buckyshattergirl

[buckyshattergirl]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him. “

You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[buckyshattergirl]

Demifey!Oliver has a wild appearance but still retains his love for books, spending hours in the massive library and continuing to master the fey magic under the tutelage of Reader and Felix.

No human champion among the fae courts has lasted as long as he and he garners a fearsome reputation. Others fear competing against him with his beastly appearance, deadly combat skills and mastery of magic.

He has the esteemed privilege of riding inside the royal coach with Felix, Venetia and Reader, laying at their feet contentedly

Fae AU you have my heart!!!!!

Everyone knows Demifae!Oliver is Felix's. He wears the Catton crest with pride, and Felix makes such a show of doting on him. Venetia's always treated Oliver like a toy when she's allowed to, or indulging in the most dehumanizing behaviour she can get away with of a pet of his stature; Venetia in particular likes Ollie at her feet, or on a leash when Felix isn't around to yell at her for it. Oliver likes the leash in certain circumstances, which is why he never tells Felix about it, but also why he doesn't admit to liking it when Felix catches Venetia treating him like that.

And it's been centuries since anyone questioned your closeness with the Cattons, despite your own family crest adorning your jewellery, and your clearly differing Fae heritage. You were the kind of Fae who usually were soldiers; your magic was always more offensive and defensive, more straightforward than the Cattons and their prowess at manipulation. Though you were still noble, but you fed off of heightened emotion, where the Cattons specifically fed off of adoration. Its one of the reasons you and Felix were drawn to one another; as much as you teased him about it, you could gorge yourself on the joy and love he would so quickly descend into with each new human plaything, and the humans themselves, oh you could make yourself sick on the way they'd feel under Felix's loving gaze. You adored Felix for all he was and all he was capable of, and he found endless joy in your love for him. Your friendship created this strange but sustainable feedback loop that was surprisingly uncommon among Fae.

All that to say that everyone, including Oliver himself, assumed that you merely tolerated or were entertained by him as Felix's Pet and your proximity to him at Felix's behest. Your pettiness about previous pets isn't exactly a secret, though you can count on one hand how many people know about your fucked up gallery of Felix's past human trysts. You do like Oliver for the record, with each day that's past, the less human he's become, you take the time to genuinely connect with him, to form a bond, which Felix of course loves. But the rest of the world doesn't see that, because all of you are stuck in your habits and routines in public.

So it comes as a shock when another Fae lord, a sore loser and beneath both yourself and the Cattons, is furious to see Oliver tear his own pet apart with his teeth and claws, and tries to step up to Oliver when Felix is distracted, and you don't even hesitate to step in front of him -

"You even have half a malevolent thought about Our Oliver -" you reached back without even looking, and immediately Oliver's hand is in yours. He's pressed up behind you, half hidden, peeking out from over your shoulder, "I will fucking gut you, I will tear out your insides the same way our darling pet just did to yours." You can feel Oliver holding your arm insistently, the other hand on your hip. He smiles against your shoulder, like a mischievous child hiding behind his parent who protects him despite knowing he was in the wrong.

The Fae tries to intimidate you, tries to get up in your space, tries to remind you that actions have consequences; you simply lift your chin to look him in the eyes. You do not flinch. You do not back down.

"I will make you hurt," you whisper it like a promise.

Finally, as he starts to step back, back down, you lift your free hand to scratch behind Oliver's now-pointed ear, and hear the pleased sound of purring rumble from his chest. It turns into a pleased, mean giggle in your ear as you both watch the Fae retreat, and you can't help but wear a grin to match.

"Didn't realise you cared about me that much," Oliver admits, but is so unbelievably flush with pride when you finally turn to look at each other. You touch him with no regard for his autonomy, like you're inspecting everything that's changed since he'd first arrived; horns, ears, thumbs across his cheekbones skirting close enough to his eyes to brush against his eyelashes. The collar with no closure. Teeth.

"Of course I love you, darling," you tell him distractedly, holding his jaw, pushing your thumb into his mouth to feel his sharp teeth, to feel his tongue lick obediently. His eyes are focused on you like his life depends on your approval, but still there's purring radiating from his chest. Until his gaze flicks over your shoulder. The purring grows louder, "this one's quite wonderful," you know it's Felix before he even leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

Taking your thumb from Oliver's mouth, he beams with pride at you both as you hold his face gently, thumb stroking his cheek. Judging by the way he's wiggling, you're willing to bet his darling little deer-like tail is wagging behind him.

"Never seen you so quick to defend anyone like that who wasn't me," Felix muses, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Then, with a contented sigh, he steps around and offers you both a hand, "come on, loves; our darling Ollie has given us a reason to celebrate."

And you grinned back at Oliver, sharp and proud smile on your lips;

"As if we had any doubts about you.*

[buckyshattergirl]

Felix Catton*Good Boy

Pairing: felix catton x afab!reader

Word count: 1911

Warnings: sub felix, dom reader, friends with benefits, felix being embarrassed, m! masturbation, praise kink, f! receiving oral, face riding, hickeys, begging, teasing, p in v sex, mentions of the pill, cuddly aftercare smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Felix only found this new side of himself by accident. While on a night out where he was tipsy, and you were quickly on your way to drunk you’d jokingly called him good boy when he came up to the bar to help you carry the round over. he tried to hide the blush tinting his cheeks as you walked back to the table, but no one cared when they saw all the shots.

However, he couldn’t get the words out of his head. He’d never even thought about being submissive in bed. Hell, he didn’t know if it was even possible considering how tall you were. You’d hooked up a couple times before and if he wanted to, he could easily toss you across the room with one arm behind his back so how could you pin him down and take charge and why did he find the idea so fucking hot.

Later that night Felix found himself jacking off to the memory of what you called him while imagining everything else he wished you’d said and done to him. the next day he was filled with a weird sense of embarrassment whenever he saw you, but he tried to push it out his mind.

-

When the next weekend rolled around, he was right back where he started, sitting beside you in a pub getting drunk. Except this weekend he didn’t go home alone. He was sat on his bed, hands in your hair as you straddled his lap. Your fingernails gently raked along his scalp making him moan into the kiss however when you began to grind down onto him a strangled whine left his mouth.

He felt his face flush as you smirked into the kiss. Your hands crept down onto his shoulders, pushing him down to lay on his back. Felix shuddered as you began to lay a trail of kisses along his jaw and down onto his neck.

His hands moved to your hips, squeezing them gently, but your hands moved to grab his wrists. You moved his hands, pressing them down onto the bed as you continued to grind against his now raging hard on.

Felix could flip you over in less than a second if he wanted to but right now all he wanted was this. Especially as he felt you shuffle down as your hands reached to undo his jeans button. “Fuck,” he muttered, his eyes gazing down at you as you undid his zip.

The teasing smile on your lips gave him a lump in throat. You leaned down, capturing his lips again as you began to palm him through his boxers, enjoying each one of the moans he made against your tongue. “Please,” he whimpered against your lips.

“Please what?” you teased between kisses.

“Please just fucking touch me,” he practically begged.

Felix was almost ashamed of until he saw the light spark behind your eyes. “Aw are you really that desperate baby?” you cooed, hand slipping beneath the waist band of his boxers.

He breathed in sharply, nearly moaning again when you took him in your hand, “Yes. So, fucking desperate for you,” he began to beg as you began to stroke his length while your lips moved to kiss down his neck.

Without thinking you began to scatter hickeys along his collarbones, and it wasn’t long till Felix’s hips began to buck up, desperate for more of your touch. However, he heard you tutting against his skin as your hand slipped out from beneath the fabric, “Cmon,” he whined.

“No baby,” you said as you sat up, “You’ve gotta be patient, okay?” you asked.

Reluctantly Felix replied, “Okay,” as his head fell back against the pillow to gaze up at you.

A small smirk fell on your perfect lips again as your hands reached for the hem of your shirt. Slowly pulling it off your body and tossing it on his already messy floor. Felix stared at your body in complete awe. The skirt you’d been wearing had ridden up so far you might as well not even have it on anymore since he could easily see the red panties underneath that were currently driving him crazy especially when he saw the matching bra. “Like what you see?” you asked with a laugh when you saw his stares.

“Fucking love, it. love your body I mean fuck you’re just so,” he said, reaching out to hold your waist, “Perfect,” he said just as your hands slapped his. “What?”

“You never asked to touch,” you said, leaning forward till you were hovering above him while his hands sadly laid by his side.

“Please may I touch you?” he asked as you went to push the hair out of his face, “I just wanna feel you,”

That fucking smirk was back on your lips as you leaned down to close the gap again. Felix groaned into the kiss, desperate to reach out and grab you but he waited until you picked up his hands and placed them on your hips to do so. When you did however his hands quickly went to explore your body, feeling up your sides and squeezing your tits over your bra making you moan into his mouth.

He only broke the kiss to say the first thing that popped into his head, “You should ride my face,”

“What?” you asked, pulling back in slight shock.

But Felix wasn’t gonna give up just yet. After all he’d just learned how to beg why not practise some more. His hands went around your waist, pulling you into his body, “Please,” he begged, kissing down your neck softly, “Wanna feel you. wanna taste you. wanna hear the pretty noises you make. Please baby don’t make me beg,” he whined.

“But you’re so good at it,” you laughed, pulling away from him. Felix began to sulk however quickly stopped when he felt you begin to move up his body until your cunt was just inches from his face.

You tried lower yourself down gently, but Felix’s arms wrapped around your thighs. He pulled your panties to the side as he lowered you down enough so he could begin placing open mouth kisses to your clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned, hands grabbing onto the headboard as his lips began to wrap around your bundle of nerves. A knot was quickly growing in your stomach as his tongue moved down to curl inside you, his nose nuzzling perfectly against your clit.

“Fuck baby you’re doing so good,” you praised making Felix moan against your cunt. the feeling sent shocks down your spine. “Yes, just like that baby. Cmon,” you continued to praise him, desperate to feel the vibrations his moans were currently sending through you. your hips began to grin against his face softly and Felix could feel himself growing painfully hard at the noises you were making.

It didn’t take long for your orgasm to hit as your thighs tightened around his head making Felix think he might actually cum in his pants right then. Luckily, he managed to hold off till you pulled away, a fucked outlook on your face as you moved back to straddle his lips. “Was I good?” Felix asked, trying to sit up but being stopped by you pushing him back down.

“So good,” you praised, pulling his boxers down, “so good in fact I think you deserve a reward,”

“Fuck please yes,” Felix said, his hands going to touch you again, but he caught himself, “Can I touch you?”

You giggled at his words while you took his cock in your hands, “Yes baby you can touch me,” you said, and he instantly moved his hands to your hips. You ran his tip along your wet slip when an idea popped into your head, “Beg me,”

“What- “

“I said beg me,” you said, and Felix could feel the tears welling in his eyes from how painfully hard he was.

“Please baby let me feel you I need you please baby fuck I want you so bad please just-fuck,” he gasped, his eyes screwing shut when he felt you sink down onto his tip.

The issue with Felix was that he wasn’t just big, he was girthy, so whether he begged or not you had to sink down slowly to adjust which only drove him even crazier. “Fuck,” you gasped as you felt yourself that the last of him in.

Your hips slowly began to roll, and Felix had to do everything in him not to cum instantly at the feeling. Your hips soon quickened, your sensitive clit rubbing against his pelvis with each movement. Felix was practically a whining mess under neath you right now.

It wasn’t long till you felt another orgasm quickly building inside you as you felt Felix hips began to buck but this time you didn’t stop him, “Fucking baby you feel so good,” you praised and you could feel Felix’s cock twitching at your words but it didn’t matter as you felt your second orgasm hit you.

Felix’s hands went to your hips so he could keep them moving as he milked out your orgasm but also desperate for his own. “Please,” he whined under his breath, over and over again.

“What is it baby? You wanna cum?” you asked, finally snapping out of your daze as he nodded, “Use your words baby,”

“Yes, please can I fuck I don’t think I can wait much longer,” he said, tears pricking his eyes.

“Do it baby,” you said, leaning down to kiss his jaw, “Be a good boy and cum for me,”

Felix’s fingers tightened in your hips as his hips bucked up, desperately chasing his high. His body began to tense and with only a couple more thrusts you felt him come undone as well before he essentially collapsed into the sheets.

You giggled as you collapsed beside him in bed, his arm instinctively going to wrap around you, “Thank god for the pill,” you joked as Felix caught his breathe. He smiled at you with a dazed fucked out look as your eyes wandered down then went wide, “Shit sorry about the hickeys,” you said making him look down at the trail you’d left along his collarbones and neck. “I wasn’t even thinking,”

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled, his eyes closing as he pulled you into cuddle his side, “I like them,”

“Good,” you said, your fingers trailing over the marks, “They look good on you,”

“Thanks,” he laughed before pausing, “I like it, by the way, when you act like that,”

“Like what? A bitch?” you joked.

Felix let out a laugh as he wrapped his arm even tighter around you, “You know what I mean,” he said and a comfortable silence fell over you both but he decided to add one last thing, now knowing he defiantly couldn’t live without it, “I liked it when you called me you know,” he said, still a little embarrassed.

He felt your smile against his skin, “What? A good boy?”

“Yeah,” he said softly making you look up at him.

You smiled softly at him, not wanting to tease him during his openness, “Good cause you are,”

Felix laughed, his eyes opening just so he could roll them at you, “Shut up,”

“never,” you grinned at him before settling back into lay on his chest as your eyes fluttered shut. How was he supposed to let you go now?

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[buckyshattergirl]

Provocation and Planning (Gortash x Tav)

Tav thinks she's charging into Gortash's palace to seduce him, but he's been waiting for her. She still manages to surprise him.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: PIV sex, sex toys, anal fingering, come eating

Thanks to @bearhugsandshrugs for beta reading. You're cool ❤️

-

The first time Tav and Gortash had kissed, she'd bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He'd instantly retaliated, setting the precedent for things to come.

After the ragtag group had clawed their way onto the docks from the Chionthar, Tav had looked at the archduke and really seen him for the first time. He was bloody and victorious, encased in his golden mechanical armour that did nothing to obscure the length of his limbs. He slicked his wet hair back out of his face and began unbuckling his breastplate when he noticed her looking, and gave her a slow, suggestive smile. His shirt hung open to reveal his hairy chest; he was steaming like a racehorse in the morning sun. Tav knew that she was going to have to fuck him as soon as possible . He must have seen it in her face, and pulled her into a kiss, first sucking her lower lip and then pressing his tongue into her mouth. That was when she'd bitten him.

Whatever it was - the adrenaline, the relief, or the strangely warm memory of the shin kick he'd delivered after she'd punched him in the morphic pool - the effect had been immediate. Gortash had inhaled sharply, then pulled back to dropping butterfly kisses on her mouth. Tav felt the curve of his smile, and then suddenly his quick hands had found a tear in her leather armour and he'd pinched her nipple through her undershirt, hard enough that she let out a strangled moan. Gale, who'd been standing next to them on the dock with a polite if strained smile, had gone bright red and practically sprinted off to Wyll and Karlach.

Read more below the cut or on Ao3. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you.

