. Tickling both of their incapable brains.

You know Satoru is so far gone.

And Suguru is trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity but his cock simply won’t let him. Not the way it’s drenching his sweats with need.

“Take these off.” Melodic instructions fill Satoru and Suguru’s ears the minute you pull away from Suguru’s kiss. Your index finger hooked on both hems.

As if your voice is a Pavlovian trigger, the boys step out of their pants and boxers.

Rock hard. Desperate. Leaking.

Your personal drones.

Suguru can’t swallow the whimper that collides with Satoru’s whine when your hands drop to stroke both of them at the same time. Flickering your eyes between your two toys. Proud of the way their cocks are twitching and pumping beads of precum into your hands.

“God, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, princess.”

Satoru and Suguru are dizzy with heat.

Just in time for you to drop to your knees. Dragging your closed, lipsticked lips along Suguru’s up curve.

“Please,” Suguru whispers.

You’re evil.

And you ignore him. Dragging your soft, warm hand up the length of his shaft. Interjecting butterfly kisses in between. Working Satoru’s length in your other hand. Drawing punched out moans from the boys. Chests heaving. Clipped breaths. Pitiful.

“On your knees, Lightning.” You beckon Satoru, while teasing his counterpart.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Propped on his knees, he stares into the side of your face. Awaiting further instruction.

“Kiss me,” you demand, circling your lips around Suguru’s sensitive tip for the first time. Evoking a loud hiss.

Satoru’s eyes widen. Your words startle the breath out of him.

The lights are dim but Suguru doesn’t miss the blossoming cherry red flush. Spreading along his toned shoulders.

Your wet lips dragging along his swollen cockhead pulls Suguru’s eyes away from his celestial best friend.

“Mmmgh f..fuck baby,” Suguru chokes out at your slow, mean ministrations.

“Don’t be shy, Lightening.” Your tongue tickles his lead pipe with every spoken word around his girth.

Suguru’s eyes fall to your hand. Now working its way up Satoru’s length. His core involuntarily curls into your sudden touch. Gossamer thin whine tumbling out of his lips. Suguru catches the way Satoru digs his fingernails into his milky skin.

And his cock twitches against your lips at the sight.

“Kiss me,” You beckon Satoru again, dragging your tongue up Suguru’s length.

“I—I…“ Satoru stammers. Hips stuttering against your fist. Static fills Suguru’s head.

He’s never seen him this docile. This pliant. It’s a mind fuck.

No, no.

The way Satoru pulls his eyes up to meet his gaze in that moment is a mind fuck.

Is he hallucinating?

It’s like Suguru is seeing Satoru for the first time.

Instead of being side by side, he’s across the street. Catching a glimpse of a God. Walking amongst men.

Satoru’s expression has earned permanence in his brain. Snowy halo of hair. Long, palatial lashes fanning the Aegean Sea in his eyes. A mosaic of lust, desire, a little shame.

Seeking permission.

Seeking approval.

He is otherworldly.

Vulnerable and soft. On his knees. Needy. It makes Suguru want to ram his cock past those pouty, swollen lips.

But..but that’s wrong. Right?

They’re best friends. Fucking soulmates. They don’t..they don’t do that.

But the way he’s pouting.

God.

Glassy eyed and helplessly turned on. Rutting his hips into your hand.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Suguru mutters. A surge of his arousal landing on your tongue. Eliciting a breathy giggle in response.

Followed by an out of body experience for the next few minutes.

Suguru’s hand wires into Satoru’s cloud soft locks. Gentle grasp between the slender webspaces.

“So pretty.” He rasps through the nails in his throat.

Satoru’s pupils blow out at the praise. All but purring into his touch. Suguru barely applies any force and Satoru crashes his lips onto yours with Suguru’s thick head in between.

Filthy.

Nasty dirty vulgar sounds fill the room. Suguru’s constant stream of precum dripping onto your tongue, Satoru’s tongue. Raining down on your puffy, full tits.

You two exploring each other’s lips.

Satoru’s angry length, squelching against your hand.

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

“Such a good boy.”

Your dulcet voice is a tornado decimating Suguru’s brain. He has to blink a few times to realize that the praise wasn’t meant for him.

It was directed at Satoru.

Who is desperately — eagerly — throating Suguru’s dick. Nose flaring. Diamond tears rolling down his blushing cheeks. Unintelligible garbles dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

“Sa—Satoru, mmgh, god shit, shit.” Suguru’s hips take a cruel pace down his Person’s throat.

“Mmm, Satoru.” You murmur into his ear. Tasting your new discovery.

“Look how much Thunder likes fucking that mouth of yours.”

Satoru’s tears splash against Suguru’s sex. But he opens his throat anyway. Swallowing his rod. Filthy bulge in the column of his throat.

“Ahh, god..baby..” Suguru huffs when your devilish little hands tug at a palm full of his hair.

When did you get next to him?

Doesn’t matter.

Yet another natural disaster destroys Suguru’s brain when you push your tongue back into his mouth. While he violates Satoru’s mouth.

The wire in Suguru’s stomach coils. Lava surges through every vessel in his body. Groin welling with a deep, carnal pressure. Everything feels too fucking good.

“Fuck, oh god fuck. I’m I—g—“

“Cum for me, baby.”

You kiss your hushed command into Suguru’s mouth. His hips come to a screeching halt. Both hands down in Satoru’s hair, grazing along his undercut.

Suguru tilts his chin to the ceiling. Thick loose mane tickling his mid back. Vision completely dark. He has no idea if he’s still in Satoru’s mouth. Or where his cum is landing. All he knows is death by pleasure right now.

You press your moist lips into Suguru’s neck.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Sweet words reverberate against Suguru’s skin.

His head slowly comes back to earth. And just as his eyes pull back open — a shudder and blinding light assaults his vision. Up close.

“Woah, what the hell?”

Suguru is met with a Polaroid camera. Printing evidence of his nirvana. His brows crawl together defensively.

“What do you—“

“Relax, thunder.” You coo with that smile that’s decadent, beautiful poison.

You step over a dazed Satoru. Still on his knees. Lazily stroking up his neglected hard cock.

Suguru’s eyes track you to his bed. You place the developing film on the nightstand.

“These are for your eyes only.”

“I don’t mind.” Satoru huffs. Rising to his feet. Deep within your trance. You could’ve asked him to cut off an arm and he’d offer you both.

Satoru would follow you into Hell if you demanded it.

Suguru would too.

“Boys, come.” You curl your finger at them. And pairs of feet move.

“Thunder, why don’t you put that tongue ring to good use. While I take care of pretty little Satoru.”

His name on your lips snaps something buried in his soul. Satoru steps to the head of the bed. Leaning against the wall. Cock heavy with his seed. A string of arousal hanging low from his tip.

You make a dramatic show to catch Satoru’s leaking string of cum before it wastes on Suguru’s sheets.

“You’re fucking filthy, princess.” Satoru hisses. He can’t remember the last time he’s blinked the whole night.

You smile around his bulbous tip, then pull him into your warm heat in one go.

And fuck, Satoru can feel you sucking through to his throat.

His whimpers sound so pathetic in his ears. But he is so lust-drunk he couldn’t care less.

One look down and he sees his best friend whining underneath your precious cunt. As you circle your hips around Suguru’s metal-clad tongue. Taking your pleasure directly from his mouth.

Suguru’s half hard sex pulsates against his perfectly toned abs. Satoru has to look away. His orgasm threatening to come too soon.

“Mmmnggh, so good with your tongue, Thunder.” You gurgle around Satoru’s length.

Arousal flavored saliva driveling down your chin. The sensation drives Satoru to piston his hips until his tip abuses the limit of your dainty throat.

You shouldn’t have any space to breathe, much less talk.

“Pl-please. Suguru. Name’s Suguru.”

“Say his name baby.” Satoru’s order is low. Raptorial. Hips bucking wildly into your mouth. Heat crashing into his groin.

He’s so close. He’s—

“S-Suguru.”

And Satoru dives off your cliff edge. Hearing his Person’s name tumble out of your mouth and around his cock snapped his self-control in half.

Ropes off thick, warm heat spill out the side of your mouth. Staining your bunched up dress, the sheets and everything in between.

“S-so close,” you huff, humping Suguru’s tongue more aggressively.

A familiar camera shudder and solar bright light fans your outstretched neck. Capturing your cum-stained ascension.

You flash Satoru a knowing smirk. Another beam of light aimed in his face before he tosses your camera off to the side.

Satoru crashes his lips into yours. Eager to taste himself off your mouth.

Your bodies move in perfect tandem. Satoru kisses your peak from your lips while Suguru coaxes your wet orgasm onto his tongue. Your high drenches Suguru and the sheets around him.

The three of you piece yourselves together. Completely plaited within each other’s warm, moist limbs. Basking in the serotonin showers misting you three in post-coital bliss.

No one remembers, but you wish each other sweet dreams before the fog settles. And the night re-claims you to sleep.

——

Sunlight is downright offensive.

Suguru forces his heavy lids open.

7: 43 AM

Fucking, hell.

A freight train is currently doing laps in Suguru’s mind. He flickers around the room. Haphazard clothes. Strewn socks. Satoru in Suguru’s 06 hockey jersey. Long limbs nearly dangling off the other side of his bed.

Suguru glances down, somehow dressed only in Satoru’s black sweats

There’s a tiny sliver of space between their sodden bodies. Where you must’ve slept.

Right.

You.

Heaven’s fallen angel.

You used to be God’s favorite. No way you still are.

Not with how fucking sinful you looked in that red dress.

Snapping polaroids.

Taking their souls for play.

Then having the audacity to leave them on the nightstand when you were through.

Suguru met The Devil last night.

And she was…exquisite.