Under normal circumstances, if a man kissed Tav like that, she knew she was likely about to get dragged away and fucked shortly thereafter. However, as the heroes slowly made their way back to the city centre, Gortash had withdrawn to his palace to launch the cleanup campaign. It became clear to Tav over the course of the day that the emergency measures for Baldur's Gate had been made in meticulous detail and were set up to be ready to implement at a moment's notice. Case in point: as she made her way to the Elfsong Tavern that evening for the celebrations, she saw Steel Watchers with rescue tools instead of their usual heavy weaponry digging through rubble alongside the Fists. Gortash must have been manufacturing the extra parts in secret. She wondered what else he'd prepared.

In anticipation of seeing him, she'd left her underwear in her pack and applied a few dabs of rosemary oil where her blood ran close to the skin. At the tavern, it didn't escape her that gazes lingered upon her, the light touches of her companions' hands guiding her through the smoke and the crowds. When Halsin lent past her to pick up a round of drinks from the bar, she felt him inhale a deep breath of her as his muscles flexed against her back. One huge hand had covered her hip briefly. She thought it might have been the case that the druid, a little drunk and made giddy by all the people, was just trying to steady himself against a reliable friend. But then his hand squeezed and Tav nearly pushed her ass back against him, stopping herself just in time. Later, she went out onto a balcony with Rugan to smoke and laugh with him. The Zhentarim stole glances at her nipples peaking against her blouse when he thought she wasn't paying attention, which made goosebumps ripple across her skin. When she looked back to his face, he would rest his lip against the rim of his tankard and give her a look that was half-innocent, half-debauched. I wonder if being a hero is going to be like this all the time? she thought to herself. It seemed exhausting.

Adding to the slow decline of her mood was the fact that the one smug, handsome bastard she wanted, that she spent the evening scanning the crowds for, did not appear. Hadn’t he felt the sparks of that kiss shoot through his body the way they shot through hers? Or, perhaps, was his duty to the city keeping him in the office? That seemed strangely absurd. As it neared midnight, it became obvious that Lord Gortash definitely wasn't coming. Tav slipped away from the party and made her way to the Palace with efficiency, weaving through the crowds of revellers. At the gates, she'd been expecting to have to explain who she was, or perhaps even break in, but every set of guards let her pass without comment. The ones outside Gortash's chambers even saluted her.

When she entered, she saw a lavish bedroom through double doors which lay ajar at the end of the corridor. The bed was very neat. On either side of the hallway leading to it were a small library, a bathroom, and a combined workshop and office. Gortash was sunk in a battered armchair at a small circular table in the latter room. Looking around the room, Tav saw that his desk, placed so that he could sit with his back to a corner, was piled high with paperwork. Occupying the centre of the freshly-swept floor was a thick, expensive-looking rug. There was a whole wall of drawers and shelves of various sizes, with each labelled in his precise handwriting. On that side of the office were two large workbenches; one was a tidy wooden trestle and one had seemingly been improvised from a sheet of metal and stacks of old documentation. Half-hidden beneath a pile of clothes and rubbish in the corner was a low camp bed, the kind that military recruits would start their careers in. The whole place smelled like pine, with an undertone of male musk, milled steel and oil. Through a nearby window, she could see the city stretching into the distance, half-ruined but surviving another day. Sounds of revelry were carried into the room on the wind. 

When Tav came to the door they made eye contact immediately and he showed no surprise; she knew then that he'd been waiting for her. With a lazy hand, Gortash plucked a grape from the dish in front of him and slowly slipped it into his mouth. Tav's eyes followed the movement of his fingers and she had to try hard to keep her face blank as a tingle flitted down her neck. As he leaned back, she noticed he was wearing a raw silk shirt and tight leather trousers, but the lacing on both was slovenly, as usual.

They stared at each other, and Tav felt herself start to blush under the archduke's open gaze. To hide her reaction, she stepped over to his table and picked up the bunch of grapes. She saw Gortash's strong fingers twitch as she swiped the fruit, but he did nothing.

"You missed the party at the Elfsong," Tav said, moving across the room to lean against the windowsill. "Didn't fancy being celebrated with the other heroes of Baldur's Gate? I'm surprised you'd pass on a chance to be fawned over."

Gortash scoffed and crossed his long legs.

"Yes, I had reports you were carousing in that rat hole with your little friends - and I can smell it on you now,” he said, inhaling. “I'll be holding my own celebration here in my palace . You should join me. See how it feels to wield power against the nobility of this city rather than its enemies." He looked her up and down, his eyes half-lidded. "I've been thinking about jewellery designs for you. Something to show off how magnificent you are."

It was Tav's turn to snort. "What about me has given you the impression I want to become some bejewelled whore on your arm?"

"Bejewelled whore… Ha. My dear, no one is immune to the pleasure of being draped in gold and gemstones," Gortash told her as he stood. "Especially not those of us who started life clad in rags." He approached Tav with slow steps and she reclined further against the window frame, holding the grapes out of his reach. "As for the second part... That wasn't a one-sided kiss this morning. Maybe I just want you by my side to keep an eye on you now the city is safe. A woman of your talents - What's the saying?" he asked, maintaining eye contact as he moved into her space, pressing his broad chest against her breasts to reach for the fruit. "Ah, yes. Devils make work for idle hands." She felt his fingers slip the grapes out of her loose grasp. "And-" Gortash's steady, sonorous voice suddenly wobbled off into a groan, and he snaked his other arm around her waist to crush her body against his. "Sweltering hells, Tav, have you come into my office without undergarments?"

She gasped and he rested his forehead against hers, their gazes meeting. She nodded, a blush creeping into her cheeks. The raw lust that pooled in his dark eyes in response made her back prickle with sweat as her nipples hardened against his chest.

"What are you doing to me, Tav? Gods, I need to see you. Take off your clothes. Let me see your body."

Gortash was almost snarling with arousal as he commanded her. Tav sighed at the slow melt of wetness in her cunt and pushed him gently backwards to give herself more space. Expression hungry, he watched her as she slowly undressed. She thought he might seize her when she bared her breasts to the moonlight, but he just swayed, eyes roving over her eagerly. His breathing stopped when she unlaced her trousers and let them slide down; something about his boyish thirst gave her a sudden vision of herself as a noblewoman being seduced by a young Gortash, grateful lordling and ardent worshipper of the powerful. But - there was nothing for him to gain from this, was there? All she had to give him was her body, which was now nearly bare under his glittering eyes. Kicking off her boots completed her strip, and then she was nude, standing there expectantly as she took in his reaction. She could see that there was a bulge in his leathers. Gortash was trying hard to modulate his breathing.

"I'm glad you came here tonight," he said. His voice was gravelly and low. "Tell me, Tav. What do you want?"

Tav felt another knot of insecurity inside her as she recognised her desire for him. What if he just saw this as a minor distraction? She decided to fall back and hide behind her old tricks. "I think you know," she replied in her best sultry tone, trailing a hand down between her breasts. “I want you to have sex with me.”

He moved into her space again, leaning one hand against the window frame above her. “If you wanted to fuck, you could have stayed in Elfsong Tavern. I saw the way some of them were looking at you this morning. And I’ve had several grateful and eager members of the aristocracy calling on me throughout the day, but I’ll be damned: all I could think about was you.” With the other hand, he lifted the bunch of grapes to his face and nuzzled his nose amongst the sweet, purple beads of the fruit. "So, I’ll ask again. What do you want?" Eyes boring into hers, he plucked a grape from its stalk with his teeth.

It was ridiculous, but also the horniest thing Tav had ever seen. Something about his confession and the boldness of his flirting opened something within her heart: In a breathy voice, almost a moan and nothing like the falsely seductive tone she’d just used, she said, "I want to have you and I want you to know me. I want to teach you what it sounds like when I come wrapped around your cock." Gortash pressed his eyes shut at this, and she heard a squelch as he crushed the entire bunch of grapes in his broad fist, their juices weeping to the floor. And then his lips were on hers.

They were both soon gasping into each other's mouths, their kisses wet and lavish. Gortash was clasping her face in his hands, pulling her hair, digging his fingers into her hips and squeezing her ass, almost in a frenzy. Under his onslaught, she was barely able to pull his shirt laces open. He broke their kiss to bite her neck and take fistfuls of her tits and inhale deeply from her cleavage, groaning as he did so.

"I thought - ah! I thought I stunk of carousing and revelry?" Tav said, trying to strike a mocking tone in her voice as her head fell back; Gortash had just begun to swirl her nipple in his mouth, his tongue firm and hot.

In response, he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her over to his wooden workbench, he perched her on the pitted but clean surface. "While you do smell like a tavern whore, I never said I didn't like it," he groaned, then slowly licked a stripe up her neck and to the side of her face. He finished the trail with a kiss that was almost affectionate, punctuating this with a thrust of his hips so the bulge in his trousers pressed against her clit.

They looked at each other in open admiration. But the moment was cut short when he reached past her and picked up a small metal cylinder, about the width of his thumb, from the bench. Holding it up, she could see a small piece of leather attached to it – a strap. Gortash used it to slip the strange device onto her index finger.

"I made this for you today," he said softly.

She tried to hide her confusion then. Was he - was he proposing to her? With a weird leather ring?

She was soon proven wrong when, with one hand, Gortash pushed one of her thighs to the side to expose her folds. With the other, he took her hand and guided it downwards, placing her finger so it rested on her clit. His hand flowered briefly with magic and he muttered something. Tav yelped as the item began vibrating against her, a noise which morphed into a moan.

Gortash dropped kisses to her lips and whispered encouragement as he pushed against her hand, pressing the vibrator further into her folds. The sensations were unusual at first, but it began to feel incredible. She felt her cunt throb, get more slick.

Tav whimpered when he stepped out of her arms, giving her one more kiss before pulling out a chair so he was sitting in front of her. His eyes lingered on her face, although he observed the movements of her hand against her clit with a mixture of hunger and cold calculation.

In between gasps, Tav said, "I think it's... It's only fair that you show - me how you find your own pleasure."

Gortash smirked at her and began unlacing his trousers. His cock jumped free quickly - it seemed she hadn't been the only one to skip putting on underwear that evening - and he began stroking himself, leaning back in the chair. His cock curved enough to arch against his stomach and Tav couldn't help but admire the girth of it. She propped one foot up on the workbench to expose herself further. The sensation of dipping the vibrator into her slickness and bringing it back to her clit drew a new sound of pleasure from her that had Gortash moaning in response and speeding his hand up. She felt her juices begin to dribble down to her asshole. The archduke noticed too.

"I knew you were going to act like a slut for me," he told her, his voice hoarse. "But you've got the wettest cunt I've ever seen. Are you going to come on my desk? If you do, I'll make you lick it clean."

The filth of Gortash's idle threat made Tav flutter against her fingers. She was nearing the edge. Instead of pursuing her climax, she stretched her leg out to push Gortash's cock out of his hand with her foot. He gave her a grin as she pressed his shaft against his stomach.

"C'mere," she said. "I want to come on your mouth."

He closed his eyes delightedly and slid off the chair to kneel in front of her. She started moving her finger again as he parted her folds and thrust his tongue into her body. One of Gortash's hands was busy out of sight; he was touching himself as he ate her out. Tav felt the heat creep up then, her body tensing, quivering, vision going white or- or-

Her orgasm rippled through her and she cried out. Gortash dug his fingers into her thighs and pushed his face against her center. She felt him shuddering and he groaned into her cunt as his climax followed hers.

They stayed like that for a peaceful moment as their heart rates returned to normal. Tav had lifted the vibrator away from herself and Gortash uttered the word that made it stop running. She removed it from her hand and then stroked his hair as he nuzzled at her folds slowly, still enjoying the wetness her body had made for him. After some time, Tav pulled the man off her and stood up on shaky legs.

On the floor beneath where the archduke had been kneeling, she saw a wet gleam. Had she done that? Bending over to look closer, she saw that it was Gortash's spend. She turned to him and saw the heat still roiling behind his eyes as he looked back at her.

"My Lord," she said sweetly. "It appears one of us did make a mess. It wasn't me, though, was it?"

He shook his head.

"And what did you say should happen if I came on your desk?"

Gortash remained silent. Tav slid her fingers into his hair and gripped gently. "Say it."

"I said I would make you lick it clean."

Tav smiled then, and leaned closer. "When we first met, you said we would be equals, my Lord. My understanding was that if I joined you in an alliance, we would have parity in all things... Including what we're expected to follow through on. L ick ."

With that, she pushed his head towards the floor. He gave her a furtive look of adoration as he went down, filling her with a new flush of nameless excitement. His face neared the paving stone beneath the bench and she watched, her heart flickering with shock, as he used the tip of his tongue to daintily taste his mess. Her fingers remained in his thick hair as he bent lower to take a bolder lick, leaving a trail of spit on the stone. His eyes slid to hers, and he cleaned another stripe of cum off the floor. Something about his expression told her that she was in trouble, but it was too late; he'd already surged up and driven her to her knees. Squeezing her chin in one hand, he gave her a brief, searching look. He must have seen the excitement fizzling within her, because he nodded briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and straightened. His cock, soft but slowly hardening, was at her eye level. 

"Here's a lesson I'd like to share about co-leadership then. It's all about coming to an agreement. I put it to you that you've been trying to provoke me to fuck you like a whore." As he spoke, Gortash was wrapping Tav's hair around his fist. "Tonight, I would have made love to you so tenderly - until you swooned. But I think we can both agree that that's not what you want, is it? Is it, you slut?" With his last question, he gave her a little shake.

"It's not what I want, my Lord."

"Do you want the privilege of coming on my cock?"

The thrill, the sheer smuttiness of him, left Tav gasping. She had to swallow hard and get control of herself before she could reply, "Yes, my Lord."

With that, he pulled her by her hair to the centre of the room and threw her down on the extravagant rug. She moaned as she hit the floor. His cock bobbed hard as he stripped off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular body, dark hair foresting his chest and his taut stomach.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, and Tav scrambled to comply. She felt him kneel behind her, then slowly begin to rub the head of his cock between her folds. She wiggled her hips in frustration, trying to tempt him into taking her.

"You're still so wet," Gortash muttered, pressing the end of the tip in, then pulling it back out before it brought Tav any stimulation.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm so turned on for you. Please - "

His smirk caught her gaze before he pushed her down roughly, her face turned flat against the rug.

"Touch yourself, but don't come until I tell you to."

She sighed as he began to bully his thick cock inside her, the press of it against her walls driving her to moan and then howl as he pushed himself in to the hilt. It was so deep . In this position, with his size - 

Any marvelling thought she had was cut off by the electric snap of her nerves as he pulled out and thrust in again. She heard her name on his lips as he reached down and gathered a fistful of her hair. It was amazing how he groaned for her. He began fucking into her in a steady rhythm, her hips rolling back to meet him as they both made unabandoned noises of pleasure, losing themselves in it. Tav's nipples grazed the rug every time his thrusts pushed her forwards, making the nerve endings in her upper body sing. Her fingers rubbed her clit in a frantic motion that made her whole cunt quiver.

"Your ass - It's perfect," she heard Gortash gasp. "In fact-"

Tav was in no state to understand. She felt Gortash's thumb against the seam between his cock and her cunt as he ran it through her folds, gathering up the juices of their sex. Then, the pad of his thumb was rubbing against her asshole and then slipping in. The blunt pleasurepain of her ring being breached made her moan loudly, her core beginning to tense. With one hand on her hip and the other splayed across her flank, he pumped his thumb in and out of her. The steady roll of his cock drove her to hoarse cries; feeling her cunt tighten as she neared her climax, Gortash gave a triumphant laugh that turned into a moan of his own ecstasy.

"Come for me," he commanded. Tav bucked beneath him, pressing her face into the carpet to muffle her scream as she rode the waves of wet pleasure that seared through her, white-hot lightning wrapped in the velvet of her veins, turning her inside out from the soles of her feet to her scalp. She felt Gortash's cock throbbing inside her as he followed.

As she tried to slow down her breathing, Tav felt a strong arm wrap around her waist. Gortash pulled her upwards so her back was against his chest, then rolled them both onto their sides on the rug - which Tav distantly realised was spotless and smelled freshly cleaned. In her blissed out state, she decided not to worry about it. The archduke tucked his other arm under her head. His cock lingered inside her, and lying on her side squeezed it within her, making her twitch slowly. Her fires were calm for now, but the sensation of this intimacy would surely start to heat her up again. The evening wasn't finished, of course - and who said she had to go back to the Elfsong the moment the sun rose?

They lay still for a while. Tav enjoyed the sound of Gortash breathing steadily against her neck. Eventually, her leg twitched and she realised she'd been falling asleep. Nuzzling her, he brought his lips to her ear.

"Shall we move to the bedroom, my dear?"

She nodded and they helped each other stand up. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the lavish bedroom she'd seen when she'd entered. He pulled the bedsheets back for her and tucked her in; a gesture that was surprisingly sweet - or was it really that surprising? Beginning to drift, she counted the ways he’d prepared for her arrival that evening. The guards had even saluted her...

"What do you want to eat for breakfast?" he asked, stroking her sweaty hair off her forehead.

"Your cock," she mumbled. Gortash chuckled and Tav smiled sleepily.

"That's a deal."

Tav was already drifting off again as Gortash climbed into bed next to her and pulled her to his chest.

[buckyshattergirl]

𝔉𝔬𝔬𝔱𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔰

summary: in the blistering summer evening heat, you and felix play a little game. [felix x fem reader. WC: 2.6k]

warnings: smut. minors dni (18+ only). p in v, fingering (fem receiving), saltburn bathtub, slight voyeurism, dirty, dirty talk, some degrading language, not the dirtiest thing but still like… kinda hot?

Though the sun had set long before, the lingering scorch of the sun sat like a film on your skin. Its thin veil dry and aching to shrivel against the boiling water of the tub. You felt the sticky nature disappear under the trails of steam that painted the surface of the water.

A bead of sweat pebbled from your temple to cheek to chin to neck.

But you lit a cigarette anyway. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the crackle.

A blistering bud sizzles; the porcelain was drawing cool waves against the skin of your arms and for once, in the vast nothingness of the bathroom, the heat that rose from its surface made the ghosts vanish.

It made them disappear in house once home to Kings.

Now, as it boiled under the night sky, it was home to something other. It had bled itself into the walls and the ghosts wished to witness not the haggard scrounging of wealth that festered within.

But you imagined Henry the Eighth liked to stare as you bathed. They all did. Felix had told you that once a few summers ago.

How they all wanted to touch you in the ways that he did. How they wanted to whisper in your ear that they were better than him. No one truly was and it kept you crawling back with the poor souls who got sucked into a heated whirlpool of pity each and every summer.

Nevertheless, you envisioned Henry in the corner itching to touch.

They all trembled to flutter their hands onto your skin, onto your breasts, squeezing pieces of you dipped below the waterline.

If his ghost could smile, Henry’s ghastly teeth gleamed.

‘Fuck off, Henry,’ you saw the paunchy apparition lounging in the chair in the corner with a bead of sweat dribbling from his own temple.

Oh, envy, King Henry.

A bit of ash fell onto the tiles below.

“You’re making a mess of it.”

You tapped the cig on the side of the tub as another bit of ash wilted to the cold floor.

Felix hummed.

Stocky Henry vanished. If you gazed toward him, Felix’s eyes bore deep. Heavy and brooding, downcast at a peak of what existed beyond the bubbled suds.

Dinner had long passed. Everyone was supposed to be in bed.

He could feel you in inches. The soft skin of your back, the plush thighs that laid between his own. A hand of his traced over the skin of your collarbone gently as the ash continued to drift.

You were nearly on fire. In the swelter of the stone walls and the patterns of the paper before him, you glowed in a red sweat.

“You’re letting it die.”

“I was thinking,” you murmured.

“About what?”

“King Henry.”

“King Henry?” Felix’s voice peaked. His head leaned to rest on your shoulder, his smile leaving a trail as it grew. His nose drew a delicate line on your dampened skin.

You liked Felix in this way. So quiet and removed. But Saltburn always kept pace in the background.

“Yes, King Henry,” his hand glided along your own, gently taking hold of the cigarette and placing it between his lips.

The smoke of the puff rose high into the air beside you. It’s curls twisted like your insides aching for a touch too far but never too close.

“I like to imagine them sitting… staring at us now.”

“Now?” Felix questioned. “So erotic in an ugly tub. I can see him now,” he pointed to the corner of the room, “he just popped one. Can’t you see it? In his trousers there.”

You grinned. Your laugh filled his chest with a shuddering life. So fulfilled and free yet trapped in this same world as he.

And he was never far away. Here, in Saltburn, always waiting in the same shadows for the opportunity to strike while the others weren’t around. No sister or friends or parents or mewling poor fighting for his attention. They were retired for the evening; all snuggled in beds with curtains drawn and fantasy dancing in their heads.

“He isn’t the only one.”

You tipped your head to the side. The profile of your face meeting his forehead as he dipped his own downwards. The cigarette still burning from his fingertips. It was a mere bud now.

You could feel what waited for you on your lower back.

“I can feel that, you know?” You feigned an innocence he liked. Keen and blatant, but cunning with sin.

“Is it Henry that makes you feel that why?” You whispered, lips ghosting his chin.

Felix breathed in deeply. The same chest that shuddered with joy in anticipation.

Every summer.

The excitement would stir within his bones as the gates would open wide and beside his family would be the one steady thing he had everything to give.

“I hope,” Felix hushed, “for your own sake that’s not the fucking case.”

“So it’s me?”

Felix groaned as you pushed against him. The gentle pressure of your body arching into him without a touch, he begged to put his hands on you.

The cigarette fell to the floor in its end.

Felix took his hand and turned your head back to face him with a firm grip on your jaw. The water around you sloshed. It cleared the bubbles from your chest.

“I want to play a game,” he suggested in a dusty, breathless tone. “Want to play, darling?”

“Can I win?” You suggested. His hand loosened, letting the fingers dance along the column of your neck before beckoning up toward your mouth once more.

His index finger traced the outline of your lips. In a slow glide, Felix pulled your lower lip out slightly, gathering the wetness with his finger before inching it back to the space where your lips had parted.

You kissed his finger with your tongue as it found purchase in the suction of your mouth. The plushness of your tongue, the slight drag of your teeth as it emerged from between your lips.

“I don’t want to play if I can’t win, Felix,” you whispered.

His eyes now hooded with a thick want. He watched his finger redraw the lines of your lips again as you begged with doe eyes to win. A near child’s play of a woman’s ability to seduce.

“You can win,” Felix huffed as his other hand snaked itself from the edge of the tub to your torso under the water. “But I’ll need you to be quiet. We have guests and as much as I do love our dear, sweat guests, I can’t have them imagining the way I fuck you, can I?”

“No,” you relished in the way his hand returned to the base of your throat and squeezed with the slightest amusement. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good,” Felix smiled at you. Your heart squeezed in the same way your cunt ached for his fingers to gather the strength to follow through.

“What do I win?”

“Whatever the fuck you want. You just have to be quiet.”

You smiled deviously that the thought.

“I can’t see how we’d be able to look a boy like Ollie in the eyes if he heard the sounds that come out of your mouth.”

His hand swooped past your center and to your leg, drawing one over his own which sat you straighter in his hold. You felt his cock jump at the pressure of you pushing on him. Felix flitted his finger tips from your knee to waist, switching hands to bring his wet palm to your breast while the other perched your opposite leg over his other.

The pebbled nipple was taut as he kneaded the skin in circles. He pressed down hard, pulling up on your nipple to elicit the sounds he wanted so badly to hear but knew you’d repress.

You were like him in many ways. He too wanted to win a game of control.

With you in his hands like a play of putty, he felt in control but with one hand on the wheel.

As he palmed your breast, his hand gripped your thigh. His mouth traced a pattern of hot breath along your neck as his tongue relished the salty sweat that had gathered at its leisure. The goosebumps that rose from your skin welcomed his breath kindly.

“I want this house to ourselves,” Felix moaned. “So we don’t have to be quiet.”

“Tell me what you’d do,” you asked him, placing your hand over his own and bringing his fingers to you. He cupped your heat as you groaned, guiding him back and forth to gather the wetness he could feel different from the water of the tub.

“Tell me what you’d do to me.” You spoke faintly. “Tell me and I’ll be quiet.”

You guided one of Felix’s fingers in you as he shushed the sounds that threatened to speak themselves into existence.

He put his lips on your ear as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you with a slow glide. So plush and tight, he thought to himself. It sucked him in and dared not to spit him out.

“I would fuck you on the floor,” he breathed out against your cheek. “I’d spread you wide and taste your sweet pussy as the sun bathes the floor. And when I’m done, we go to the pool-“

Felix pulled out his finger, tracking it along your folds before going in with two. You arched against his back, drawing up as he pulled you back down and rested his hand on your waist.

You curled the toes of your right foot down the edge of the tub.

“-we’d go to the pool and sit out in the sun. You’d give me head in one of the chairs and I’d paint your fucking face with my cum.”

You clenched around his fingers. His thumb pressed into your clit, another jolt aching to send you squirming but he held you down as he patterned circles on the gentle flesh.

“You like that, don’t you?” He breathed in the smell of you. “And maybe we’d go for a walk through the maze after dinner. I’d fuck you in the center and you could scream as loud as you fucking want. No one could get to us. No one would hear us.”

“F-F-“

“No, no, no, shh,” Felix shushed. “Good girls only win by being quiet, yeah?”

You nodded, clenching onto his fingers again as a strangled ‘fuck’ tumbled out of his lips. He could imagine the coil building. Felix wasn’t going to let you finish alone.

Felix pulled his fingers from you and felt the disappointment in the wither of your body.

“But I don’t want to imagine what’d I’d do if we were alone,” Felix blanked. “Turn around.”

As the water sloshed around you, you turned to wrap your arms around his neck. Like you, Felix had sweat beading from his jaw that glimmered in the red light of the bathroom. He looked intoxicated, entranced but in control of what he could.

“I want to see you ride me like the fucking whore you are.”

You weren’t a whore. But for Felix, you could be anything.

At the nape of his neck, you gripped the back of his hair and drew his head back as your other hand gripped him under the water.

Hard and lengthy, his cock was a welcome intrusion every time. You pumped him in your hand slowly. The sounds of water creating currents was soothing against the sounds of your battered breaths kissing his own. You lifted yourself on your knees, leaning against Felix as he squeezed your ass tightly, watching as you lowered yourself onto him under the water. Slender and veined, your cunt molded to him like art. You both would never tire of the feeling so profound.

It would never be like this with anyone else.

Loose pants left his lips as you sat completely full of him. A fit for a King in his own home, he supposed. Once you had settled with him inside, you moved above him.

The water moved languidly too. Meeting the fiery skin of two intoxicated minds too oblivious to see the peering eyes between the crack of a door.

“Right there, baby, right there,” Felix mumbled as you rose again and again, drawing him in and out as he stretched you with every swell and spur he could muster on his own.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. So good for me.”

You could peer down at him from above. Your breath fanning his face and lips but never seeking to truly kiss him as your hand tangled in his hair.

Bits of water spilled over the tub and splashed onto the floor. It soaked the ash tray and the speckles of ash and bud that littered the floor.

“Don’t stop baby. Don’t fucking stop,” Felix crooned in the room’s empty sounds. Only the pleasured sighs and gasping breaths filled the air.

You bounced on his cock with a measured pace. Each stroke of his manhood against your velvet walls lured him deeper into you, entangled with the missing links of a year gone by.

“Felix,” you broke the rules to whisper in his ear. He was taken away by the insatiable need of his rapture. He listened. He beckoned to your call.

“Tell me that you love me.”

From the shadows, Oliver Quick felt his blood run as hot as the sun. He loved Felix.

“I love you.”

Whom did not love him back.

“Tell me you need me.”

He was enamored by the idea of Felix.

“I need you.”

Who was enamored with the idea of Oliver.

“And what do you want from me?”

He was taken by the sight before him.

“I need you to cum, baby. I need you to fucking cum for me.”

Oliver was taken by the gleam of your skin. The way Felix’s throat bobbed as a strangled groan escaped his lips and the way your own melted onto his forehead in a silent struggle to come down from a high.

You placed both hands on his slender chest, careening like winged victory in a heated satisfaction.

Your fingers shook.

He had never seen a woman shake so elegantly before. The tremble of your lips as you breathed in shaking respite, the jolt of your shoulder blade as Felix ran a hand up your back.

Oliver licked his lips at the sight.

Felix lifted his head from its position against the tub. His eyes fluttered open as you pulled away in the slightest.

And Felix smiled.

You returned the grin with one of your own as his still sat erect inside of you. The bubbles of the tub had long ceased to exist and the water that was left was filled with the combined spent of you both.

“I don’t think I won that one,” you chuckled quietly, pushing hair out of Felix’s face before cupping his cheek in your hand.

“I’ll take pity on you, I guess.”

“The water’s gone cold.”

Felix kissed the inside of the palm of your hand. He cherished the high that lingered.

“The water’s gone cold,” he repeated. “But we could stay here forever.”

“Pruned and sweaty? Not a chance in fucking hell, Felix.” You laughed a bit too loudly. Oliver disappeared at the groan Felix let out as you pulled off of him.

You stood before him as the water dripped from every piece of you. Marbled and finite of the most precious carvings he only wished to hold forever.

As you exited the tub and the throb of him began to settle, you grabbed his linen shirt from the floor, draping it over you as it stuck to the wetness of your skin.

“The bed is just the slightest bit more comfortable.”

And you disappeared behind his doorway with call for more as the walls of Saltburn added another sordid story to add to it woven trims.

But it was never just the walls of Saltburn watching.

A/N: as always, the best gift of reading is likes AND reblogs and why not, we love comments too. Thank you for reading and feel free to check out my other works on my masterlist here. xo

[buckyshattergirl]

I'm starving, darling

summary: you and Astarion decide to play a little game of hide and seek.

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: 18+ (MDNI) tags/warnings: blood drinking, explicit sexual content, porn with plot, predator/prey, smut, bodily fluids word count: 2.5k read on ao3: I'm starving, darling

a/n: english isn't my first language so please excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors!