“Fuck, my head.” Satoru groans, rolling over to face his dark-haired soulmate.

Suguru watches his eyes flutter open. And something within him catches.

How has he not noticed how beautiful this boy is before?

“Here,” A glass of ice water, still sweating from condensation is waiting on Suguru’s nightstand. He takes a long sip before passing the lifeblood to Satoru.

Satoru briefly meets Suguru’s gaze. Before averting, pretty mulberry blush flooding his face.

“Was last night…real?” Satoru asks after an extended sip.

Suguru meets his question with silence. Preoccupied with picture proof.

Three polaroids neatly arranged on the nightstand.

The first one is of Suguru. Hair moused, framing his intoxicated gaze. Remnants of his orgasm oozing from the still shot. Lips puffy and abused. Cheeks flushed. Suguru can barely recognize the man in the photo.

His eyes dance to the cursive label at the bottom:

Thunder

Alias: “Suguru”

A wry chuckle escapes his lips. He passes his photo to Satoru.

The next polaroid is of his Person. Post orgasm haze heavy in his eyes. He managed to get his 10,000-kilowatt smile perfectly in the selfie. Also flushed. Also completely debauched. The blue in his eyes reflected nearly translucent.

He’s a fucking masterpiece, that boy.

Suguru knows what to expect at the bottom of Satoru’s polaroid:

Lightening

Alias: “Satoru”

“Shit man, these are amazing.” Satoru murmurs, intently studying Suguru’s polaroid. Absentmindedly accepting his.

“They are.” Suguru agrees, unknowingly holding his breath while pulling your polaroid into view.

And of course.

It’s blurry.

The only thing in focus is your graceful, arched neck, specks of Satoru’s finish glistening on your skin. Merlot red dress, pulled far below your breasts. Only thing pictured is the apex of your cleavage. Leaving Suguru’s mind to spiral into lucid memory of the rest of your silhouette.

“Who…was that?” Satoru muses. Eyes now on the ceiling. Undoubtedly having the exact same swarm of flashbacks flood his mind.

Suguru rolls your Polaroid between his index and long finger. The bottom of the photo reading:

No Name

A lazy smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

You are something else.

Supernatural, almost.

“She’s a girl with no name.”

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idiopath-fic-smile · 11 months

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this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that.

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing.

“Just for two weeks,�� she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together.

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it.

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

#singin in the rain ot3 #i might write more idk but listen like you can probably imagine the rest of it #old-timey polyamorous shenanigans on a boat #pretty straightforward stuff #there's singing there's dancing and somehow don managed to 'accidentally' book cosmo in an adjoining bedroom etc etc

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katakaluptastrophy · 10 months

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Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.

You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.

You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.

You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.

You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.

You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.

You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.

They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.

#the locked tomb #tlt #isaac tettares #jeannemary chatur #abigail pent #magnus quinn #tlt meta

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stay-dazed · 2 months

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a simple stray kids guide (for baby stays) ✨

overview: stray kids, or skz for short, is an 8-member korean boy band that debuted on march 25th, 2018 under jype ent. they were formed through a survival show in 2017 with originally 9 members, but one member left the group a year after debut for unknown reasons. there are three subunits to the group: 3racha the rap/producer unit, danceracha the dance unit, and vocalracha the vocal unit. of course, though, all of them do a bit of everything.

stray kids were considered an “experimental group” since the leader of the group was tasked with choosing all the members himself, and coming up with the name, logo, and fandom name of the group. as a group, they produced all their own music as well. they were relatively small for a while but by the time they released their song god’s menu, they were growing in popularity.

now stray kids have had many accomplishments, including: performing at lollapalooza 3 times now, being the first k-pop group invited to the met gala, becoming ambassadors for brands like versace and gucci, winning around 82 awards, and producing an ost for the deadpool movie. they've also recently set a guinness world record for the first ever group to have #1 albums 5 times in a row over the course of only 8 months!

while they are incredibly talented and successful celebrities, they’re also very down to earth, and very connected with their fanbase. they’ve shown openness and vulnerability with their fans by releasing songs with serious topic matters, crying on stage, and talking about their emotions/experiences. personally, they’re the only band i’ve ever seen who feel genuine love for their fanbase.

english name: christopher

stage name: bangchan, cb97 in 3racha

age: 26 (october 3rd, 1997)

nationality: australian-korean

languages: english, korean

positions: leader, producer in 3racha, dancer, rapper, vocalist

skzoo: wolfchan

instagram: gnabnahc

basics: chan was born in korea, but moved to australia when he was about 3 or 4 years old. he remained there with his two younger siblings, hannah and lucas, and their cavalier king charles named berry, until he was 13 when he went back to korea to become a k-pop trainee. he trained for about 7 years until he was finally able to debut as stray kids’ leader. chan is very reliable as the leader and dad of the group, but he’s also australian, so he adds to the chaos very well.

fun facts: chan has hypermobile arms and legs, and can turn his hand 360°. he sometimes wears wrist and knee braces due to overextension. chan won many medals in swimming growing up and could’ve gone into that career. along with that, he’s also good in many other sports like soccer and track. chan's hair is naturally curly!

english name: rhino (yes i’m serious)

stage name: leeknow

age: 25 (october 25th, 1998)

nationality: korean

languages: korean and basic english

positions: lead dancer in danceracha, vocalist, rapper

skzoo: leebit

instagram: t.leeknowsaurus

basics: minho was born and raised in korea as an only child, aside from his cat siblings soonie, doongie, and dori. he moved out of his parents’ home at a fairly young age in order to be closer to his university, where he was said to have studied dance and comp-sci, as well as worked as a waiter for some time. he was called in to train under jype in 2017 and he ended up passing the dance test in only 2 weeks, the shortest period among jype trainees. minho is considered to be a “tsundere” since he’s very blunt, loud, and a bit rough generally, but is very kind and caring inside.

fun facts: minho toured in japan with bts as a backup dancer when he was in highschool. minho has acrophobia, the severe fear of heights, and he cannot swim. minho is well-trained in taekwondo, boxing, and bodyguard martial arts. minho said that the reason he isn’t comfortable showing his abs like some other members do is because he has a scar on his stomach from a surgery he had as a child.

english name: lewis

stage name: spearB in 3racha

age: 24 (august 11th, 1999)

nationality: korean

languages: korean and intermediate english

positions: producer in 3racha, main rapper, vocalist, dancer

skzoo: dwaekki

instagram: jutdwae

basics: changbin was born and raised in korea, along with his older sister, in a fairly wealthy family. he originally joined jype as a trainee at age 17 to debut as a vocalist, but was convinced to debut as a rapper by a counselor. unfortunately i don’t know much about changbin’s trainee days, other than he trained for about 2 years, and he was part of 3racha who uploaded their first rap song on soundcloud in 2017. changbin is a pretty silly and loud person, but has been described by his members as someone they can approach and who will notice/remember the smallest things about them.

fun facts: changbin prefers plants as he’s allergic to both cats and dogs. changbin is a blackbelt in taekwondo, and he named his own pecs "jut" and "dwae". changbin has said he would like to own his own gym or be a tattoo artist. changbin is the shortest member at 5 '6. changbin was named the fastest male rapper in the k-pop industry with 11 korean syllables per second, i believe.

english name: sam

age: 24 (march 20th, 2000)

nationality: korean

languages: korean and advanced english

positions: dancer in danceracha, vocalist, rapper

skzoo: jiniret

instagram: hynjinnnn

basics: hyunjin was born and raised in korea as an only child, along with his long-haired chihuahua, kkami. he was approached by two k-pop company scouts at a young age, one of which while he was out shopping with his mom. and, of course, he chose jype. he trained as a dancer, and admitted he had hated dancing at first due to the emotional toll it took on him, but now he says dance is like another language he can speak. unlike minho, he attended university online, all during his busy career as an idol. hyunjin is introverted, but very silly and dramatic at the same time.

fun facts: hyunjin has a fear of sudden loud noises, like balloons popping. hyunjin is the tallest member at 5 '11. hyunjin was going to be an interior designer before he became an idol. hyunjin is an artist in multiple forms of media, but he’s most interested in sketching and painting. hyunjin had a live called “counseling center” where he would read his fans’ comments and give them advice/encouragement. hyunjin once broke his hand and now he can't really bend his right pinky finger.

english name: peter

stage name: han, and j.one in 3racha

age: 24 (september 14th, 2000)

nationality: korean

languages: korean and advanced english

positions: producer in 3racha, rapper, dancer, vocalist

skzoo: han quokka

instagram: _doolsetnet

basics: jisung was born in korea like his older brother. his family moved to malaysia when he was about 8, where they stayed for a while before coming back to korea. his parents weren’t particularly supportive of his desire to become a trainee at first, but they made a deal with him that if he could be accepted into a company before a certain amount of time, they’d let him continue. if not, he’d have to go back to school to get another job. luckily he made it into jype, and became chan’s very first member of choice. like hyunjin, jisung is an introvert, but he’s very loud and energetic at the same time.

fun facts: jisung started learning english in malaysia, which may be why his accent when speaking english is faintly british. jisung has been open with his fans about his struggles with social anxiety and depression. he also supposedly has trypophobia, the fear of clusters of holes, but that isn’t proven. jisung has a bichon frise named bbama. jisung and hyunjin were the real enemies to besties.

english name: felix

age: 24 (september 15th, 2000)

nationality: australian-korean

languages: korean, english, basic french

positions: dancer in danceracha, vocalist, rapper

skzoo: bokkari

instagram: yong.lixx

basics: felix was born and raised in sydney, australia, with his older sister rachel and his younger sister olivia. he was 17 when he moved to korea to become a trainee at jype, where he studied korean at the same time, as his parents didn’t raise him to speak the language very much. it’s been said by chan that he was particularly hard on felix during their time before debut because he saw potential in him, and he wanted him to do his best to succeed. felix is known as the sunshine of the group, for the fact that he’s incredibly sweet and happy.