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"I'm home, my treasure." You slowly rose from sleep as these sweet words were whispered into your ear. You had no idea what time it was or when excatly he came home from one of his important meetings he now had on his schedule nearly ever other say since slowly taking over Baldurs Gate.

It started quietly, in the shadows. Getting invited to important political events wasn't hard now, you were the heroes of Baldurs Gate after all, the rest was fairly easy. Astarion slowly slipped into politics, barely noticeable at first - advising here and there, helping out and funding the restoration of the city. Now he sat in the High Council of Baldur's Gate, slowly filling the remaining seats with his people - his personal puppets, dancing just how he liked. No one noticed how influential he actually had become at first, until it was too late. He had slipped into every important part of Baldur's Gate - politics, finance, jurisdiction.

He was no merciless leader but people respected and feared him and that's all Astarion has ever wanted. The Ascended Vampire, a creature of night being able to walk in the blazing sun, enter homes uninvited and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh - most people didn't even dare to question him, it'd be foolish anyways.

You opened your eyes slightly, seeing Astarion towering over you on the bed, caging you in with his strong arms, the soft black, satin blankets clinging to your frame. He was still wearing his outfit from his earlier meeting - a black doublet with gold embroidery and matching slacks, gods how you loved that outfit on him.

"Good meeting?" you asked while slowly wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close. Astarion immediately buried his head into your neck, breathing in your scent, placing gentle kisses over your collarbone.

"Mh-hm." he mumbled, still buried in your neck while he placed his hands on your waist, pulling yor body closer to him. "Such fools, all of them." Your gentle giggles were quickly interrupted by a moan as Astarion started to lick from your collarbone up to your ear, where he gently nibbled on your earlobe with his sharp fangs, making you shiver in anticipation - he was eager.

"How about some dessert?" Astarion whispered into your ear, making his way down your neck again, nibbling and kissing… he wanted to feed, obviously. You smirked, quite in the mood for riling him up a little.

"No." You simply said, grabbing his head and pulling him away from your neck. The look upon his face said it all - red eyes wide open in surprise, a mix of "what?" and "how dare you?" written all over his face.

"Oh, my love, your forget yourself. You're in no position to deny me. I know you want it, darling." Astarion whispered again in that deep, rumbling voice of his. You quicky jumped out of bed before he had a chance to pounce on you, making your way on the other side of the room, giggling like a little girl. Astarion smirked.

"Hmm, so you want to play a game, little love? Very well, I'll indulge you." He slowly unfastened the cufflinks on his doublet, sending you seductive looks - by the Nine Hells, this man was a vision. "So, how about this: you run and hide and I'll try to find and catch you. I'll give you a head start of 5 minutes, only within the palace, no gardens." He ran a hand trough his fluffy white curls and you nodded. "And when I catch you, you'll be all mine, like it's supposed to be." Astarions red eyes bore right into yours and you nodded. All his.

"Very well then, run off, my love. I'll see you soon." You immediately took off, running down the hall, figuring out where to hide. You knew the palace inside out but so did Astarion. You had to switch your hiding places after a certain time, that much was clear, you had to win! Astarion was a sore loser, so seeing the absolute disbelief on his face would be priceless. You suddenly heard the door of your shared bedroom shut in the distance, has it already been five minutes or was he cheating already?

You quickly hid in the old storage closet, it was fairly empty with the expetion of some old boxes and a few brooms, a bad hiding spot but it had to suffice for now. Astarion slowly made his way down the corridor, whisteling a gentle tune, already sure of his victory and thinking about all the delectable things he might do to you later. He continued to stroll down the corridor with his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks until he suddenly heard gentle movements from the laudry chamber next to him and smirked. How convenient. Sure it must be his little treasure inside, he ripped open the doors and stared right into the face of a shocked maid.

"Lord Ancunìn! How can I be of service?" she stuttered, right in the middle of folding the bedsheets, clearly not expecting his sudden appearance.

"Have you seen my consort, maid?" He snapped, already on edge. This was most embarrassing.

"I-i think Lady Ancunìn went further into the west wing, my Lord." Astarion slammed the door shut and made his way towards the west wing while you quietly removed yourself from the storage closet and headed into the opposite direction, quite sure of your victory but your inner celebration came to a quick halt as fast steps approached you. It was him but how? How did he know?

You quickly ran down the corridor and into Astarion's private study, the footsteps getting closer and closer. You were pretty sure that he used his vampiric powers to find you - that cheating bastard, he just couldn't bare to lose this silly, little game. The study didn't offer any good hiding spots either but you had no way out, Astarion was propably right behind you, you'd be running straight into his arms and you'd never hear the end of it. You slilently tucked yourself into a corner of the room, casting invisibilty just in time as the door swung open and Astarion stepped in, looking quite confused as the room appeared empty. He slowly shut the door, locking it - he knew you were still here.

"You can come out now, little love. There is nowhere to go." He chuckled, walking across the room and settling himself on the edge of his desk, leaning slightly back, waiting patiently - he knew the invisbility spell you propably casted was going to wear off soon. He proceeded to teasingly unbutton his doublet, eyes glancing across the room. By the gods, you wanted him but you were not ready to give up just yet, you still had about thirty seconds of invisibility left.

You quietly snuck to the door and teleported yourself out of the room - Astarion immediately noticed and ran after you, the doublet now open and his bare chest on full display. He saw you run across the corridor right in front of him as your invisibility slowly faded and let out a dark chuckle, he was enjoing this hunt massively. While your stamina was not bad, you were terribly aware that you could never outrun a Vampire, let alone an ascended one, Astarion was letting you get away with it, he was playing with you. You sprinted around the corner and came face to face with a wall, shit. You forgot that you closed off the entire wing that led down to the ritual chamber, only Astarion was able to enter and said Vampire was now right behind you, slowly getting closer and closer with a predatory smile.

"There you are, my little treat." You pressed your back against the wall, giving him a shy look, hoping you might get away with it. "Now, don't be coy." This was obviously not working, he seemed to be immunue to your charm so you had to beat him at his own game, that was your only hope now so you let him approach, playing the part of the poor, weak consort who just lost their silliy little game, his own damsel in the distress who needed a big, strong Vampire Lord to save her day. Astarion's protectiveness and his need to play your big, strong consort was a major turn-on for both of you. He loved to show off how powerful he was in comparison to you, knowing he could easily overpower but keep you safe anytime.

"Aww, don't pout." Astarion teased. "Don't you dare to give me an attitude now, my pet." He pressed you further into the wall, sure of his victory. You gave him a coy smile, placing your arms around his neck and Astarion was sure you were about to give in but you suddenly slipped down, crawling through his spreaded legs, freeing yourself and running away, laughing.

"Cheeky little pup." Astarion chuckled. "You want to play dirty? Fine, 'cause I love it dirty." He used his powers to teleport himself right in front of you, managing to elict a shocked gasp out of you.

"Cheater!" you yelled, ready to push him away but he immediatly grabbed your hands, pulling you into his naked chest.

"You're quite the insolent little pup today, my treasure." Astarion pushed you into the nearest wall, securing your arms above your head with one hand while the other made his way down your body, immediately cupping the sensitive spot between your legs - you let out a loud gasp. "My my, is this getting you all excited, my pet?" He leaned closer, whispering in your ear now. "Is this getting you all wet?" Astarion pushed his thigh between your legs, settling you down while still pressing you against the wall, making you whimper with need. He grabbed your hips and began moving them up and down his thigh, creating a dangerous friction between your legs and you let the most pathetic moan escape our mouth, Astarion laughed.

"Look at you, precious thing, you do want this." He gently nuzzled your neck, teasing the column of your throat with gentle kisses and the occasional suck while you continued to grind on his thigh, working yourself up more and more. Your sweet moans were nearly enough for him, he quickly freed himself from his slacks, giving his already hard cock a few gentle strokes while he continued to lick that delicious throat of yours. Your breath started to quicken, you were close and Astarion removed his thigh and pushed your dress up to your hips.

"By the Nine Hells…" he breathed as he saw your black thong, all lace, his absolute weakness. He deftly pushed the flimsy material to the side and ran a gentle finger through your folds, gathering some wetness before settling on your bundle of nerves, cicling it slowly.

"Oh Astarion…I'm gonna…" He immediately removed his fingers, one hand cupping your breast instead, gently teasing your hard nipple with firm, circling strokes of his thumb while the other one grabbed the base of your throat, applying gentle pressure, not enough to completly cut off your air supply but just enough to be noticeable.

"Oh no, my love, not yet." The hand teasing your breast moved downwards, grabbing his hard cock once more and slowly guiding himself closer to your aching pussy. He gently coated himself in your juices, letting the head run through your slit, teasing you and making you whine in anticipation before pushing just the tip inside of you. It took all of his strength not to take you hard and fast right now but he intended to drag this out, make you suffer.

"Astarion…fuck…." you whimpered, trying to move your hips closer to his, to slide him all the way inside but he kept you pressed against the wall.

"Tsk, tsk, good girls ask before they take what they want. You are my good girl, aren't you, precious?" he teased, gently cicling your clit with his thumb, biting his lower lip with his fangs on full diplay. You nodded vigorously. "Then tell me."

"Please…please, Astarion…"

"Please what, my love?"

"You've won! Please fuck me!"

"Well, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" He smirked arrogantly, placing gentle kisses on your neck again before finally sheathing his fangs into your throat and pushing his cock inside of you. Astarion moaned gently around your throat, sending shivers down your spine as he took generous gulps of your blood while pushing in and out of you at a tantalizing slow speed.

"That's a good girl." He felt your pussy flutter around him - gosh, the praise was really doing it for you and your blood began to taste even sweeter - your impending climax so close he could practically taste it.

"Fuck, you're being so good for me, my pet." Astarion took one more gulp before freeing his now blood-stained fangs from your neck, licking across the puncture marks to clean them. He now stared right into your eyes with his beautiful red ones, continuing his sweet, sweet praise while he slowly pushed in and out of you.

"You like that, don't you? The way my cock feels inside of you, like you were made for me." All you could do was moan and cling closer to him. "Fucking. Perfect." He slid out and pushed back in hard with every word, he was slowly losing control, getting closer and closer.

"Yes, my love, that's it." Astarion praised as he felt your pussy getting tighter. "Come for me." You saw stars as he started to tease your clit oh so gently once again and shattered around him. You felt yourself gushing, coating his cock with your release and blushed but Astarion seemed to quite enjoy it.

"Oh my pet, you've made such a mess for me, fuck…" His thrust were getting harder, sloppier, his breathing quickened. You placed your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer while resting your forehead on his, gently moaning.

"Please come inside me." You begged breathless, knowing this might send him over the edge. Saying that Astarion had a breeding kink might be far-feteched, he wasn't fond of children, he didn't even particularly like them, not to mention that a Vampire can't sire children, not even an ascended one but the thought of your pussy dripping with his release was enough. You pushed yur hips against his, helping him along and placed one of your hands on his defined chest, gently teasing his nipple.

"Oh fuck, little love, I'm gonna come…" Astarion's moan was the most beautiful thing on earth, you thought, you loved how vocal he was during sex, never above mentioning how good he felt or letting the occasional dirty talk slip in. Sex with Astarion was far from boring or vanilla. "Fuck." he nearly whimpered as he spilled inside you, his sloppy thrusts coming to a halt, his chest now pressed right on yours. You felt his hot breath on our neck as he buried is head into your shoulder, slowly coming down from his height.

You slipped your hands in his soft, white hair, slowly massaging his scalp and playing with his curls, feeling quite content and relaxed.

"Bath, my love?" he mumbled into your shoulder, already grabbing the back of your thighs, hoisting you up into his arms. You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you down the corridor.

[buckyshattergirl]

"What, want me to ruffle your feathers?" Tav asked with a smirk when she caught him staring, as if she didn't ruffle enough of his feathers prior to this moment—figuratively speaking, most unfortunately.

The owlbear's cub sprawled on its stomach beside her, head on her lap as it was cooing something. Given how eagerly it butted into her hand, rather obvious what it was after.

He took a step back, arms raised as he refused, "I'll abstain for tonight. Afraid the competition's too fierce for me to win this fight without any losses. Tomorrow, though…"

He let some hope into his voice, tone laced thick with promise.

Astarion looked at Tav, waiting for her answer, and she nodded to him with a smile on her lips.

"Wonderful. I'll be awaiting then. Most eagerly."

So easy.

Too easy.

He should've known better, but perhaps he was momentarily blinded that she'd finally given up keeping her distance.

Tav played with his hair for a good part of the evening, and Astarion tolerated it—the experience was quite enjoyable, if he was to be honest, but those weren't headpats that he was after. Finally the time came to take the heavy weapons against her, those that he was most proficient at using. Those that hardly ever betrayed him. And he needed Tav to not betray him either. To protect him, when hardly anyone in the camp was terribly happy about having a vampire in their midst. If Cazador… When Cazador… Even though Astarion didn't need to breathe anymore, the air staled in lungs when he thought about this. He needed Tav—and everyone else she have eating out of the palm of her adorable little hand—to stay on his side when that happens. Because as convenient as it may've been, out of many advantages the worm gave him, making his master forget about his existence wasn't one of them.

Her fingers raked his hair and scratched his scalp, sending him into shivers as Astarion couldn't help but lower his guard a notch. He wasn't an inexperienced youngling, still wet behind his ears. He wouldn't miss the change in her touch when it was most familiar to him. It would be rather convenient for Tav to hold his neck or slide her fingers under the lacing of his shirt, so Astarion expected that. Ears too were a good starting point… Lips, perhaps, if she was feeling adventurous for a sharp touch of his fangs…

He turned to the side, forehead pressed against Tav's stomach to let her get to the back of his head. Then turned again, face buried in her lap.

As tedious the pointless waiting went, this kind of foreplay was not without its pleasures. If she were to continue fondling the rest of him in same manner, Astarion wouldn't mind much. If anything, the thought was getting him rather excited, albeit weary in a similar way any kind of sex did. But it was familiar kind of wear he was most used to, so Astarion was slipping into it with ease like one would into old boots they've long been donning. Perhaps the heels were stooped a bit from years of use, and the laces were frayed and brittle, but those were the boots he'd worn for as long as he could remember. He didn't have a spare, if there even existed a spare the likes of him could afford.

Finally Tav's hand stopped, resting on his neck as she barely moved her big finger against the edge of his hairline.

He knew it was coming, and yet a part of him was strangely disappointed.

Well, no point dwelling on it.

Finally it was his turn to…

"Think I'm spent for the evening. My hand's cramping. Want to lie down for a little while longer, or you'd prefer to rest on something more comfortable than my lap?"

Her question came most unexpectedly. At first Astarion thought he heard it wrong. But when he raised his head to check Tav's face, there was nothing special on it, like she was asking something mundane, barely worth of notice. And it was a rather mundane thing to ask. If you weren't expecting anything else to follow.

She wasn't.

It stunned him when Astarion realized that.

Thankfully it lasted barely a moment, and then his instincts kicked in.

"Why? I find your lap a rather enjoyable place to rest my head on."

'It would be even better if you were to let me put it between your legs, but I suppose I wouldn't get much rest then,' was supposed to follow, but somehow it got stuck in his throat. He couldn't even say why at first.

Because she wasn't flirting. Because it wasn't foreplay. Because she just offered to ruffle his feathers in a most simple, primitive, childish way possible, and never planned to stretch the invitation to something more salacious and titillating.

Ruffled his feathers she did.

With much too fervor.

Astarion hardly remembered the way he traveled back into his tent and what he said in the process. Surely it was something appropriate for the occasion, he could trust the habits beaten into his skull by years of use.

No wonder she agreed so easily. He must've been blind not to notice.

He laid down, curled into a ball, sulking—for what, Astarion couldn't tell.

Perhaps it irked him that his plans fell through, and the cooked duck flew away from his mouth when he was so close to biting into it. What else could've been the issue otherwise?

But most strangely, a tightness in his stomach loosened as soon as he was left alone. He breathed with ease, warm ticklish touch of Tav's fingers lingering on his skin.

Safe.

From what..?

He didn't know.

[buckyshattergirl]

Nightfall Heir

Chapter 4

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Pregnancy and Childbirth

Notes on this chapter: Fluff with Gale, banter about sex, relationships and periods. Also, I'm kind of on a roll with writing this story, I've already written chapters 5 & 6. I will try pacing out the posting of them 😅

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

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Walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate with Gale by your side was not the strangest sight. In fact, the people of the city were more accustomed to seeing him walking with you and the other members of your group than without.

“You’re looking radiant, my dear,” Gale began, his tone laced with curiosity. “Did you and Astarion have a good evening?”

“You could say that,” you replied, attempting to suppress a blushing smile.

“You know,” he began, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “When I first saw the two of you together, I was somewhat shocked, to be honest. You didn’t seem the type to go for someone as, well, uninhibited as Astarion. But you complement him well.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Indeed.” he nodded, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “And I must say, you’ve had a very positive influence on him. He’s mellowed out. Not as bloodthirsty. He’s become, dare I say, domesticated.”

“Domesticated?” You laughed, raising an eyebrow. But not as bloodthirsty? Well, you thought to yourself, you were still allowing him to feed on you.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “A star-crossed vampire and his drow companion. Who would have ever imagined?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you began, a sly grin spreading across your face. “Lae’zel and Halsin seemed to have their suspicions back in the day. And it doesn’t surprise me in the least that Lae’zel and Astarion still get into their bouts of verbal sparring. You’d think they’d get tired of it, eventually,” you shake your head, chuckling. But suddenly a dull pain cramps your abdomen. Flinching, you let out a small groan, rubbing the area where the pain was throbbing the strongest.

“For fuck’s sake, now of all times?” You grumble to yourself.

“What’s the matter, my dear? Are you in pain?” Gale was quick to notice, as was his usual.

“It’s nothing,” you lied. “Just a bit of cramp.”

“Are you sure?” His concern was apparent.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” you brushed him off, trying to alleviate his worries. “Probably my monthly visitor is going to grace me soon. Perfect timing, as always.” You rolled your eyes with sarcasm.

“Ah, well, I’m afraid I can’t offer much assistance with that. Unless, of course, you require a some feminine hygiene products?”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Gale, really?”

He held his hands up defensively. “I like to see myself as an honourable man,” he declared. “And so I endeavour to look out for the women in my life.”

You chuckled, “I’m not sure how honourable a man who walks in on his friend pleasuring herself in the bath can be, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

He shrugged. “You should have had the door locked, then.”

“I should have,” you agreed, and shook your head, still laughing.

“But I think I may actually need some tampons,” you grinned nervously. You could feel a slight wetness at your junction but could not tell if it was remnants of your carnal thoughts from earlier or not.

“Shall we detour to the apothecary?” Gale offered, concern for your wellbeing still riddled on his face.

“Do you mind?”

“Absolutely not, my dear! We can’t have you bleeding through your clothes, can we?”

You flushed, embarrassed. “No, definitely not.” Thank the gods you were wearing a long, dark skirt.

“So,” Gale started after a moment of slightly awkward silence. “With Astarion being a vampire and all...” He trailed off for a moment.

You knew where this was going to lead, but did not stop him.

“What, Gale?” You asked, side-eyeing him.

“Well, does he drink your... You know...” He made a crude gesture.

“Gods, Gale, really? I thought we were mature adults?”

He flushed, embarrassed by his sudden crass inquiry. “Forgive me, I forget myself sometimes. I truly overstepped. Especially having walked in on you before.”

You snickered and patted him on the shoulder to reassure him. “It’s alright. I’m just joking. I think the lot of us have grown close enough with each other that talking about such things is now considered normal.”

Gale chuckled nervously at your words. “True.”

“And to answer your question,” you continued, “No, he doesn’t. The thought hasn’t crossed our minds. Well, if it has crossed his, he hasn’t said anything,” you shrug. “But that does not mean we don’t have sex on my period. I find myself... particularly ravenous just before and during it. He, too. Perhaps because he can smell all the blood, being what he is and all that. And he... does bite me sometimes when we are making love.”

“Oh?” Gale is intrigued by the notion.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“Dare I ask where?”

“You’re a curious one today, aren’t you?” You teased.

Gale flushed. “Sorry... I just find it... intriguing,” he admits. “Obviously, I’ve never slept with one of the undead.”

“No, but with a goddess?” You elbow him playfully.

“And look how that turned out.” He rolled his eyes sarcastically. “So, are you going to indulge me? Or should I stop prying?”

You shook your head, laughing. “He sometimes bites my inner thighs, my breasts, neck, wrists... the usual places.”

“Usual?” His eyes widened. “I won’t even begin to imagine what the unusual places are!”

You laugh and slap his back affectionately. “We really need to get you laid, Gale. You’re getting far too curious for your own good.”

He shrugged innocently, blushing again. “Well, since losing to Astarion, I haven’t had any luck with women,” he poked you in the ribs.

You were surprised by this notion. “I thought you and Shadowheart had a thing going?”

He sighed, almost dolefully. “We sort of do, but it’s just that she’s so busy taking care of her parents now that they have reconnected. I would hate to come between them.”

“I understand your sentiments, my dear Gale, but I am sure the poor thing could use some ‘distractions’ as well. Her parents seemed to like you when we all met them. And besides, I am sure she would appreciate any assistance you could offer her with their care.”

“Yes, they are lovely people, and I am thankful to have been given the opportunity to meet them,” he nodded, and his expression softened.

“They’re proud of her,” you stated, “And they are grateful to us for giving her a chance. If not for her joining our little posse, I doubt she would have been able to break away from the clutches of Shar.”

“No, I don’t think she would have,” Gale agreed.

“But enough about me, let’s get back to talking about you and Astarion,” he smirked, and you chuckled at his persistence.

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Gale,” you began. “Our relationship is pretty typical, for the most part. We make love, we bicker, we argue. We fuck again.”

Gale almost choked at your colourful use of words.

“How blunt!”

“It’s called being honest,” you countered.

“Still,” he sighed, “you and Astarion have something special.”

“I would certainly hope so,” you smiled, blushing, looking back down at your ring. Gale noticed your affectionate gaze upon it.

“And with those, it is like you’re a married couple!”

Though he was only jesting, his quip caught you off guard, causing you to chuckle nervously.

“Yeah... well...” It was not like marriage had never crossed your mind, at least. But Astarion’s? Neither of you had ever breached the topic.

“Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll say no more,” he grinned.

“Good,” you smiled in kind.

“Ah, here we are!”

Looking up, you saw the apothecary just ahead. You sighed with relief. The wet feeling was indeed becoming... more apparent.

“Thank you, Gale, for being so understanding,” you smiled appreciatively, patting his arm.

“You are most welcome, Tavrin. Now, please, allow me,” and with a gentlemanly flourish, he opened the door but was courteous enough to wait for you outside.

“Such a gentleman!” You cooed as you stepped into the establishment.

“Only for you, my dear,” he smiled, and shut the door behind you.

The inside of the apothecary was filled with an abundance of herbs and spices and various medicinal potions and ointments. The scent was not unpleasant, however. It was rather heady and soothing. Once you paid for your feminine items and some herbal teas to help with your cramps, you went back out to where Gale was waiting patiently for you.

“All well?” He asked you with a smile.

“Yes, but I think I might need a new pair of panties,” you flushed.

“Come to think of it, I am fairly sure our old pal Lorroakan had some trunks of old clothes lying about. I am sure I spied some women’s garments when I was trifling through the stuff he left for us to plunder.”

You chuckled. “Thanks, Gale. I want to be freshened up before I meet Astarion at noon. So, we better hurry up with our cataloguing.”

“We’ll make good time. I promise!”

With a grin and a playful nudge, the two of you began your walk towards the Sundries.

[buckyshattergirl]

Nightfall Heir

Chapter 3

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Pregnancy and Childbirth

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes flickered, a radiant warmth bathing your body. You were laying on your stomach in a messy tangle of sheets, remnants of your passionate night. Your gaze shifted, settling upon Astarion. He was leaning against the doorway, a smile upon his lips, admiring your naked form on the bed.

“Blessed morning, darling.”

“Morning,” you mumbled, your brain still trying to comprehend the fact that it was indeed time for you to awaken.

Astarion chuckled as he walked over to you, giving you a sharp yet playful slap on your buttocks. You jumped at the smarting pain and shot a glare in his direction.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he cooed. “It is a brand new day and you’re going to miss half of it if you don’t get that beautiful arse up soon.”

“Let me sleep,” you griped as you shoved your face back into the pillows.

“I shall not!” He gave you an even sharper slap, making you instinctively lash out to kick him. But with his finesse, he avoided your protest and laughed heartily at your antics. “I have a bath readied for you and breakfast is on the table. You better eat it before it gets cold.”

Rubbing your eyes as you perched yourself on your elbows, you looked back over at him. “You’re leaving already?” You had discerned as much.

“I’m afraid so, my sweet. I have a lot of tedious paperwork to get through,” He sighed, exasperated at the thought. “The fucking Guild has been causing havoc in the Lower City as of late. Wyll is going to have to do something about it because I honestly do not know how many more of the bastards I can send to the prison.”

“I’m sure he is trying, my love.” You attempted to soothe your lover’s frustration. “Lae’zel tells me they have an influx of new recruits to train for the Fist.”

“They’re mere fodder.” Astarion waved his hand dismissively. “If we couldn’t stamp out the Guild when we were still the ragtag group of adventurers, then a bunch of green Fist are not going to have much luck either.”

You also sigh. He was right.

“Don’t you miss it?” He asked after a moment of deep contemplation, his expression now solemn, yearning.

You looked at him, slightly confused in your still sluggish state. “Miss what, love?”

“You know... All the travelling we did together with our companions. All the mischief and killing and debauchery we got up to whilst concurrently saving the world from the Absolute. Us sneaking off from camp to slate our lusts for one another. The excitement of it all!”

You sighed. “You know I do, Astarion. But our lives are here, now. And we can’t go back to the way things were, despite how much we might wish it. Not right now, anyway.”

“Hmmm...” He paused, and you saw a spark ignite in his eyes. “Well, darling, perhaps we can find a way to recreate the excitement. If you’re game for it, that is.”

“Oh?” He had your interest piqued.

“Come visit me in my offices at noon?”

“I would not dare refuse.”

“Excellent,” he seemed pleased.

“Now, as much as I’d love to stay and watch you prance around the room in your naked splendour, I really must be off.”

“Oh, so you want to ogle at me but can’t give me the courtesy of doing the same?”

He scoffed at your playful accusation. “Darling, if you were to watch me as I dressed myself, then we both would not be leaving the house this day.”

“Is that a promise?” You raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“You little minx!” He returned your salacious grin in kind. “Now go bathe and get some food into that delightful body of yours.”

“Yes, mother.”

He chuckled as he rolled his eyes at your antics. “See you at noon, honey cakes,” he teased. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” you assured as he turned to leave. But then you remembered something, something vital. “Wait, Astarion!”

He turned back to you, curious about your urgency.

“You’re wearing your ring, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your constant worry over that ring. “Of course, my love. If I wasn’t, do you think I would be walking around the house with all the shutters and curtains open?”

He had a point.

“Sorry... I know, I just worry about you, too.”

His smile then was full of affection as he strode back over to you to kiss you fully on your still swollen lips.

“Don’t be late,” he repeated before he turned to leave once more. Once you heard the front door of your humble abode shut behind him, you fell back onto the bed, sighing.

“Best be up,” you instructed yourself as you pushed yourself to stand, wobbling slightly as you did so. Your legs ached and that delicious tingle between your thighs was still ever present. A soft groan escaped your lips as the soreness set in, but you were grateful for the pain.

You were a lucky woman. You knew that. To have such an extraordinary lover who could also be such an incredible partner and companion was a blessing in these trying times, especially as a Drow. You looked down at your matching ring and twirled it around your lithe finger.

“You better make doubly sure it does not slip off,” you reminded yourself daily, despite knowing it would not. Without you wearing your ring, the enchantment on the pair would not work. Astarion would turn to ash in the sun.

Eclipsed Radiance and the enchantment itself was etched in an ancient language on both rings. Their title was given by the god of dawn, Lathander, who had blessed you with their ownership. Despite the god’s fervent loathing of all undead and evil creatures, he had acknowledged your group’s aid in expelling the Githyanki from Rosymorn Monastery, and your determination to rebuild it to its former glory. With the return to the monastery of his clergy and followers, Lathander had wished to reward you for the dedication and assistance you had displayed. Knowing all too well of your deep love and adoration for your vampiric companion, he blessed you with the rings. Yet, they came at some extra cost, which you willingly paid. Imbued within them was a part of your very own life force. From it and Lathander’s blessing, the rings drew their strength.

As you walked towards the kitchen, you could smell the breakfast Astarion had prepared for you. Your heart skipped a beat upon noticing he had made your favourite: toasted sourdough bread with melted cheese, crispy rashes of bacon, fried mini-tomatoes and two sunny side up eggs - extra sloppy. You chuckled at yourself at how he often jabbed that you eating sloppy eggs was akin to a child eating snot, but smiled warmly at the fact that he always made them just the way you liked them, regardless.

Sitting down, you tucked in, a sense of ease and gratitude washing over you. It was still somewhat difficult to fathom how you had ended up here. But, looking back on your adventures and the events that had led you to this point, you were grateful. For the most part, that is.

The memories that had taken place two years ago, when you had confronted Cazador and the Mind Flayers, were still as clear as the waters of Lake Titania. Shaking your head to rid yourself of them, you continued to down the delicious breakfast your beloved had made. Once eaten, it was the bath that waited for you.

Astarion had filled it with some of your favourite fragrant oils, and the air was thick with the aroma. A gentle sigh escaped your lips. The warmth of the water engulfed you as you entered, the sensation sending a wave of relief through your sore muscles. You allowed yourself to simply soak, basking in the tranquillity.

But it was short-lived, as a sense of guilt began to gnaw at you. It was not your intention to hide the troubling visions that still plagued you, but you had not yet found the words to explain. You did not want to risk upsetting him, despite how frequently he told you that you could open up to him.