fun facts: felix debuted his runway model career at a louis vuitton fashion show. felix is a 3rd degree black belt in taekwondo, which he won 63 medals in over the course of 12 years. felix has a very deep voice that doesn’t match his face, and he will occasionally make his own asmr content. felix donates often to children in need, and has even volunteered in laos with unicef. felix is so afraid of scary things, he’s admitted to reading his bible after watching a horror movie. felix cries easily.

english name: sky

age: 24 (september 22nd, 2000)

nationality: korean

languages: korean and advanced english

positions: lead vocalist in vocalracha, dancer, rapper

skzoo: puppym

instagram: miniverse.___

basics: seungmin was born and raised in korea, along with his older sister. he moved to LA as a child for only about 3 months, but that’s where he started his study in english and where he got his english name from a teacher. he trained for one year after winning 2nd place in jype’s 13th open audition, before debuting with stray kids. seungmin is basically an ambivert (it’s not conclusive if he’s introverted or extroverted), and tends to playfully bully his members. he can be pretty random and silly.

fun facts: seungmin wanted to be a baseball player before becoming an idol, and he actually pitched a strike at a game for the second time recently (the first time he was about 9 years old). seungmin was into boxing, although i’m not sure if he is anymore. seungmin and felix have a live called “cat puppy school” where they just mess up recipes constantly. seungmin is the only idol i’ve seen that seems to have autistic traits, from my own autistic prospective. although, i’m not diagnosing him of course!

english name: bobby (i refuse to call anyone under the age of 60 bob)

stage name: i.n

age: 23 (february 8th, 2001)

nationality: korean

languages: korean and intermediate english

positions: vocalist in vocalracha, dancer, rapper, maknae

skzoo: foxi.ny

instagram: i.2.n.8

basics: jeongin was born and raised in busan, korea, along with his older brother who’s in the military, and his little brother yoon. he was a trainee for about 2 years, and was only 17 when they officially debuted. he bonded especially with hyunjin, who basically took him under his wing at the time. jeongin is introverted, but follows his hyungs’ lead into chaos. he’s very clumsy, and he’s known as the spoiled maknae. the “baby bread” of the group.

fun facts: jeongin wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, social worker, or priest before becoming an idol. jeongin has a more nasally voice, so he’s particularly good at the trot singing style. jeongin has claimed he was a naughty child, running away from home and laying down in the middle of stores when he couldn’t get what he wanted. jeongin is incredibly good with fashion, so his members come to him for advice, and he often posts ootd’s on his instagram.

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ficeacs · 11 days

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Dragons Fight, Little Light (Chapter 2)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Dragons never apologize for their rashness until they hurt a fellow dragon as well. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 3,756 Previous Chapter

The day his family had dreaded finally came. The day of Rhaenyra’s return along with her bastard kin. Aemond watched as their dragons, all five of them, danced upon the skies of Kingslanding. One yellow, one red, one green, and two white. One bigger and mightier than the other. He was once again subjected to this… pestering feeling of rage. Rage that he never knew to handle. Aemond felt his scar heat and throb. Throb harder than it ever did before. The prince clenched his fists and headed toward the tiltyard for his daily training.

Aemond battled with Ser Criston Cole, as he did every day. Morningstar against sword and shield. A knight against a prince. He knew the pattern of Criston’s advances by heart; he would have to admit that most days, he was growing greatly tired of the same sparing styles that the knight had to offer. As the prince readied himself for another round, he caught sight of two boys in Harrenhal blue. The prince grinned. Today, they shall see how great of a warrior he was. As he battled with Criston, he made sure to display his skills, besting the knight. He glimpsed upon the two boys to see if they were truly watching; they were. There was a silent look of awe in the two princes that the Aemond relished upon. Another hit from Cole was blocked, and Aemond turned to the princes once more but saw their attentions were no longer in the fight. “That was in Dragonstone; I am completely behaved here. It is you two who had unending squabbles with our uncles.” He heard the voice of his niece through the chatter of the crowd. His eye was fixated on the girl who was partially covered by her brothers. Dark hair fluttered along with the breeze, and even darker eyes rolled at whatever her brother said.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” The prince said as the knight complimented him, though it was mostly a complement to himself. He was the one to train Aemond in the ways of a warrior. The prince’s eye returned to where the three stood. Two boys in blue, one girl in scarlet. The prince watched as pink lips spoke once more. “Let us go; the smell of sweat unsettles me,” she complained, and the prince wanted to scoff at her bellyaching. His eye traced her face. Plain, she is plain. Aemond reminded himself, words that his mother often said. Though even he could not lie to himself anymore. Anyone who could see Rhaenyra’s only daughter cannot say she is plain. Upturned obsidian eyes, a snub nose, and round pink lips. She had inherited naught of her mother’s features but mostly her true father’s.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” The prince called out and twisted the sword in his hand. He smirked at the look of distaste his niece displayed when her dark eyes finally landed on him. When Vaemond arrived and took the three’s attention, his gaze traveled the girl’s frame. She was shapely, almost… plump. “Now can we go?” The prince heard her ask. “Not so fast,” He quickly said, gaining their attention once more. “You still have not greeted your uncle. Has your stay in Dragonstone made you so impolite?” She made no expression. “Hello, Uncle,” Was all she said. The amused smirk faded from the silver prince’s lips as he watched Eraena ascend the stairs and leave the tiltyard. Aemond was the prince of the realm; he was her elder, yet she greeted him like any common born. No regard, no curtsies or nods. Disrespectful Bastard. The prince thought.

When the day of the trial came, Aemond stood stoically with his siblings. Everyone was present, apart from the tardy twins who hurriedly made their way to their mother’s side. Aemond watched with a hard disposition at how cavalier the girl was, striding onto the throne room late with no regard for propriety. “Gods,” Aemond heard his brother say under his breath. “Eraena has certainly grown.” His brother said amused by the princess who stood a few yard lengths from them. Aemond knew of the tone in his brother’s voice, and in this instance, he could understand him. Eraena looked annoyingly breathtaking. The rubies in her hair resembled the conqueror’s crown. She may not be a true born, but now, she looked the part.

Plain, she is plain. Aemond reminded himself. Trying not to grow distracted by her. “How can Rhaenyra let her daughter wear such a dress,” Aemond heard his mother scoff. “She looks pretty,” Helaena interjected. “That she does,” Aegon agreed, and his brother cringed as he licked his lips, his eyes not leaving the princess. Aemond finally pulled his gaze from the girl and focused on the trial. The prince was growing bored with each passing moment that the succession of Driftmark was discussed. However, watching as Daemon cut through Vaemond’s head with the use of dark sister was like a reward after the dull hours had passed. The prince heard a gasp to his left and saw Eraena’s shocked form turn and hide at her brother’s side. Weak Bastard. The prince thought.

At supper, Aemond grew bothered by the sappy exchanges of empty words between the family members. What he was bothered most by was the smile on Eraena’s lips, as if she would actually believe that their family would grow closer once more after just one measly dinner. Of course, he had to prove the girl wrong and idiotic by the idea of it. It was so easy to bait Jacaerys; he laughed as the boy practically threw all his might into his punch that barely phased the one-eyed prince. What he did not expect was for Jacaerys’ twin to join the ruckus, able to inflict such pain on his brother. After supper, their mother summoned him and Aegon to her chambers.

“Why would you do such a thing, Aemond?” The queen asked as she paced around the room. The prince shrugged, “You seem to forget that it was Jacaerys who had thrown the first punch.” The prince defended. “Because you insulted him and his siblings,” Aegon’s groan sounded out, and his brother turned to him. The elder prince clutched his cock in pain, and Aemond could not help but smirk. “What I said was the truth, Mother,” Alicent shook her head. “You will apologize, Aemond.” The queen instructed her second son, “You as well, Aegon.”

“For what? Not letting Eraena have another go at maiming my cock?” Aemond’s smirk grew at the look of pain in his brother. “No, for the vile things you insisted on saying in her presence!” Aemond shook his head. “You cannot make us apologize to bastards, Mother.” The prince did not wait for his mother’s reply; he simply sauntered out of her chambers. Though he finds Aegon’s pain amusing, he cannot believe that the princess would subject herself to a fight. Violent Bastard. The prince thought.

When Eraena and his sister joined him to sit with the twins, his heart filled with jealousy as his niece and nephew hurriedly favored the newly arrived princess. Were his sister’s children so easily swayed by a pretty face and wooden figurines? He watched as Eraena gently brushed away the children’s hair from their eyes and how Jaehaera clung to the girl. He wanted to smirk as the little princess yanked the girl’s pendant, but the prince grew distracted not by the necklace but by the low neckline of her dress. How can Jacaerys let his sister wear such a dress? It was not completely revealing; it was more of a…a tease. His eye went to the emerald pendant that the girl handed to the younger princess. His eye then moved to the shining rope on her waist, and he froze. A belt of precious gemstones. A belt of sapphires. He wanted to scoff at her extravagance, remembering the gold thread that adorned her dress the other day and the pearl lining of the other. Spoiled Bastard. The prince thought.

When the prince was in the pits, checking upon Dreamfyre as his sister had requested. He had not expected to hear the voice of his niece echoing through the dome. “Why are you here? Vhagar does not even fit here.” Aemond started to grow annoyed by her, and at the same time, he could not make himself leave the pits. He did not know what possessed him to follow the girl who uncaringly entered the den of dragons without light. Was she so careless? “Hello, my love!” Aemond’s brows furrowed as to how Eraena addressed her dragon; he watched steely-eyed as the girl skipped to her dragon, placing a kiss on its snout. It was the first time he had seen Alina fully grown. She was more than half the size of his Vhagar; it surprised him that the dragon had fit into the pits. Alina stared him down, its eyes had a remarkable likeness to its rider, obsidian eyes staring down at him.

“It would seem you agitate my dragon, uncle,” Eraena’s voice rang out, Aemond’s gaze still on the pearly white dragon who shined gold where the light had hit. Is that why she likes pearls and gold? Because it reminds her of her dragon? Aemond frowned to himself and shook his head to get rid of the odd question. “Do not mind the small man, Alina,” Aemond’s frown deepened as he heard her speak in an ancient tongue. He gritted his teeth as he watched Eraena fly away with her dragon. He had not even realized that he had joined the princess in the skies. He smirked as he watched the girl try to be free of him and his mighty dragon until, finally, she gave up and landed back in the pits. Cowardly Bastard. The prince thought.

When supper came that night, Aemond could not help but be bothered by his encounter with his niece at the library. That is not a jape; that is how war starts, Aemond. The prince recalled her words; how dramatic was she? He had to admit that that chase was perhaps the most entertaining he had had in a while, and it was unfortunately cut short due to his sensitive and cowardly niece. However, he did find an odd familiarity and a sense of nostalgia with Eraena. The past nine years had brought forth change in all of them— in their outward appearances and their inward disposition, but he had noted that Eraena was still the girl he had known before.

Aemond always knew her as a bastard who tried her best to pretend she was not. Ever since then, she tried earnestly to appear as the ‘perfect princess’, and in a way, she would succeed. Presenting her best foot forward when in the eyes of the court, always prim and proper, but Aemond knew that deep inside, there was fire burning recklessly in her— a fire that was inherent in their blood, but she tried to diminish.

“It is not wise to lurk these halls at night,” Aemond drawled as he purposefully waited for the girl in the dark. “I am not one to lurk, uncle; that is your specialty if I remember correctly.” Eraena sighed, her tone laced with indifference. The prince’s jaw ticked at her tone. How could she be so obliging and enthusiastic in Aegon’s presence yet be so disinterested in him? He recalled how she did not even recoil when she placed her touch upon his brother’s back, yet somehow be so disgusted when Aemond had sat with her in the library earlier that day.

Aemond had not even realized that their conversation was quick to turn into an argument—an argument that had erased all of Aemond’s manners and sensibilities. His irritation had gotten the best of him, and he had resorted to what he knew best: violence.

The prince recoiled in guilt, his mind filled with tear-brimmed obsidian eyes looking at him with horror. The image haunted him in the night and even in broad daylight. He… did not know what he had done or why he had done such actions. “Have you seen Eraena?” His sister’s soft voice asked as she entered their mother’s chambers, where luncheon was held for the queen and all her children. With the mention of the princess he had hurt, his heart dropped. He had expected that Daemon Targaryen would have come for his head in the dead of the night. Vaemond’s head was cut from him with just a few vile words uttered to his wife; what else would he do when he found that Aemond had laid a hand on his daughter?

“I cannot say I have,” The queen replied as Helaena took her seat. “I— I had wished to have tea with her once more.” The silver princess mumbled. “She was not with her brothers or sisters,” Aegon said, and Aemond raised his brow. Was he observing others now? He was usually too drunk to notice anything. “Perhaps you’ll see the princess at supper; we are all to attend, understood?” The queen gave no room for her children to back away from another obligatory dinner for their decaying father to enjoy the image of a complete family.

“A—Aemond,” Eraena’s desperate voice echoed through his mind. The prince froze from his sparring with Criston as the image of her clawing at his hand flashed before him. The boy took a look at his shaking hand. “What happened there?” Criston asked as he saw the scratches that Eraena had made. “Nothing,” the prince said quickly, hid his hand from the knight’s view, and continued to train.

“Have you seen sister? She has not left her room the whole day,” The prince heard the worried voice of Lucerys from the side. “I heard her handmaid tell Mother that she did not feel well,” Jacaerys shrugged and inspected a blade. “Will she be able to join the hunt tomorrow?” “I should hope so,” The prince shook his, trying to get rid of the image of a fear-struck princess. What transpired last night was not entirely his fault! Eraena was the one to spew the insult; he was defending himself. Defending yourself from what? A small girl who only had words for weapons? His mind countered and he was finding scarce reason to defend himself.

When it was time for supper, the seat next to him remained empty. “Where is Princess Eraena?” His mother asked. “My daughter has not felt well the entire day, we thought it best she should stay in her chambers and rest in order for her to join tomorrow’s festivities,” Rhaenyra answered. Aemond’s eye flashed toward the girl’s sisters, who gave each other knowing looks. Do they know? The prince thought. If they knew, surely they would have told their father by now. The only thing that indicated Eraena had not said a thing was that Aemond still held his life. That night, alike the previous night, guilt gnawed at the prince. You must apologize! His conscience screamed the obvious. Should he head to the east wing, knock upon her chamber door, and ask the girl for her forgiveness at this instant? The prince laid still and made no such movement to apologize, but even in sleep, the fear-filled obsidian eyes still haunted him.

The day of the hunt came. Each member of the royal family was present, even the decaying king. Aemond stood by one side of the tent, and his lone eye searched for a girl with dark brown locks. “Joff, no more cake!” He heard a scolding voice to his left and finally saw the girl trying to pry away a platter of cake from her younger brother. A lilac eye flew to the girl’s neck, and she grimaced at the sight. She had done well to mask it, but Aemond could see through the cracks the imprint his hand had left. Why had she not told on me? He thought. The prince caught Eraena’s eyes; he felt sick of himself when he saw the same fear in her obsidian orbs. Like always, Eraena quickly looked away from him. Hurriedly stepping out of the tent, letting her brother have his cake.

Aemond sighed, and before he even realized it, he had followed the girl out. His eye watched as Eraena took shadowed paths away from the tent. “Aemond,” the hand called out. “Where is your brother?” He asked, and the prince shrugged. “Most probably getting drunk in the corner.” He said and returned his eye to the girl who ventured farther away from where he stood. “Keep a close eye on him, or better yet, accompany him and make sure he does not drown in his cups once more.” Aemond clenched his jaw. Is this his permanent role in this family? Having been the one to save Aegon from his cups and whores? He gave a curt nod and his grandfather gave him a clap on the back before leaving.

His eye searched for his brother, and he was quick to spot silver hair next to dark ones. An impish smirk on his brother’s lips. Aemond took long strides towards the two, as per his grandfather’s command, to watch over his drunkard brother. When he neared, his brows furrowed as he heard a laugh coming from Eraena’s lips. How did Aegon manage to make her laugh? “Ah, brother,” the eldest prince greeted, and almost immediately, the mirth in Eraena left. Eyes shifted to avoid him, “I—I should find my sisters,” the girl mumbled and quickly stepped away from her two uncles. Aegon stared at the departing girl with a frown. “What is it?” He asked, “Grandfather told me to watch you,” he said. “As if I am a child,” Aegon rolled his eyes and walked with his brother. “You certainly act like one,”

The elder prince scoffed. “A child does not fuck and drink as I do,” he replied. “That is not something to boast about, brother.” Aemond’s voice was hard and cold, just like it always was. They had walked around the camp, Aemond counting as to how many cups his brother had, it was now seven. When they arrived back at the tent, their sister was accompanied by the three daughters of Daemon Targaryen, a rare smile on her lips. Most of the men had left in search of the stag. Aemond had no want to hunt for the creature, and his brother would rather stay in the comforts of the camp, surrounded by food, wine, shade, and pretty princesses.

Aemond’s eye trailed the dark-haired girl as she stood and headed to the tables of sweets. Eraena eyed the delicacies and spent a while trying to choose which one to take. That is when he realized that Aegon had moved from his side and strode over to the girl, cutting a piece of cream and berries cake. The frown on the one-eyed prince returned as the girl gave a small smile to his brother. He watched their interaction for a moment; the girl did not steal her eyes away from Aegon, no obvious sign of contempt on her face, and did not run when he neared. Did she like Aegon? His mind wondered. Why didn’t she think him vile? Why did she only hold contempt for him? Aegon did not almost strangle her to death. His mind reminded him.

Aemond made his way to stand with his brother once more. Gritting his teeth as the girl quickly left, Aegon turned to him with suspicion and accusation. “You’re scaring Eraena,” His brother observed, and Aemond scoffed. Cowardly Bastard. He thought once more, but this time, Eraena did have reason to fear him. “I do no such thing,” Aemond said, and his brother shook his head. “You clearly are… what have you done?” He asked. “You had clearly done something to have her bolt every time you come near.” “I have not done anything,” Aemond gritted out, eyes flying to the floor, a habit of his when he lies. “Hm,” his brother hummed.

After an uneventful hunt, they returned to the walls of the keep the following day. After another restless night with guilt eating away at him, Aemond had enough. The prince swallowed his pride and thought of ways to apologize to the princess. He skipped his training with Criston to create a plan to catch a fleeing princess. Aemond walked through the keep, hands folded behind him. Good ideas often came to him when he stalked the halls of the castle. He walked past the godswood, watching as the auburn leaves fell to the ground. The prince was ready to pass the tree and continue on his walk but froze when he caught the whiff of lavender in the air, and the low humming of a tune reached his ears.

Aemond focused upon the trunk of the Weirwood tree and saw purple skirts by its base. The prince took silent and cautious steps and saw as a princess rested her back against the tree, charcoal in her fingers and pieces of parchment on her lap. Upon feeling his presence, Eraena’s gaze turned to him. There it was again, the fear in her eyes. Eraena scrambled to gather her things and flee away. “Eraena, wait,” Aemond called out, but she was quick to flee from him. The prince sighed and pursued the girl, taking hold of her arm, a gentle hold.