Astarion was a proud man. And the scars of his past, of his failures, were still somewhat raw. You knew that. In the two years you had been together, you had come to know him better than he had probably known himself. He was a one of great intelligence and wit, and a charmer by nature. But beneath the charming, playful façade he carried, there was an insecurity that had developed over the course of his two centuries of undead torture. You had witnessed him become undone when he had enacted his revenge upon Cazador, and you could see the toll it had taken on him, the shame and the guilt that lingered, especially when it came to matters of the other spawn he had been forced to lure by his master.

The scars on his back were a painful reminder of the suffering he had endured, the humiliation and abuse he had experienced. They were a constant reminder of how close he had come to succumbing to his fate, and of how he had nearly lost his very essence.

Your heart sank, and tears began to pool in your eyes again. How were you going to tell him about what you were experiencing? Would he feel the same way as you did about the situation?

You could not bear the thought of losing him. He was a part of you. Your lives had been entwined since that night when the tadpoles had been implanted in your heads. That is what you wished to believe, anyway. You were certain it was true. Splashing your face with the aromatic water, you calmed yourself. You did not wish to continue delving into such thoughts. As you scrubbed the remnants of the previous evening’s passion from between your thighs, Astarion’s words flitted into your thoughts, bringing forth a small smile.

“But I’m not nearly done with you, my darling... Don’t be late...”

You would go to see him in a few hours, and you wondered what he had planned in that devious mind of his. He had a penchant for the unexpected, and his ideas of entertainment could be rather wild and wanton. You could not help but laugh.

“Only Astarion,” you sighed, yet still felt the heat of your blush spread across your cheeks. You were truly curious about what he would have in store for you that afternoon. Again, that tingling heat between your thighs sent delectable trills through your core. You let out a moan as you slid further into the bath. Your mind drifted and, almost intuitively, your hand slid down past your navel.

Your skin was flushed from the heat of the bath, but the touch of your fingers against your bud brought a shiver. You moaned again, this time more audible.

You knew that Astarion would not have left anything for you. He never did. His hunger for you in present days was insatiable, and he took every opportunity to devour you. But despite that, your mind wandered back to his mouth between your thighs the night before, and your fingers continued their ministrations.

You bit your lip as you teased yourself, your breathing becoming more laboured. You could hear the sounds of pleasure he had made, his voice deep and husky, his eyes dark with lust. You wanted him again.

You could not contain your desire for him. As the memory of his touch flooded back to you, the sensation overwhelmed your senses. The heat and pressure built in your abdomen, and you could feel your orgasm approaching.

You had not even realised how loudly you were moaning. You were so caught up in your fantasy, in the sensations that washed over you, that you did not hear the faint knocking on your front door.

“My dear, Tavrin!” It was Gale’s voice, but you were not aware of his presence until he was standing in the bathroom doorway.

You were startled and nearly jumped out of your skin. Your face flushed a deep shade of crimson. “Gods damn it, Gale! Do you not know how to knock?” You snapped.

“I did knock. I knocked three times, in fact, and no one answered. I thought something might have been wrong.”

“Well, nothing is wrong. I’m perfectly fine. Except that I’m a little pissed off now!”

“Oh, forgive me.”

He did not seem apologetic, however.

“How long were you standing there watching me, anyway?”

“Not long. I didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Gale, I swear to the gods, I’m going to burn you.”

He let out a laugh. “Now, don’t be like that, my dear. It’s not like I haven’t heard you and Astarion slaking your lusts for each other before. The entire camp did.”

“You’re a prick, Gale,” you grumbled as you sank further into the water with embarrassment.

He chuckled teasingly. “Not as much as you enjoy Astarion’s prick inside of you.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You lobbed a bar of soap at him. Laughing, he dodged it easily enough, and it went flying past his head through the door.

“Now, now, my dear, no need to get cranky. Just be thankful I didn’t portal into the bathroom!”

Gale loved to tease you. He had once desired you as well. They all had. But the one who had won your affections was your beloved, devious vampire. Your companions still often poked fun at you both. Not malicious, of course. But you all relished in making jabs at each other from time to time. Perhaps that is why you were all as thick as thieves.

“What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Well, you had promised to come help me continue the arduous task of cataloging. I came to make sure you wouldn’t try to abandon me to the task.”

“Oh shit, I had almost forgotten. Sorry, I had a late night.”

“I can tell!”

You grimaced at him. You had completely forgotten about helping Gale today. He had been working on cataloging the new acquisitions that had arrived at the Sundries, and with him being the resident scholar of the store and having the most extensive knowledge, the task had been delegated to him.

“Fine. But give me a moment to finish my bath, and then we can go.”

His grin then was full of mischief. “Do you need a hand?”

“For fuck’s sake, Gale!” You could not help but laugh with embarrassment. “If Astarion hears you say something like that, he’s going to rip your throat out!”

“Yes, I’m sure he would! But I’m willing to take the risk. I might even enjoy it so long as one of you revives me.”

You splashed an enormous wave of water at him, drenching his front. “Out!”

He raised his hands in defence and took a step back. “All right, I’m going. Take your time. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Fine.”

With a cheeky wink, he was gone.

“Asshole,” you mumbled, still chuckling. You adored Gale, despite his penchant for inappropriate humour. But he was not the only one in your group of companions that did so.

With your mind slightly more at ease, you continued to soak and finish off your bath. When finished, you got out and wrapped a towel around yourself. Looking in the mirror, you could see that you had a glow about you. Your skin was radiant, and you looked rested. You smiled. It was most definitely due to the night you had shared with your lover.

After getting dressed and drying your hair, you headed downstairs. Gale was seated in the living area, sipping tea from one of the delicate cups that Astarion had imported from the Sword Coast. It surprised none of you that Astarion delved into the finer trappings of life. He was, after all, a vampiric elf with exceptional taste.

“Ready to head out?” Gale asked, looking up at you.

“Of course,” you smiled, “Lead the way, scholar.”

“Excellent!”

Setting the teacup down, he stood, and the two of you headed outside.

[buckyshattergirl]

Nightfall Heir Chapter 2

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Pregnancy and Childbirth

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years…

How had time flown so fast? The city, still in the process of rebuilding from the rubble it had been reduced to, presented a scene of bustling activity. Mariners and dock workers of the city had finally cleared the bay of the decaying remains of the Netherbrain, much to the disdain of the local ocean life. Local sorcerers, including yourself, and wizards under Gale’s guidance prevented the putrid stench from overwhelming the populace. For those two long years, you had all been so vigilant in bringing the city back to some form of its former glory. It was an arduous task, for sure, but gradually your lives were returning to an acceptable level of normal. 

Your cordial wizard companion Gale, now the patron of the Sorcerous Sundries, had a newfound air of confidence surrounding him since his release from Mystra. His demeanour at the store had transformed into a commanding presence as he worked with you to bridge the gap between sorcerers and wizards.

Shadowheart, or Jenevelle as you had all learnt was her true name, had taken on the role of a caretaker for her ailing parents. The weight of responsibility showed in the lines etched on her face, but there was also a sense of purpose and strength that radiated from her. Her once guarded nature had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness for her family and a deep gratitude for the companions who had helped rescue them from the clutches of the goddess and Justiciars she had abandoned.

Wyll had inherited the title of Grand Duke of the city from his father, which was much to be expected. His charismatic leadership had garnered the respect of the Council of Four, and together, they ruled over the metropolis with fairness and efficiency. The weight of his new role was often visible in his tired eyes, but there was also a sense of accomplishment and pride that shone through them.

Your boisterous friend Karlach, now coupled with the Tyfling blacksmith Dammon, had undergone a remarkable transformation as well. Not only could she now touch people without scorching them, Dammon, and the Grymforge dwarves in the city, had discovered a way to implant the heart of a Steel Watch within her. Their tinkering had not only saved her from the clutches of Avernus and imminent death, but had also granted her a new lease on life. Though Wyll did not particularly need one, Karlach also worked as his bodyguard when he was on official duties. In her own words, she had aspired to be useful and thus did not give Wyll a choice on the matter. Not that he minded. When she was not following Wyll around like his shadow, she was helping her new lover with collecting materials for the new metal works he was head of rebuilding - and relishing in her new freedom of touch. 

Lae’zel, still an outcast of her people, found solace in aiding Wyll with training the Flaming Fists. Her imposing presence and unwavering determination made her a formidable force within the barracks. Nobody disobeyed her orders. Ever. Though the scars of her past still lingered, there was a newfound purpose in her gaze, a determination to prove her worth and find her place in this new world you were all helping to build.

Your arch druid ‘teddy bear’ Halsin, had dedicated himself to restoring Baldur’s Gate’s nature, and was bringing back life to the city’s parks, reserves, and waterways. He did not much enjoy life in the city, as was to be expected, and so he frequently visited the Emerald Grove to regain his energies. 

Lastly, your beloved Astarion had been given the esteemed position of the city’s chief magistrate. Having recognised Asterion’s extensive knowledge and experience in matters of governance, Wyll had extended him the offer. With the lack of qualified candidates in the city, Wyll had pleaded with Astarion to accept the role. Astarion had begrudgingly done so, and now carried himself with an undeniable aura of authority within the hallowed halls of justice. He may have been two hundred year out of practice, but the role flooded back to him like the waters of a dam breaching. Despite putting in his best efforts, a weariness still lingered in his gaze, a silent testament to the sacrifices he had made for the greater good. However, amidst that weariness, a newfound glimmer of purpose shone through, intertwining with a sense of duty and hope that replaced his once self-centred nature. And, in those moments of fatigue, he reminded you that he would remain by your side, unwavering, through the trials that lay ahead.

Smiling at this thought, you rested your palm on his chest. You watched it rise and fall with his every breath, yet lamented that you would never hear the beating of his heart. It was only when Astarion mumbled and shifted himself that you realised you had been weeping. Your tears had smeared across your cheek when he moved.

“D-darling,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep, yet tinged with concern. He roused himself from his slumber whilst the room remained shrouded in the soft, dim glow of the moon. He shifted his body, his movements languid, so that he could meet your tired gaze. But as his searching met your sullen face, you averted your eyes, the weight of your emotions weighing upon you. A single tear trickled down your cheek, glistening like a diamond in the pale moonlight that shone through your balcony window. Gently, he cupped your chin, his thumb grazing the delicate curve of your skin, coaxing your gaze back to his. With tender care, he wiped away your tears, his touch warm and comforting. It had been countless nights since the darkness of a past vision had plagued you, yet Astarion’s memory remained steadfast, recalling each instance he had provided solace during those trying times. 

“Another nightmare?”

You gave a timid shake of your head, your vulnerability exposed. “No, not exactly,” you responded, your words barely a whisper in the tranquillity of the room.

“Do you wish to talk about what troubles you, my sweet?” he offered softly, his voice carrying a gentle melody that soothed your troubled heart. His fingers caressed your cheek with such tenderness, a warmth spread through your skin, offering comfort in his touch. 

“No, I am alright. You needn’t worry about me, my love,” you reassured him, your voice offering a return of his love. 

A sigh escaped Astarion’s lips as he leaned back, his eyes studying your face with a mix of concern and affection. “Tavrin, sweetheart, you know dreadfully well that I always fret about you.” 

Unable to contain it, a soft chuckle escaped your lips. “I know,” you replied, your gaze meeting his deep red orbs, their intensity drawing you in. A smile, brimming with adoration, curved your lips. “But I am fine. I was just recalling all the trials and tribulations we have endured, and all the solace and tranquilities that have been entwined. Particularly us, where tranquillity is concerned.” 

“Is that so?” He asked after a moment, bringing you in by the waist to plant a feathery kiss upon your lips. “Did any particular memory take precedence?” His query, though one of interest, was rather provocative in nature. You could not help but blush at his silky tone. From the heat which flushed your cheeks, he knew your thoughts had delved into something wanton.  

You shivered as his delectable touch smoothed along your collarbone. 

“The graveyard,” you mumbled coyly, “when you had shown me your grave.” 

“Oh?” As his brows raised in genuine surprise, his eyes sparkled with curiosity. “And why, exactly, did you recall that?”

You raised your chin, refusing to allow his flirtations to get the better of you. “Because it is when you confessed your undying love for me,” you answered with a playful air of defiance.

Grinning, it was his cheeks that now tinged with a blush. “Well, I had meant everything I had said - and done - that night, darling.” 

You felt yourself tingle from his honest proclamation. 

“I’m sure you did.”

“Do you not believe me?” He made a flamboyant gesture of feigned hurt. 

“Of course I do,” you responded without hesitation, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose in an offer of reassurance. 

Letting out a soft scoff, Astarion lazily reclined against the plush maroon velvet goose-feather pillows positioned behind your heads. The rich fabric felt luxurious against his pale, bare skin. As he settled, he gently pulled you down with him, drawing you into another intimate embrace. Having fed from you before you had both turned in for the night, his body exuded a warmth which enveloped you, his touch sending a delectable tingle through the junction between your thighs.

In the hushed atmosphere, a moment of quiet pause hung in the air. Astarion broke the silence, his voice low and enticing. “Well,” he began, his tone laced with a hint of mischief, “I’m more than willing to prove it to you again if I must.” 

His uncanny hearing caught the soft, almost indistinguishable moan of arousal that escaped your mouth. A corner of his thin lips curved into a salacious grin then, as his crimson gaze locked onto you, intense and penetrating. He let out a low hum, his breath warm against your cheek, and lightly teased one of your now sensitive buds with the feather-light brush of his fingertips.

“Tell me what it is you wish for, my love, and I will make it so.” 

“Astarion…” a moan escaped your breathless lips. He did not need an answer. He could read your needs like an open book. Taking you by your forearms, he pulled you to be flush against his body, your back pressed against his chest. Nuzzling the side of your bared neck with his mouth, he discerns your jugular with the tips of his fangs, daring not to pierce your skin. His nimble fingers smooth over your dark skin, 

Your breath hitched as you felt his hand reach your sex. With a delicate touch, he caressed the inside of your thighs, his fingers teasing the soft and sensitive skin. Your core ached with desire, a yearning to be filled by him.

A low growl escaped his lips as he slipped his fingers between your folds. A delectable slick wetness enveloped them as he entered you, your walls clenching around him. With the skill and finesse of a practised lover, he teased you, eliciting a deep, drawn moan. Your hips rolled against his hand, desperate for friction, desperate to feel him.

You felt his tongue, smooth and velvety, graze along your shoulder, his kisses soft and gentle. 

Pleasure washed over you, coursing through every fibre of your being, mingling with the heat of lust and desire.

Astarion knew what he did to you, and he did not relent. His fingers slid in and out, his rhythmic motions a tantalising torment. He tortured your clit as well, and masterfully caressed the exact spot that caused you to squirm and moan.

Your heart raced as his mouth brushed against your neck, his lips hovering above your skin, teasing you. Your blood pulsated through your groin, and a fire burned like the pits of Avernus between your thighs.

Your breaths became shallow as the heat built up, your muscles clenching in anticipation. You wanted to feel him deep inside of you, riding you like a wild beast.

Just as you were about to beg, his fingers withdrew. You cried out with disappointment.

You turned to face him, a frown marring your features, a whine of protest upon your lips. Before you could utter a word, his lips were on yours, and his hands were exploring the rest of your delectable body.