Remorse filled Aemond as he had her near him. “I—“ Aemond began, but the words died on his lips. “I’m… I,” He tried once more, but he could not let the words pass. “Eraena? Aemond?” A questioning voice called, and the two turned to Daemon, making his way to where they stood. Eraena quickly took her arm away from the prince’s hold. Daemon looked at the prince with calculating eyes; he saw distress in obsidian orbs, however hard she tried to hide it. “I hope for your benefit that you are not disturbing my daughter,” the rogue prince told his nephew. “He—he’s not father,” Eraena quickly replied for the prince. Aemond’s dread and remorse deepened; he had hurt the girl, but why was she hiding and even defending him? You should be thankful. His mind scolded. Daemon looked unconvinced, but he nodded and offered his arm for his daughter to take. The one-eyed prince watched as the two departed, unable to say his apology to the princess.

128 notes · View notes

shibaraki · 1 year

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PAS DE DEUX ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au (ballet), principal dancer gojo, reader is a photographer for his ballet company, fluff, flirting + casual touch, barre exercising, getting together, first kisses

wc: 2.4K

Gojo Satoru is just a man.

Albeit a coveted man, able to do anything on stage exactly as he would in rehearsal. High arabesques and tight pirouettes. Otherworldly form. Broad hands able to memorise another’s centre of gravity within the first twenty seconds. Swan-like and slender. All agile limbs, a body brazen with self-assurance and packed with strength, reflected in how effortlessly he can catch, spin, and dip his partners. Low, on perfect pointe.

A beautiful, talented, annoying man. That which has chosen to breathe down your neck as you fiddle with your camera, rather than occupy any other corner of the large studio.

“You’re distracting me, Satoru”.

“How am I distracting?” he asked, inclining his head. You gave him a look, and emphatically motioned at him from head to toe. Satoru cracks a grin, those piercing blue eyes gleaming, “By existing?”

“No, because you're all up in my space. I’ll show you the pictures in a second so back up,” you snap, your hand fluttering dismissively at him. “And put a shirt on!”

A low, vibrating hum, and a smile that holds a sincere gentleness to it that you wouldn’t have expected to find. He looks almost boyish. You turn from it and feel his presence move away like the sun being blocked out, steady warmth then the absence of it.

He does not put his shirt on. Instead Satoru takes position at the barre and walks his fingers along the top. Dawn filtered in through the small windows, casting a spotlight onto every dip and curve. You resolutely do not look at that narrow waist, nor how closely his tights clung to his hips, his thighs. Pulled over his soft soled slippers are a pair of grey stirrup leg warmers, bunched around his calves. He’s—

You draw a sharp inhale and refocus on the LCD screen, the neckstrap suddenly uncomfortably heavy.

Satoru is a bit older than most of the other dancers you photograph but no more mature for it. Granted he’s gentler in his discipline, more experienced, and always less eager for the practice to be over. He liked the day to drag on and on, especially if someone was watching him.

People said he was arrogant. Maybe that was a little true and with good reason. But your lense saw through the veneer that Satoru wore. Session after session, through rehearsals and classes and auditions, you saw pride for his craft, and how deeply he loved imbuing that love into his juniors.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so, but watching him dance felt transcendent. Whoever the pair, he made every pas de deux seem seamless, like two halves of the same entity coming together. Solo he was in a league of his own. Sometimes he danced as if he loved beyond the scope of his skin. Sometimes he danced as if the whole world had betrayed him.

“How’d I do this time?” you hear him ask in that very cavalier way that betrayed his interest immediately, becoming antsy in your prolonged silence. “Pretty good, right?”

Today you managed to shoot him demonstrating a particularly heartbreaking variation of a grand jeté. He reached the peak and fell so gracefully that you’d felt the whole room hold its breath. Another beep and the camera screen flickers to that very photo. Right leg stretched anterior, his left posterior to his body, evenly split into a horizon as he soared through the air. Rather than poise to mimic an elegant wingspan he had curved an arm into an arc over his face, almost as if in anguish, while the other draped behind him.

“Why ask if you already know?” you deflected, switching to the next photograph. “You definitely have a flair for the dramatic”.

“Maybe I want to hear it from your mouth,” you can hear the layered petulance behind his words. It makes you restless to think your praise could hold any significance to him. “Tense today, aren’t we? You should do some barre exercises with me. Loosen you up a little,” he continues, clicking his tongue. “I could even teach you some steps”.

You snort lightly, “That’s a ridiculous idea”.

“I don’t think so,” Satoru disagrees, a contemplative tone to his voice. Intensity returns to his gaze as it roams over your form. “You’re the only person in the company I haven’t danced with yet. Can you blame me?”

“It wouldn’t be dancing, Satoru. You know I can’t dance,” you insist, or so you think, the weak response barely audible over the heartbeat flooding your ears. “I’d look like a fucked up marionette”.

A hand crosses your line of sight. You hadn’t even noticed his approach. Satoru plucks the camera from your slackened grasp and slips the neckstrap over your head in one swift movement. “Then let me pull your strings,” he teases, proffering his open palm. Your throat grows dry.

“That was awful,” you tell him, clutching to whatever dignity you have left. Then you take it. Long fingers enclose over your knuckles and he smiles.

Sometimes when you want something you’ll take it in whatever manner the universe is willing to give it.

“Ha. Worked though”.

As mercy would have it, Satoru guides you as he would a beginner. You’ve lived and worked amongst dancers for years. Your mind is familiar with the lifestyle, the lingo and the routine, but your muscles are not. “Another rep. Heels together with your toes turned out—that’s it, bend slightly,” your pulse rockets at the light touch to your hip, firm yet gentle in encouraging you to bend. The room is much hotter than you recall. “Place one foot in front of you. Point. Now sweep it around to the back in a C-shape,” warmth lingers where his fingertips had been as he steps back. “Point your feet,” he says, his lips suddenly close to your ear.

“What—?”

“As you circle,” Satoru repeats. “Point your feet.” You exhale and repeat. “Hm. Good at taking instructions, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” comes your shaky response, already feeling clammy. It doesn’t escape you that he still hasn’t put a shirt on. Your inner thigh muscles are burning. Satoru laughs and the irritation ebbs away because he sounds happy. Giddy, even.

“This one will open your hips nicely,” Satoru finds your waist again and pivots you to face the barre. His body heat seeps through your t-shirt where he’s pressed against your back. Hands slide beneath your arms and down to your wrists, delicately placing them atop the barre. “Keep taking deep breaths for me. Bend your knees—hold,” the ache forces your eyes shut for the five seconds he keeps you inert, plunged into fleeting darkness with just his low, honeyed voice to guide you.

This really was a terrible idea.

“Rise to plié,” Satoru murmurs. “Up into demi-pointe. There you are, now hold again”.

Shadows pool into the studio space as the evening draws on. You’re rendered a sticky mess, and not in the manner you’d have liked. Wondrously, and despite the soreness that will no doubt wear in tomorrow, you had begun to feel you were working with your body and not against it.

Satoru had barely broken a sweat. You take comfort in the splotchy flush covering his cheeks and how his chest rises and falls, both signs of exertion. Equally as distracting. “You’re almost a natural,” he says, running a hand through his silky white hair.

Unsteady on your feet, you roll your eyes skyward while the burning in your lungs dwindles. “Sure. We’ll be onto our own pas de deux in no time,” you joke offhandedly. But Satoru’s expression wanes into something like longing in your periphery. Fondness, and then to amusement.

“Maybe not. Your pointe needs work,” he says.

“Well excuse me, big shot. I’m not even wearing the right shoes—”

“Want to try some lifts?”

A stone of dread drops into your stomach. The barre digs into your lower back as you lean against the wall, “We do some—some routine warmups and you think I’m ready for partnered lifts?!”

Satoru’s voice remains steady but his lips are starting to purse as he mirrors your posture, “I can take your weight”.

You didn’t doubt it. Satoru’s ability appeared to defy physics all together and that translated well with his counterparts too, whoever they may be. You’ve seen him lift people of every different shape and weight. Each one would become weightless in his embrace.

“No. No lifts,” you tell him, trying for a cadence that inspired authority. Satoru arched his brow and you got the sense that to him you were akin to a small disgruntled cat. Whether it’s the fatigue that lowers your inhibitions or plain pettiness, you hear yourself say, “I think you just want an excuse to touch me more”.

A pulse of magnetised desire rippled through the atmosphere. You don’t miss the way his breathing hitched, or how the hand absently rubbing the back of his neck stilled only for a moment before falling to his hip. Satoru swallows. Your eyes follow how his thumb strums the waistband of his tights—tights that leave very little to the imagination.

Anticipation prickles through your belly when he takes a step forward, then another, until his nose bumps your own. “You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud,” he murmurs, a little breathless. It ghosts across your lips. There’s trepidation in his gaze, searching your expression for rejection or discomfort, neither of which he will find.

You are reminded again that for all his apparent confidence and talent, Gojo Satoru was still very much human.

Your hands lingered in the narrow space between your bodies. Restlessly clenching, uncurling. Not knowing where to put them. The bare skin of his abdomen brushes your knuckles. “Satoru,” you begin.

He hums, palms coming to rest on your hips. He leans into you, emboldened by the invocation of his name, and echoes yours back.

“Did you seriously…” your thoughts drift as he dips lower, lingering. The blood rushes to your head. You could easily tip your head, align your mouths, and bring him into a kiss. Somehow the simplicity of that makes this whole charade even more laughable. “Don’t tell me you made me do a workout instead of just asking me on a date like a normal person”.

The response registers visibly on his face. He blinks, delicate pale lashes fanning over his cheeks, and in the next breath he’s lighting up, eyes first, glittering urainian blue. “That was hardly a workout,” he says, warmth bleeding into his voice. “It was a warmup”.

“Warmup my ass”.

“Can, if you want”.

Laughing, you cradle his jaw and say, “Stop being annoying and kiss me”.

Satoru’s hands have slipped beneath your shirt. He squeezes, smiles at the feel of soft flesh yielding under his thumbs, “Alright”.

Always has to have the last word, you think amusedly. Satoru pressed impossibly close. The barre has since become numb where it prods at your back. Your lips part as he tilts and your mouths brush, want knotted deep in your belly. It is slow at first, hesitant. But every movement of Satoru’s lips turns into sweet affirmation. Quick, then long, then greedy.

You wrap your arms around his neck and feel him shudder as you suck gently at his plush bottom lip. He paws at you with more fervour, languidly licking into your mouth. Soft wet sounds reach your ears and a contented hum reverberates through your skin that you can’t help returning. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.

When you eventually part for breath your chest is pounding. He watches you closely. Half lidded and entirely too pleased. Something about the certainty and satisfaction stunned you then. Coloured the world around you in roseate. “You really do like me, don’t you?”

Satoru doesn’t falter. Quiet and deeply amused, he replies, “What gave it away? The constant pestering, the always staying behind after hours, the never wearing a shirt, the—?”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” you sighed, smoothing your palms down his bare chest simply because you can. “…I like you too, you know”.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. “What gave it away? The constant pestering?” you kissing the corner of his mouth, “The always staying after hours?” and then his cheek.

Satoru turns quickly to chase as you recline, nipping at your mouth. “Point taken,” he rumbles, pinching at the fabric of your shirt and lightly tugging it. “Pattern dictates this should go, next”.

“You know we need to lock up. If I let you start we’ll never stop,” you laughed, wriggling out from his embrace. The studio will be shrouded in complete darkness soon, and now you both need to shower. Satoru reluctantly lets you go, trailing after you as you collect your camera and pass it between your hands.

The screen flickers on, back to that incredible grand jeté. Satoru hooks his chin over your shoulder. “You really do photograph beautifully,” you think aloud. His jaw shifts and you can tell he’s smiling. “What were you thinking about, when you jumped?”

Satoru sniffed, not even pretending to think of something profound. “Mochi stuffed with whipped cream and zunda”.

You sigh fondly, eyes falling closed. Beautiful, talented, annoying man indeed.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

655 notes · View notes

x-heesy · 7 months

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𝚆𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚢 😭 🇫🇷

𝙹𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚌 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗

𝙳𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚌é𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚒

À 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜

𝙸𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊î𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚒𝚜

𝙸𝚕𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚒𝚜

𝙹𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞’𝚒𝚕 𝚗’𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚜

𝙳𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚛é𝚙𝚊𝚜

𝙹’𝚊𝚒 𝚙𝚎𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚛, 𝚓’𝚊𝚒 𝚙𝚎𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚞 𝚛é𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚕

𝙹𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚒𝚕

𝙹𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚛è𝚜 𝚕â𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚝 𝚓’𝚊𝚒 𝚙𝚎𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝚃𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚓’𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚝, 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚓’𝚊𝚒 𝚙𝚎𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗

𝚃𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚓’𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚓’𝚊𝚒 𝚙𝚎𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗

𝙸𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚒𝚜

𝙸𝚕𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚒𝚜

𝙹𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞’𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚗’𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚜

𝙳𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚛é𝚙𝚊𝚜

𝙸 𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔

𝙾𝚏 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎

𝙾𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚛

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝚅𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

𝙸’𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙

𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝙰𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙰𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝚅𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 ☠️

𝙲𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍.𝚃𝚈𝙰 v8

@frenchpsychiatrymuderedmycnut 🇫🇷

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darcydarlingdabbles · 3 months

Text

Meadows and Moonlight

Astarion x F!Tav(Est) + Halsin ~4.7k

After the epilogue party, Astarion and Tav finally take Halsin up on his proposition.

Smut. This is shameless smut. Two elves and a tiefling doing it the woods. Soft Dom!Astarion. More submissive Halsin.

//This is a little rough and unedited. Life said, that's a nice mental health ya had, would be a shame if something happened to it...but I think this helped me through it. Maybe XD// ✿⊹₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩ ₊⁺⋆☽⋆⁺₊⊹ ✿

The warmth of the crackling campfire was a welcome and familiar embrace as Tav scanned the faces around her.

Their companions, their friends, looking better than they ever had, celebrating their victory nearly half a year ago. Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart all looking so content—even Lae’zel had the edge of a smile to her sharp features.

Though they weren’t all gathered around the fire.

Tav caught movement in her peripheral vision, drawn over to a secluded corner, where Astarion was murmuring intently to Halsin.

The hulking druid’s brow furrowed as the pale rouge bent his ear, like the devil on his shoulder. But as Tav found her way over to the elves, they both pulled back with smiles on their faces.

“Darling, were your point little ears burning?” Her vampire said, with a smirk he hid behind his own wine goblet.

“Maybe a little,” The tiefling said, with a flick of her tail. “What nefarious plots are you two cooking up over here?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. Just catching up.”

Halsin gave the man a bemused expression, but he leaned forward to Tav. “I was just remarking to Astarion how vibrant and...energetic you two seem together these days. That aura of yours could blot out a full moon on a cloudless night.”

Tav nearly choked on her wine, shooting Astarion an accusatory look. He held up his hands defensively, but there was no remorse on his tongue.

“Now dear, don’t give me that look. You know how Halsin is—he’s just naturally attuned to those sorts of...energies.” His voice dropped to a sultry purr on the last word.

Halsin chuckled, his voice warm and rich. “Indeed, the two of you simply radiate...primal passion.” His deep gaze met hers. “Any being would be lucky to revel in such a profound bond.”

Tav’s eyebrows shot up. That…was almost subtle for the wood elf.

Astarion let out a low laugh beside her. “Why Halsin, I thought you’d never ask.”

Her surprise redoubled as she watched this new boldness in her partner. He reached out, placing a hand brazenly on the druid’s thick, muscular arm.

But Astarion wasn’t putting on one of his cavalier acts this time.

His interest was undisguised, unvarnished desire writ plainly across his aristocratic features as he appraised Halsin with open want.

“What do you say, my love?” Excitement and curiosity danced in those piercing red eyes.

The druid said nothing, but she could feel him waiting on her answer with baited breath.

Tav felt a shiver of anticipation course through her. Astarion wanted this—wanted Halsin. And from the way the burly elf’s gaze roved appreciatively over them both, the interest was utterly mutual.

She found herself unable to tear her eyes away, imagining what might unfold when this raucous celebration finally dispersed.

Picturing Astarion’s cool confidence melting into ardor, his lithe form entangled with Halsin’s powerful frame.

The thought sent a delicious shiver of arousal through her core.

“Yes, I say yes.” Tav grinned as Astarion took her arm in his.

“Then, I am even more enthusiastic for this party to end.” The vampire said, with a mischievous purr.

✿⊹₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩ ₊⁺⋆☽⋆⁺₊⊹ ✿

Astarion nipped playfully at Tav's earlobe, causing her to squeal in surprise and stumble into him.

And he tumbled right over into the soft grass, landing with her sprawled across his chest.

“So much for a rogue’s grace.” Tav huffed, pushing herself upright. “You’re not near drunk enough to be unsteady, my love.”

His laughter echoed up to the full moon hung overhead. “Perhaps I’m trying to catch you off-guard, hmm?” the elf smirked, tilting his head as he looked up at her.

Tav pushed herself up onto her knees, making a point of pinning him to the soft meadow as her tail curled around his thigh. “And yet, I’ve caught you.”

Astarion smirked, those red eyes as bright as the sky full of stars above them. And that look, as it always did, drew her close. Wanting to feel his lips on hers once again.

“Have you…?” He hummed, a breath before she could kiss him.

“Have I wha—”

Astarion had Tav on her back before she could finish her question. And she was looking up at him. His blonde curls ethereal in the moonlight that glinted off of his open smile.

The tiefling’s tail curled as arousal coiled in her core.

“Can you smell that, my love?” he murmured against her ear, his voice like velvet. “Your blood sings a different tune when desire courses through you.”

All of Tav’s limbs went still under Astarion. She tilted her head to expose more of her throat with just one of his intoxicating caresses.

He ducked to her neck, filling her with the anticipation of his teeth—when she felt that damn laugh of his instead. “You’re too easy.”

“I am not!” Tav shoved at the vampire’s chest, until he rolled off of her with utter glee.

“Aren’t you just?”

A rustling along the treeline drew their attention before Tav could come up with a response, which was actually a relief for her.

That turned to a thrum of excitement when she saw the hulking frame of Halsin stepping into the silver light.

“The night air carries far more than the fragrance of wildflowers.” He rumbled in his warm voice. “Your scents together are sweeter than honey.”

Tav swallowed thickly against the thrill Halsin’s easy words sent through her.

If they were right, about her scent and how it changed…she wondered how much it had already given away. Were her deepest cravings laid bare? Not only for Astarion’s wicked touch—but the primal pull she felt for the druid.

The vampire’s breath was back along her neck, his voice in her ear. “How deliciously wicked of you, my darling.”

Astarion’s arm slid deftly around Tav’s middle, pulling her back into his chest, nipping at her shoulder.

His playful tone was gone. Replaced with something almost, possessive about the way he held, the way he teased the marks he’d left along her throat just the other night.

Astarion wasn’t taunting anymore. He was showing off.

And she was malleable as clay in his hands.

Halsin’s gaze burned as he drank in the sight. “If…my company remains desired, that is.”