You returned his kiss with fervour, your tongues intertwining. You tasted the faint traces of blood on his tongue, your blood, a remnant of his recent feed and it sent your senses wild.

“Astarion...” you whimpered.

His hands continued to roam, teasing your buds, kneading your flesh, and caressing your inner thighs.

“What is it, my darling?” He asked, his tone dripping with sensual amusement.

“Take me.”

You could see the fire ignite within his gaze. He did love to hear you beg.

“Are you certain, sweetheart?” He purred, his tone laden with temptation. “I’m not sure you can handle all of me again.”

He was teasing you; challenging you.

“Try me.”

With a low, husky groan, Astarion rolled you onto your back. With his knee, he spread your legs. You could see the raw lust within his gaze as his eyes travelled the length of your naked body. You knew that look well, and it excited every part of your being.

“Do not say I did not warn you, my love.” His voice was a deep purr. His words were a promise.

Taking his manhood, he teased the outside of your folds, coating it with your juices. A gasp escaped your lips. Your hands dug into the bedsheets, desperately seeking something to cling to.

In a swift motion, Astarion entered you. You arched your back and let out a loud, drawn-out moan. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your fingers hard against the scars on his back. 

As he moved within you, your hips grinded with him. Your senses were heightened as his touch set your skin alight, and his rhythmic motions brought forth a deep, intense pleasure that threatened to consume you.

“Astarion.” You whimpered, pearls of sweat forming along your brow. As he thrust against you, he brought his hand to your face to caress your cheek ever so adoringly.

“My darling, you are so exquisite.”

A low, husky growl escaped his lips then and he picked up his pace. The sound of his groans of pleasure drove your senses insane. Your muscles began to tense, and your breaths became more shallow. The heat of his skin on yours was electrifying. 

As he felt you tighten around him, Astarion leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours. You could feel the heat of his breath on your mouth. His tongue ran along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Do not fight it, darling.” He murmured, his voice thick and seductive.

You moaned in response, your nails digging harder into his skin. You felt a rush of pleasure wash over you, and suddenly, the world was a haze. Your entire body was on fire. Your breath came in short gasps as your walls clenched around him again. You could feel your own wetness on your inner thighs.

It was all too much, especially with the loud creaking of the bed.

You let out a loud, primal cry, and felt a sudden wave of ecstasy drown you. But Astarion wasn’t finished with you yet. His thrusts were still relentless, and his kisses were passionate and demanding.

“Do you have any idea how much I adore you, my love?” He growled. “Every inch of you, every sound that escapes your delicious lips. Gods, you’re divine.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond. Your mind was a blur of euphoria, and you could barely form a coherent thought. You were completely intoxicated by the scent of him, the taste of him, and the feel of him. 

Raising himself from your body, he brought your knees up with his arms and pressed them to your chest. He would put you in many more positions before he was finished with you.

Astarion continued to drive himself deep into you. His pace quickened, and the intensity of his thrust increased tenfold. He let out a deep, guttural growl.

You could tell he was close.

“Come for me, my star,” you breathed. 

With a final thrust, he buried himself deep within you, and a wave of ecstasy flooded over you both.

Your muscles contracted around him, milking him of his seed, and you both collapsed, panting, in a hot, sticky mess.

After a long pause to catch your senses, Astarion moved down to the junction between your thighs. He was still not done with you. Astarion would make you feel such pleasures that your mind would elect to forget all that had been troubling you. He didn’t care for his own seed that was dripping from your core. He wanted to taste you. All of you.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered his mouth, and his tongue darted out to catch your collective juices.

You arched back your neck as you felt his tongue swirling around the folds of your labia, tasting every bit of his essence that mingled with yours.

“Astarion.” You whimpered, and the sensation sent waves of pleasure throughout your body.

He took his time, savouring the sweet, salty taste, and his tongue darted in and out, bringing you close to the edge again.

“Astarion,” you breathed. “You are too much.”

You felt him smirk against your skin.

“But I’m not nearly done with you, my darling.”

And with that, he plunged his tongue deep inside of you, and began to swirl and lick, causing you to arch back your neck again, and your fingers to dig into the sheets once more.

As your orgasm approached, he continued his expert ministrations, and your body shuddered.

When he had decided he had tasted all he desired, Astarion withdrew, and kissed his way up to your navel.

“Gods,” you breathed, “you truly are insatiable.”

“Only for you, my love,” he grinned mischievously through his kisses. “I do not share.”

“Astarion,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse from the exertion. “I fear if you continue, I shall die from exhaustion.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “You have an entire night ahead of you, and I intend to enjoy every moment.”

He was teasing you, and you knew it. But, truth be told, you did not have the energy to object.

Yet he knew not to push your boundaries, and he moved to settle down beside you, gently petting your navel as he did.

“Now rest, my darling. We can continue this in the morning.”

You did not argue. Despite how exhausted you now were, you felt eager at the anticipation. 

Alas, your eyelids grew heavy as sleep overtook you, and soon you drifted off, nestled in the comfort of your lover’s arms.

[buckyshattergirl]

Enchanting Distractions

Summary: Tav (reader) has ADHD/is bad at setting boundaries when it comes to their party members. Astarion comforts them.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Semi-canon compliant, takes place after the tiefling party and literally right before entering Act 2. I barely proofread it so sorry in advance. I was feeling particularly upset at myself today and so this is what I wrote up.

The days had been starting to blur together as you made your way through the mountain pass. Tomorrow your party would step into the shadow-cursed lands, so it was decided to set up camp early for the night to ensure that everyone was well-rested and prepared. Tension ran through the camp, everyone on edge with the possibility of finding the cause of the tadpoles. Whatever happens tomorrow could very well be the end of your journey.

As everyone set up their tents, you began to look through your supplies, separating potions, arrows, and scrolls into piles to give to your companions. While organizing everything, the sound of Lae’zel and Shadowheart bickering caused you to lift your head. They had never gotten along since the beginning of this tadpole mess but after the Githyanki Creche their hatred for each other seemed to amplify.

“I would say that I’m surprised that machine was unable to get rid of the tadpoles, but then again, I wouldn’t expect gith to know what they were doing,” Shadowheart had taunted Lae’zel.

“The zaith'isk was tampered with! Githyanki technology is far beyond your understanding, and if you had something other than a tadpole in your brain, you would realize the mistake in your words,” Lae’zel shot back. She turned to herself before saying, “Useless istik, mindlessly following a false god”

“What did you just say?” Shadowheart said as she readied herself to attack.

“Your ‘goddess’ ordered you to steal a precious artifact from my people, and yet knowing that does not change your unwavering belief. A goblin has more integrity than you,” Lae’zel said as she continued to walk away.

“Shar is a real goddess, unlike the githyanki’s petty attempt at a goddess, Vlaakith,” Shadowheart yells as she begins to sprint toward Lae’zel. The fighter had already pulled out her sword and the clashing of metal rang through the air. You sighed, standing up from the mess that laid out before you, and ran towards the fight. Before you could intervene, Karlach had taken her great axe and held it out in between the two aggressors before berating them.

“For fuck’s sake guys, the whole point of setting up camp early was to rest for tomorrow, not argue and waste our energy on dumb fights.” As Karlach said this, Shadowheart cast gust of wind to push her opponent back, accidentally hitting Karlach in the crossfire. She had succeeded at causing Lae’zel to lose her grip on her sword but had caused that sword to slash into Karlach’s leg. The tiefling groaned as she kneeled to the ground, clutching her thigh.

You ran back to your bag and turned it upside down, dumping all the contents onto the piles you had started to make earlier, and rummaged through your items until you found a healing potion and some fire-resistant bandages. When you ran over to Karlach to heal her, Wyll was already yelling at the two women who had caused an unnecessary injury.

“Your recklessness has caused this bloodshed!” he sounded exasperated as you handed Karlach the potion, unraveling the bandages and starting to dress her wound, careful to not burn yourself in the process. “You both are distracted by your own prejudices and disdain for each other that the thought you may be hurting others in the process never crossed your minds. So caught up in yourselves, you have yet to see the irony of the words you throw at each other.”

Wyll continued his lecture as you focus on Karlach, watching her toss aside the empty potion bottle. “Thanks, soldier,” she says with a weak smile. She pushes herself off of the ground, causing Wyll to pause his lecture and rush to her side. “I’m fine, just gonna head to bed early,” she says while sidestepping past him.

You take a breath and start to think of how to address the situation that just happened when suddenly, Gale is by your side, anxiously fumbling with his hands. Realization overcame you and you tried to recall the last time you had given the wizard an enchanted item to consume the magic from. 

“I know now might not be the best time,” he starts, “but there really never is a good time nowadays, is there?” he finishes with a chuckle to himself.

“I should have an enchanted ring in my bag—“ you stop when you glance back at your backpack, contents strewn across the ground.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Gale says quickly. “Dinner isn’t going to cook itself!” He makes his way to his tent and you drag your feet back to your backpack, dreading the mess you’ll have to clean up. Sifting through the items, you create another pile of the things you already looked through. Focused on organizing, you don’t hear Astarion sneak up on you.

“My my, these are quite the… piles you have here,” he says while crouching down across from you. “What’s with all these arrows and grenades? Have you decided to try your hand in ranged combat? Because if so,” he pauses, crimson red eyes staring into your soul, “I’d be more than happy to give you some private lessons.” He bares his teeth, his fangs glistening. You’re tempted to take him up on the offer before you remember why you got those items in the first place.

“Oh, those aren’t for me. I’ve been picking up stuff here and there, and I figured before heading out tomorrow I’d give some to everyone. I was actually organizing everything,” you say, completely forgetting that you were looking for a ring, “and I was going to try and figure out what would be best for everyone to have, but since you’re here, you can pick whatever you want.”

“I can choose anything here?” Astarion asks with a smirk. You nod your head and he responds by picking up your hand and giving it a kiss on the palm, “Then I pick you, my dear.”

Your cheeks flush red as you stutter out a response. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Astarion had been teasing you a lot more lately, and while you didn’t mind, it had proven to be an extra distraction. 

He chuckled at your pout, caressing your face with his other hand, his thumb pressing down on your lower lip. You both stare at each other for a moment, before he sighs and brings his hands back to his side. “Well, if I can’t have you I guess I need to figure something else out.” He scans over the pile and picks up a necklace.

“Wait, not that,” you say while snatching the jewelry away from him. “That can restore one of Shadowheart’s spells, I should go give that to her.” You stand up and run off to find the cleric, not noticing the disgruntled look Astarion has on his face. He sighs and looks down at the clutter, beginning to sift through the items.

While making your way to Shadowheart’s tent, you hear Halsin comfort a whining Scratch. “There, there, I’m sure we will retreive it soon enough,” the druid says while gently petting the dog. “Ah, Tav, could I bother you for a moment? Scratch seems to have lost his ball in a burrow and neither of us can reach it. Would mind seeing if you can grab it?”

Scratch runs up to you and paces around you in circles before you lean down to him, “Of course I’ll help you out, buddy.” Without thinking, you set the necklace on a nearby rock, crouching down to the burrow and searching for the ball. In the shadows you spot it, deep inside the tunnel, and you reach your arm in. 

Your fingers are barely able to reach the toy, and you’re about to maneuver the ball out when Gale speaks. “Tav, I’m terribly sorry to ask again, but were you able to find the enchanted ring perchance?” The ball rolls out of your grasp, and you let out a long sigh before retracting your arm.

“Sorry, Gale, I got distracted. As soon as I get this ball out for Scratch I’ll go and get it for you.” Content with that answer he nods and walks off. Reaching your hand back into the hole, you push yourself against the ground, the extra leverage closing the distance between your hand and the toy. You let out a breath before throwing the ball, Scratch bounding after it.

“Thank you, Tav!” Halsin says as he runs after the dog.

Walking back to where Astarion sits rummaging through your things, Wyll interrupts you. “Tav, do you by chance have a fire resistance potion? I was wanting to give Karlach these flowers to cheer her up,” he says, holding the bouquet in front of him sheepishly. Although Wyll and Karlach had been foes in Avernus, they’re relationship was slowly blossoming into a gentle romance.

“That’s very sweet of you, Wyll. I should have one in my stuff.” You both head over to the piles of items that Astarion had started to organize. It would be nice to have someone think about me like Wyll thinks about Karlach, you ponder as you bend down next to Astarion, grabbing the fire resistance potion that sat buried within the clutter. “Here you go,” you hand Wyll the potion, “I think those will make her very happy.”

Wyll says a quick thanks as he opens the potion with his teeth, hastily pouring the contents over the bouquet and heading off to Karlach’s tent. Clearing his throat, Astarion asks “Did Shadowheart enjoy your gift?” he says with a slight frown and a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“My what?”

He stares at you for a second, before elaborating, “The necklace? The one that you oh so rudely snatched from my hands.” He watches as your face scrunches up tightly trying to remember what he’s talking about before you gasp.

“The necklace!”

“Yes, the necklace,” he sighs.

“Where did I put it?” you say as you frantically pat down your pockets.

Astarion starts to tease you again, “Really, darling, how could you misplace something like that? I thought that necklace was important after you had yanked it out of my hand and ran off to Shadowheart.” He’s chuckling to himself when he notices the genuine frustration that is starting to seep off of you.

“I just had it. I was holding it in my hand. Where could I have put it?” you mutter to yourself, your breath starting to quicken. Dread creeps through your chest as you begin to mentally retrace your steps. “Think, dammit, think!” Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, a lump taking place in the back of your throat. Astarion stood up and reached his hand tentatively towards yours, squeezing it gently to try and bring you back to the present.

Gale had made his way back over to you, seeing that you were near your things. “I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I really do need that ring if you have it,” He says while clutching his chest. Astarion glares daggers at the wizard who is either oblivious or purposely ignoring your stress, but you don’t notice as your mind has drifted off.

Right, you think to yourself, I came over here to look for the ring. Without saying a word, you push away Astarion’s hand and sink to the ground, aimlessly pushing around everything trying to find the ring. Astarion studies you, the way your hands seem to be searching for the relic while your eyes glaze over and stare at nothing, until your hand brushes over the small golden circle and you grasp it firmly. You sigh and recollect yourself before turning around and jumping up to Gale, handing him the ring with a forced smile and laugh. “Sorry for the delay! I’ve been so forgetful lately.”

He takes the ring from your hand, clutching it tightly while absorbing the magic into his chest. When he opens his hand, the ring is broken into two. “Ah, apologies. Dinner should be finished soon. Thanks again,” he says with a bow before leaving.

You sigh before returning to the pile, starting to organize it once again. From the outside, people would assume that you’re just forgetful and easily distracted, most even finding your frantic and hectic demeanor cute. You can’t help but feel like a burden, requiring constant reminders to stay on task, feeling like you need to rely on others instead of yourself. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, either, but no matter how many times you repeated tasks to yourself, how many times you had written down what needs to be done, how many times you had try to will focus into your mind, nothing changed. It's always been like this, and now with the stress of the unknown ahead, you’ve been getting distracted more.