Astarion lifted his head long enough to give an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “You’re as insufferable as this one.” He scoffed, giving Tav a playful squeeze. “I believe we are both still willing…but.”

Tav turned to him, just to see him smirk.

“We play by my rules.” His lips grazed the shell of her pointed ear, making her tail curled. “Won’t we, my sweet?”

Her mouth opened to give a teasing protest, but the implication finally sank into her lust-addled mind. He wanted control.

And she would gladly give it.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice tinged with a needy rasp. “Whatever you wish, Astarion.”

“So it shall be.” Halsin’s approval was palpable, a low rumbling purr resonating from deep within his chest as he stepped closer to where they were tangled.

In one fluid motion, Halsin shed his clothes and armor, baring his toned, sun-kissed form with shameless ease.

The druid cut an impressive figure in the moonlight—power and grace given form. A bear of man, bound and rounded with muscles. And…blessed with size in another, poignant area.

Astarion bit back an Elvish curse beside her.

Desire scorched through her veins, but her gaze deferred to her vampire, who surprised her yet again with his reaction.

Astarion snicker, a sly smirk curving his sculpted lips. “I told you,” he said, recalling a previous conversation. Making her eyebrows lift. “Our dear druid would outlaw clothes if he could.”

“It is a crime to cover up the natural beauty of each and every creature.” Halsin stepped closer without an ounce of trepidation. “Especially, of the two before me now.”

“Halsin, is that an invitation to disrobe?” Astarion teased, as he slid from behind Tav. “Subtly isn’t your…strong suit, is it?

The vampire approached the druid with a flourish, his pale fingers splayed over the tanned, broad chest. Drawing that delicious contrast Tav had been craving. Delicate features against the rough and wild.

Her thighs pressed together.

She watched him, the way he shed his clothing, waiting for the mask to slip over his face and make his eyes go distant.

But, there was none of that. Tav was left marveling at the ease and confidence Astarion exuded. He was a man transformed, free from the bounds imposed and…happy to pursue his desires.

Astarion’s crimson gaze gleamed on hers, as he leaned up to kiss Halsin.

Their lips met eagerly. Reveling in the taste of each other, tongues exploring and claiming territory. Despite his vampiric strength and power, Astarion appeared wonderfully porcelain next to the broad-shouldered Halsin. Masculine in their own ways that contrasted beautifully.

Tav needed out of the confines of her clothing.

Astarion’s hand slid over the druid’s face like well-worn leather as he tilted down to the pale elf. The shorter was still up on his toes—when he murmured something to Halsin.

His arms slipped around the larger man’s neck as, with a laugh of pure delight, he leapt into Halsin’s waiting arms, his lithe legs wrapping around the wood elf’s muscular waist. Halsin caught him easily, strong hands gripping the vampire’s thighs as he pressed Astarion against the rough bark of a nearby tree.

Heat surged through Tav's entire body, her tail curling fully against her back, the sound of want nearly escaping from behind her hand.

Halsin was leaving searing kisses down Astarion’s throat, pink spots blooming along his pale skin—her blood making him flush. Until the druid moved to the side the vamp’s neck that still bore twin marks—

Tav was on her feet, naked, but her tail lashing from side to side. Ready to protect her elf, even from the mountain of a man.

The rogue’s fingers tangled in Halsin’s mane of hair, giving a sharp jerk. Halsin didn’t need more of an explanation. The man just seemed to understand, and his mouth moved from the tender territory of Astarion’s neck.

Lower still he went, peppering kisses along Astarion’s chiseled chest, his toned stomach, until finally, he took Astarion’s aching cock into his mouth.

Tav watched, transfixed, as Astarion’s head fell back against the tree, his blonde curls over his forehead and clinging to the bark. . His red eyes fluttered closed, but his sounds sweet and understate.

She knew his sounds intimately now. The desperate way he kissed like he never wanted to part, like he was still shocked by the moans that fell unbidden from him when he was truly pleased.

He wasn’t playing it up. He was just…enjoying it.

Halsin was as capable as he boasted, apparently. More than that, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy hollowing his cheeks, sucking to the tip of Astation’s length, and sliding back down him to swallow more. The druid seemed to know, or her vampire had told him, that pleasing Astarion made Tav nearly feral with want.

Desire coursed through her veins like molten lava, pooling low in her belly. Her tail swayed, slow, the tip curling up with an eagerness…to touch, to taste, anything

As if sensing her need, Astarion’s crimson eyes opened lazily, catching her gaze, and he lifted one of those elegant hands towards her, inviting her closer.

“Darling…” The way his lips parted and showed his fangs—Tav was already closing the distance between them. “You…really must try this mouth of Halsin’s.”

She could have snorted at his audacity, but still it drue her right in.

Astarion was kissing her as soon as she was within arm’s reach, pulling her in to his side, none too careful with her hips or tail bumping into the massive druid between his legs. Tav lifted her appendage away though, sliding it to just barely curl around her vampire’s thigh, the caress comforting and familiar.

“I would find great joy in satisfying your desires, should you so wish.” Halsin said, pulling his mouth free enough to do so. “Your body is a work, crafted with nature’s artisan skill. It would be a pleasure to appreciate it.”

“And you thought I liked to pontificate in bed.” Astarion smirked, pulling Tav into his arms, his pale hands sliding over her heated tiefling skin.

“I assure you I did not say pontificate.” She huffed as he pushed her back against the sturdy oak.

“No? He cupped her chin, his hand sliding down to her throat. “What was it…monologue then. Like a villain upon the stage, delivering a dying soliloquy?”

Tav opened her mouth to retort, when both men decided to remind her where they were.

Halsin’s large hands grabbed her hips, already making her gasp with the contrast of his warmth to the usual chill of Astarion’s touch.

Her legs parted around broad shoulders as the druid hoisted her over them with a grin. “Hells—” She gasped, her back pressed against the bark of the same tree as she was lifted. Her grappled for Halsin’s hair, though her tail flung around Astarion’s waist—clinging to him for balance.

“Relax darling, we’ve got you.” The vampire purred, moving to her side, leaning up to kiss her. Just as the druid’s mouth lapped at her soaking folds.

Tav groaned, her head titled back until her horns dragged across the tree.

Normally, recently, perhaps she’d been the one doing the most talking. Astarion had his lines, his well practiced charms, but Tav cut right through them.

But, it was damn hard to focus with Halsin’s tongue lathing at her sex, finding her clit with ease and confidence, though far from the practice and precision of her vampire’s dexterous mouth.

“Ah, my dear, the sight of you in such ecstasy as your essence is devoured... I could easily become accustom to it.” He purred to her, until her chest was so heated the summer air felt chilled against her peaked nipples.

Tav’s nails dug into the tree behind her, just as a deceptively delicate looking hand grabbed her by the horn, tilting her head to him. “All it took was an archdruid, to get you to focus on your pleasure first?” Astarion rumbled low to her.

Tav couldn’t help but be just a little…defiant. Her vampire was calling the shots, but she could just let her palm just graze the length of him, before the vampire caught her wrist, pinning it to the wood behind her.

“Ah-ha, not tonight my sweet.”

Tav blinked at him, with as much focus she could manage as Halsin drew her closer and closer to the edge of her pleasure.

“I want to ravish you, have you be ravished. To have you enjoy all of the attention and affection gift to me.” Astarion confessed, his face gone softer. More sincere. “That is all I want.”

Tav felt half-wild. Driven to a mad love, body and soul, by this amazing man.

✿⊹₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩ ₊⁺⋆☽⋆⁺₊⊹ ✿

The moonlight cast pale highlights across Tav's bare skin as Astarion's lips trailed down her neck. His fangs grazed her delicate flesh, eliciting a shiver. "Do as I say, druid," he murmured against her ear, glancing at Halsin with a wicked grin. “Our darling Tav deserves to be pleased.”

Halsin's eyes burned with an animalistic desire, and she could feel his growl rumbling in her trembling thighs.

"Please," Tav breathed, desire coiling hotly in her core.

With a feral snarl, Halsin parted her thighs and his tongue darted out, lapping at her slick folds. Tav gasped, back arching as Astarion captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans. His hands roamed freely, tweaking her nipples as Halsin's expert mouth worked her into a frenzy.

Unbridled pleasure crashed over her in waves, each flick of Halsin's talented tongue sending sparks dancing across her nerves. Astarion devoured her cries, his touch fever-hot against her skin. The coil within tightened, tightened until finally, it snapped. She shattered against Halsin's mouth with a primal cry.

As the last tremors faded, Astarion scooped Tav into his arms effortlessly. He carried her into the tall grass, laying her down with utmost tenderness amid the wildflowers.

Tav traced her fingers along Astarion's chest, admiring the way the moonlight caught on the sweat glistening on his skin.

"You two are a vision" Halsin said, a note of awe in his voice.

"You have no idea," Astarion murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her neck.

Tav shivered at the touch. She let her eyes drift over to Halsin, who was kneeling in the grass next to them. Slick on his lips. His massive cock aching for attention.

“Astarion…?”

“Hmm,” The darkened red eyes took in the sight that was the archdruid on his knees. “Well, I might like to get my mouth on you, Halsin.” Astarion's voice was low, almost a growl.

The wood elf let out a low, throaty chuckle.. "I think that might be a bit much for one mouth," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Then I should help.” Tav said, sliding from Astarion’s hold onto her knees.

He cocked an eyebrow, before giving his assent.

"I've been wanting to do this for a long time," he said, pushing at the druid’s chest. The muscle-bound man fell willingly back onto his heels.

Astarion smiled, his eyes never leaving Tav’s as he lowered his head to Halsin’s lap. Tav watched as he took Halsin’s cock into his mouth, her body trembling with fresh anticipation.

He was…big. Massive. Damn the druid for being right. He tasted of earth and musk and raw want—and Astarion drew Tav to him with a gaze. They knelt in tandem, their attention wholly consumed by Halsin’s aching cock.

Tav lips stretched around Halsin’s tip, greedy as she ever was to suck him down. Her moans hummed against his skin. It his turn to join Tav, watching as Halsin’s face took on a wild obscenity that the vampire couldn’t help but admire. For how open he was.

As they continued their dual ministrations, Astarion saw the flick of Tav’s tail, curling at the small of her back with renewed desire. He spotted the moment her hand snuck between her legs.

Suddenly, Astarion felt a shift in the atmosphere, his sharp eyes catching Tav's hand being gently enveloped by Halsin's larger one.

"May I?" Halsin asked him, his voice carrying a note of respect that Astarion found endearing. The druid was committed to following his rules, especially for such a untamed man.

Astarion gave a nod. He watched as Halsin’s thick fingers replaced Tav's delicate ones as they pressed into her. The sight of her squirming under Halsin’s touch stirred something within Astarion—that made him purr against his mouthful of the druid’s cock.

Tav gave a soft moan, her hand wrapped around the base of Halsin’s length, eyes gone unfocused as he slipped another finger into her. Astarion couldn't help but tease, "Oh my, how ever will you take all of him, when a couple fingers drive you to distraction" His smirk held a hint of challenge.

Halsin simply smiled at Astarion’s remark, his gaze never leaving Tav. “I know a rather ancient magic for such a predicament. ” he responded calmly, his hand never ceasing its efforts to make the tiefling tremble.

“Please…” Her voice quivered, those bright eyes unfocused as she begged him. “Astarion…can I?”

He grinned wickedly in return. “You may.”

✿⊹₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩ ₊⁺⋆☽⋆⁺₊⊹ ✿

Tav sank down onto the soft grass, her hands and knees buried into the lush carpet. She was soaked from the druid’s mouth, and his fingers, and burning with how empty she felt.

Her eyes still on her lover, as she arched her back, position herself. As she curled her tail off to her side, presenting to hurry the druid along to take her.

Halsin’s large hands caressing her curves, anticipation making her shudder.

The blunt head of his cock pressed against her slit, and the tiefling’s talons pierced into the turf. When he finally sank into her, stretching her, filling her. Tav cried out, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

“Just relax, little one.” With one slow thrust, he pushed inside, stretching her deliciously full.

“Are you alright, love?” Astarion asked, concern lacing his voice.

Tav gasped, rocking back against the druid. “It’s…good…fuck, more.” She demanded.

And she was rewarded with Astarion’s deep chuckle, and more of Halsin’s thick cock.

“More you shall have.” The druid rumbled.

Fuck, the way he stretched her. She could feel him against every wall, and even a shift of his hips made a mewl come from her bitten lips.

Reassured, Astarion let out a filthy praise for her, his hand sliding over the arch of her back. Before deft fingers found their way down her belly to play with her clit.

Tav cried out, back arching as the elves took over every sense. Her tail curled around Astarion’s arm as he played with her.

Halsin set a steady rhythm, driving into her again and again until her cries melted into wordless moans of bliss. The pressure built rapidly until finally she fell apart, climax crashing over her in shattering waves.

“Gorgeous creature.” The druid hummed, his fingers curled into her thigh.

“Careful…” Astarion eased her into the grass, his hand along her trembling thigh. “She’s quite sensitive after she comes.”

Tav was sinking to her belly, worn out, needing a break as Halsin slipped from her. Astarion He soothed, his cool touch welcomed against her still throbbing sex.

“M’fine Tav panted, her cheek pressed into the soft grass, her usually sharp eyes completely out of focus. “More than fine.”

The vampire’s eyes went to Halsin as the druid stroked himself with Tav’s slick.

"Is this the usual response from your bedfellows?" Astarion inquired, a hint of admiration slipping into his tone. Tav had rolled onto her side on the grass, a smile on her lips still as she shivered with aftershocks.

“She did exceedingly well.” Halsin said, with all the warmth they expected from him. “Usually it takes a Nymph’s spell to take what nature has blessed me with.”

The tiefling chuckled, but the vampire’s brows rose nearly into his hair. “A what? Sexual magic? Halsin…well, actually, I’m not at all surprised.”

“Would you like me to show you?” Halsin’s voice dropped impossibly lower, and he gestured towards the bed of grass.

Astarion’s eyes darted to hers, but Tav could see the curiosity, and want. She grinned and nodded, as if he needed her permission to have what he already wanted.

The pale elf moved, fluid as he always was when he crawled over his Tav. A kiss demanded and a kiss given.

Then, to both Tav and Astarion’s surprise, Halsin leaned forward, his tongue tracing along the vampire’s tight rim of muscle.

Astarion yelped, his eyes flying wide, before melting into the unexpected touch.

Tav leaned up on her elbows, alert, scooting to sit up, to act. ”Astarion?”

“I’m fine.” He shivered. “I’ve never…experienced nymph magic,” he breathed, his voice thick with wonder and delight.

Tav had to make sure. Cupping his cheek until she caught his eyes—his gaze bright, wild, and fully present.

Her fingers curled into his silvery hair.

Halsin…never lacked enthusasim. Even the push of his tongue dropped Astarion’s head to her lap, his panted breaths across her thighs.

“More?” The druid asked, leaning up from the vampire with a sound of protest from the pale elf’s lips.

“Oh yes,” Astarion groaned spreading his legs wider in shameless invitation. “Take me, beast.”

He’d been waiting to use that line, she knew it. But that meant he was here, his humor intact as Tav watched Halsin press his hips flush to Astarion’s ass.

✿⊹₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩ ₊⁺⋆☽⋆⁺₊⊹ ✿

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as Halsin’s thick length stretched him open, the delicious burn stoking the flames of his desire. He was already shuddering before the druid even moved his hips.

It wasn’t…his first time recieving. Far from it. He did his best not to let his mind wander back to those times—but he couldn’t help but wish he’d known the spell Halsin had whispered into his skin. The sheer pleasure of the stretch alone.

He was panting against Tav’s familiar skin, breath playing over her ribs and her chest. If he had enough focus, he’d latched his lips around one her dark nipple—but that would require him being able to focus enough to watch where his teeth landed.

He must have been still for too long, because he felt the blunt points of her nails slidng through his hair, tugging at him to look up, always making sure he was alright.

His cooled heart was always warmed when she did, even if he pretended to be annoyed.

“Fuck,” Astarion finally lifted his head, a grin on his lips even as he panted. He pressed his lips to hers.

He could hear the grin in Halsin’s face as the druid gripped his hips, and slid back slowly from him.

Anticipation built sublimely in the vampire. And the first powerful thrust was everything he’d craved—he was driven deeper into the cradle of Tav’s thighs, her slick folds caressing his aching cock.

He could feel her shiver under him as each buck of Halsin’s hips rutted them together.

“Tav…come here,” the vampire barely had to voice his desire against her still shining lips.

Tav whimpered into his mouth in assent. She slid down his body, hooking her legs along the back of Astarion’s thighs—until he slid easy into her waiting warmth.

They both groaned at Halsin’s next brutal thrust.

Tav’s claws skimmed his sweat-slicked shoulders as she wrapped her arms around her vampire.

Halsin pounded into them both with bestial fervor. The air was thick with the tang of sex and the slick sounds of flesh meeting flesh.

Trapped between them, wonderfully so, Astarion couldn’t think of a word other…than complete.

He drank in Tav’s cries of ecstasy, reveling in her growing desperation.

“That’s it, my love,” he panted against the curve of her neck between fevered kisses. “Let me hear you.”

Her walls clenched around him in response, silken and scorching. Halsin’s wild abandon jostled them both, the spawn taking Tav with as he was taken in turn.

Astarion threw his head back with a guttural sound, lost to everything but the dizzying spiral of pleasure consuming him from all sides. He was alive and set ablaze.

And how pleasant it was to burn.

✿⊹₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩ ₊⁺⋆☽⋆⁺₊⊹ ✿

Halsin wrapped his bulky arms around Astarion and Tav, pulling their sweat-slicked bodies against his broad chest.

The three figures lay entwined, spent and panting, exhausted limbs heavy.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves and chirping of crickets in the surrounding woods.

Astarion turned his head on Halsin’s shoulder to gaze at Tav, a lazy smile playing at his lips.

Tav met his eyes, her own crinkling with amusement.

A chuckle bubbled up from Astarion’s throat. “Well, that was certainly...invigorating,” he quipped.

Tav’s musical laughter rang out as she leaned in, capturing Astarion’s mouth in a tender kiss, the casual intimacy of long-time lovers.

As the couple exchanged sweet nothings, Halsin watched them with a soft, indulgent smile, content to remain a silent observer.

There was something profoundly beautiful about the pure adoration that flowed between them, the deep bond they so clearly shared. An intimacy he could appreciate, even if he had no real part in it.

“Enchanting, how enraptured you are with one another. ” the druid remarked warmly. “A fleeting moment of passion, precious in its ephemerality.”

Astarion rolled his eyes fondly at the druid’s poetic waxing. “Ever the hopeless romantic, aren’t you Halsin? I suppose there are worse things.”

He turned back to Tav, fingertips grazing her cheek.”Now, where were we, my dearest? Ah yes...basking in the afterglow of our salacious little adventure...”

As Astarion drew her into another languid kiss, Halsin suppressed a wistful sigh.

What they had was rare and special, not to be intruded upon. He would enjoy this temporary closeness, this glimpse into their private world...but come morning, he knew, it would be a cherished memory and nothing more.

The lovers only had eyes for each other.

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