Astarion watches you, determined to organize the mess on the ground. When he first met you, you had brushed off your forgetfulness and laughed along with anyone who had made a joke at your expense. It had annoyed him to no end when you would walk into the same room, multiple times, that you had just looted. This aloofness only seemed to grow after you both had come to an agreement that Astarion could drink your blood in order to satiate his thirst, the only side affect being your increased mind-wandering.

After another 30 minutes of watching you return to the same room over and over to loot, he had decided that you both would search the rooms together, if nothing else to lessen the time it took at each town. He didn’t expect that during the extra, private time you both were now spending together he would begin to grow fond of you. While he would be working on a lock of a chest, you would grab a book and immediately become immersed in it. At first, he would use this time to pocket the most valuable items found in whatever container he had just opened, but as time went on, he had started to ask you questions about what you were reading.

It had caught him off guard when you looked up at him with excitement in your eyes as you explained the gossip in the diary you found, and he couldn’t help but become intrigued himself. Quickly, a new routine had started: while Astarion would loot and lockpick whatever he could get his hands on, you would find diaries, notes, and books to read outloud. He would respond to the especially vulgar and outlandish things you would recite with theatrical gasps and awes. One time, you had stumbled across a particularly sad letter from a person who begged their lover to wait for them, only for their lover to respond that they had never returned. A choked sob had escaped your lips when you finished the letter, and Astarion had quickly called you over to distract you.

“It’s about time that you learn how to use one of these,” he said while he pushed a lockpick into your hands. “If you’re going to stare at me while I do all the work, you may as well get something out of it.” He had been joking, but you hadn’t taken it that way. A wave a guilt and embarrassment had washed over you as you resolved to force yourself to learn what he was teaching you. It was all in vain, however, as every ten minutes when he would ask you to demonstrate, your hands would clam up and your mind would go blank.

“Darling, is it really that hard to focus? Or am I just that distracting, hm?” he had joked.

You wouldn’t look into his eyes, instead you had begun to fumble with the lockpick in your hands. “I’m sorry,” you had whispered, “I’m really trying.”

You had expected him to berate you or to even make a joke about how useless you were, but instead he had sighed and positioned himself behind you, placing his hands over yours as he talked you through the steps, yet again, of lockpicking. When you had heard the final click of the lock, you quickly turned to look at the man who had helped you. Inches away from each other’s faces, he smiled softly and brought one of his hands up to your cheek as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“See? You can focus,” he had said while giving you a tight squeeze.

The sound of your sigh brought him back to the present, and he stared at you for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to go and look for the necklace while you do this?” You stop moving things around and just sit there, defeated. The necklace had completely slipped your mind, just like the ring. Your body begins to shake as tears run down your cheek. Astarion slowly kneels next to you, grabbing the potions and arrows from your hand and setting them off to the side. “Hey, it’s alright. Shh-shh-shh, there’s no need to ruin that beautiful face of yours.”

You start to sob quietly. Why was this so difficult for you? You were able to talk your way out of situations, fight enemies with ease, and coordinate a fighting strategy that used everyone to the best of their abilities, yet you were unable to do such simple things. You draw your hands to your eyes, pressing harshly into them to try and stop the tears that fall out. Astarion gingerly moves his arms around you in a hug, as gentle as he can muster as to not startle you. He squeezes you tightly and you stay like that for a while, before you’re able to croak out a simple question that leaves a pain in his chest.

“What’s wrong with me?” You move your hands away from your face and turn your head to look at him, expecting to see frustration in his eyes but instead finding something softer. It looks as if he’s genuinely concerned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Tav,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper.

“Then why,” you say with trembling words, “why can’t I do such simple things? Why is it so difficult for me to remember what I’m doing, to not get distracted?”

Astarion sighs as he looks at you with his big, round eyes. “You are capable of much more than you know, my sweet. You were designated the leader for a reason. You’re brave, witty, and above all else, kind. You are so sickenly kind and patient with everyone, yet you don’t afford yourself the same grace,” he says as he rubs circles into your back. “You’ve been kind to those that don’t deserve it, but you’re never kind to yourself.”

“Thank you,” you reply meekly. You hated crying in front of your companions, but you found that you didn’t mind being comforted by Astarion.

“Besides, darling,” the vampire joked,” It’s hardly your fault that you keep getting distracted when there are six adult children who need constant supervision.”

“Don’t you mean seven?”

He pulled away from you with a gasp. “I think I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, you don’t need to see me for blood anymore then, right?” you teased.

Astarion squinted at you before his eyes softened and he pulled you into his arms again. You both sat like that for a while before he spoke, barely above a whisper, “I don’t only need you for blood.” Before you can respond, Gale’s call to dinner causes Astarion to push you up. “Go on, enjoy dinner.” You start to protest and gesture to the mess that still needs to be cleaned up before he cuts you off, “I’ll take care of it.” As he begins to sort through the items, he catches your eye before you leave. 

“I hope you know that I’m still expecting to see you tonight,” he says with a sultry voice. If you hadn’t gotten closer recently, you would take what he says at face value, a meaningless flirt to rile you up. But beneath his smirk you can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

It will need to wait for another time as your stomach grumbles, and you remember that you had forgotten to eat lunch that day. You say a quick thank-you before running off to join the rest of the party, feeling more at ease about the adventure that lay before you.

[buckyshattergirl]

in my dream world that i live in sometimes we stop saying things like “NOBODY is gross or dirty!!!” And start saying things like “being gross or dirty isn’t a moral flaw or failing”

[buckyshattergirl]

The Things I’ve Never Done Pt.8

Word Count: 2,695

Status: Suggested!

@: @outrosins & numerous lovely Nonnies!

A/N: It;s been like a year of multiple ideas and ways to continue this book, but I’ve finally got the ending in mind. These last chapters are gonna HURT!

Fandom: Titanic 1997

Relationship: Caledon “Cal” Hockley x Brown!Female!Reader

Summary: All dreams come to an end soon enough; and that meant the end of the small vacation on the Titanic. Bonds are formed, broken, and pulled as the last, fond memories of the Titanic come to a close - before its name is encompassed by a dark pit in your heart. 

Warnings: mature language, switches between past and present day Y/N, some angst, fluff, this is April 13th in April 14th, 1912 when the Titanic sinks in the early hours of the morning, dreams of the future, some nostalgia from older Y/N, uncertain future in the end

Masterlist Titanic Masterlist Part One Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4* Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.9   Pt.10 [epilogue]

Taglist: @tangledcopperstrands @snapessecretdiary

{gif is not mine, credits go to @ofdyingdragons​}

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[buckyshattergirl]

Good Boy

For Kinktober - Prompt: Praise Kink + Mommy Kink

Kinktober Masterlist

18+ MDNI

Summary: After a stressful day at work, Steven let’s you take care of him. You’re always happy to take care of your good boy.

Pairing: sub!Steven Grant x softdom!Female Reader

WC: ~1.2k

This work contains: What it says on the tin (mommy kink + praise kink), subby Steven <3, breast+nipple play (vanilla but there’s a lot of it), thigh riding, spit as lube (don’t do that irl), handjobs, there’s no penetration in this one, please let me know if I missed anything

~~~~~~~~

Steven was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor and mouth slightly agape.

He was completely in awe at the sight of you in front of him, dressed only in the black lacy lingerie set Marc had picked out for you awhile back that they all loved.

When he had told you about his rather terrible day at work, he wasn’t sure what to expect when you said you had the perfect way to help him relax.

He definitely wasn’t complaining.

You rubbed your hands up and down his tired shoulders, climbing up on him to straddle his lap.

His hands immediately went to your lower back, just barely above the hem of your underwear.

“I know you had a bad day, my love. You deserve to be taken care of,” You purred, brushing your lips against the outer shell of his ear. “So, are you going to let mommy take care of you, baby?”

Steven swallowed hard, squirming a bit under you.

“Yes! Yes, I will,” he responded eagerly, running his hands up your back. “I’ll be good, mommy.”

You leaned back from him, pressing a quick kiss to his parted lips.

“Arms up.” You directed softly, smiling when he immediately obeyed.

Your hands grabbed the bottom of his long sleeved shirt, tugging it up and over his head to let it fall somewhere on the floor.

“That’s my good boy,” you praised sweetly, petting his curly hair. “Go ahead, my love.”

He didn’t need to ask what you meant.

You felt his fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra for a second before getting it undone, the straps falling from your shoulders. You freed the garment from your arms, tossing it aside.

His eyes immediately went to your tits, but his hands remained on your back.

You saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips quickly, then he looked back up to you with wide eyes.

So obedient.

“Do you want to suck mommy’s tits, baby?” You asked with a smirk, watching the slight blush creep up his chest and cheeks. “All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

“Yes please,” he breathed out without hesitation, not breaking eye contact with you.

The desperation in his voice was evident, as was the growing tent in his sweatpants. The eager look in his gorgeous brown eyes made the heat in the pit of your stomach start to build.

You climbed off of him, and he looked at you in confusion for a moment.

“Lay down for me,” you instructed, standing by the end of bed and waiting.

He immediately shuffled up by the headboard, laying his head on the pillow and getting comfortable.

You crawled back into the bed, making your way up his body until your legs were straddling his chest.

“Always so good for me,” you whispered to him with a smile, placing your hands on either side of his head so your tits were right above his face. “Whenever you’re ready, baby.”

Steven didn’t need to be told twice.

His hands immediately came up to cup your breasts, just holding them for a moment before he squeezed them lightly.

He pushed them together only to shove his face between them, licking and nipping at the skin.

The sight beneath you was undeniably beautiful, and you were sure there was a visibly wet spot on your underwear.

Your breath hitched as Steven moved his mouth to latch onto your left nipple, one of his hands continuing to fondle your right tit.

You felt his tongue swirling around your nipple as he sucked, his teeth lightly grazing your tender flesh. It made your pussy throb, clenching around nothing.

“You always make mommy feel so good,” you encouraged him through increasingly heavy breaths, and he moaned against your skin. “So good, Steven.”

He pulled his mouth from your tit with a pop, then quickly switched to the right. His hand grabbed your left one now, spreading the small amount of his spit around as he groped and squeezed.

You could feel how wet you were as he continued to suck and squeeze, growing more and more desperate for him.

He looked so content under you; eyes closed as he simply enjoyed the feeling of having your tits in his face.

“Mommy wants to make you feel good now, sweet boy,” you stuttered a bit, sitting upright and freeing your nipple from his mouth. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, mommy,” he heaved out, lips slightly wet and glistening.

You rolled to the side, kneeling on the bed beside him. You help him get his pants and underwear off easily, and he kicks them onto the floor. You slid your own off as well, tossing them away.

You seated yourself so you were straddling his thigh, spitting into your hand before wrapping it around his hard cock.

He jolted a bit as you did so, biting his lip to hold back a whine.

You moved your hand slowly, gradually working up to the perfect speed.

You started rocking your hips in unison with the movements of your hand, rubbing your wet cunt over his thigh.

Steven lifted his leg just enough to give you some much needed pressure between your legs, watching you in awe.

Little breathy gasps spilled from your lips, your juices coating his thigh beneath you.

He grabbed handfuls of the sheets beneath him, throwing his head back as you continued to jerk him off.

“So gorgeous, baby,” you made sure to keep up the sweet words, loving how he blushed with each one.

Your thumb teased his slit a bit, and he squirmed with an effort to stay still and continue being good for you.

Through his own pleasure, he reached one hand to play with your clit. The action took you by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

You angled your hips so he could reach you where you sat on his thigh, stuttering your hips as he played with you.

“That’s it… such a good boy,” you groaned out, the movements of your hand becoming more frantic and unsteady. “My good boy.”

“Your good boy,” Steven echoed back, speeding up his own fingers.

You focused back on setting the rhythm of your hand around him, or at least as much as you could.

His tip was leaking, dark and full.

“M-mommy please!” He cried out suddenly, screwing his eyes shut.

“What is it, baby?” You coaxed him sweetly, not stopping or slowing down your movements.

He didn’t slow down either.

“Can….Can I cum?” he asked through his near constant moans, his eyes still shut tight. “Please, mommy?”

“Of course baby. You’re so good; telling me what you need,” you gave him the praise he craved, rubbing his thigh lovingly. “Mommy will always give her good boy what he needs.”

You sped up your hand, rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock.

With that he spilled into your hand, little moans sounding with each heaving breath.

His fingers brought you to your own climax, making your juices gush over his thigh and hand.

Both of you were left panting, crashing from your respective highs.

You pulled yourself up long enough to grab a warm cloth and some water for the both of you, then crawled back into bed with Steven.

Once you were both cleaned up he laid his head on your bare chest, fully relaxed and content. You kissed the top of his head, combing your fingers through his messy hair.

It didn’t take long for both of you to drift off to sleep, staying cuddled together through the night.

[buckyshattergirl]

Show me | c.b

Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto (The Bear) x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, [one action was done with dubious consent; make sure you get consent when having intimacy with others].

Tags: slight sub!carmy, switch!carmy, virgin!carmy, experienced!reader (there's a bit of a power dynamic thing going on so if you're not comfortable with that then please don't force yourself), some size kink, one use of nickname (baby), insecure!carmy + (emotional hurt/comfort??), carmy has a praise kink?, carmy needs a hug, no use of y/n, brief edging, handjob (m!receiving & f!receiving?), p in v sex, no protection (wrap it!), creampie, cockwarming? I guess, not entirely proofread.

Word Count: 4,180

Summary: Carmy and you are in a serious relationship. Carmy has gotten to the point where he knows what he wants, and that is to lose his virginity to the one he trusts. Will you show him what he has been missing out on for so long? Will you treat him the way he deserves?— Absolutely.

A/N: Hello everyone, I'm sorry I have been MIA. This is my attempt to get back into writing. It is also my first submission for 2023's Lazy Ghouls Kinktober. The prompt I used for the week was virginity.

You can not take my work or translate it without my permission. This piece of fiction is mine, and only the character belongs to its original creators.

Honestly, you should’ve felt more considerate about the situation before you. Even though you could physically feel the anxiety that was thrumming through his blood and intoxicating the air, you could only focus on the honey glow coating his curls. The sun shone through the window of your Chicago apartment, illuminating half of his frame in its warm light. His eye, closest to the sun’s reach, held a crystalline structure of the purest blue. Even as his gaze flitted away from you, searching for some ease to his uncertainty, you could only focus on his beauty. It was only when his weathered hand moussed through his curls that you were brought back to Earth. 

“Are we sure about this?” He asks, meeting your eye from beneath his lashes. “I mean… you kind of got the shit end of this deal here.”

“Says who? I’m happy with this outcome,” You smiled, your fingers playing with a crease in his pant leg. 

“I just— I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into,” he said, sealing his lips in that nervous habit of his. 

“You’ve explained it to me… I know what I’m getting, and it doesn’t make me want you any less.” You eased your hand onto his thigh, almost as if to transfer your feelings through touch. “So, stop trying to scare me away.”

“Trust me… that’s the last thing I want to do.” He exclaimed with a weak chuckle.

“I do… I do trust you,” you used him to scoot yourself closer to him on the sofa. “---and I want you to trust me too.”

“I want to do this. I want to do this with you.” He quickly averted his stare, clasping his hands around one another to rub at his knuckles. “...it’s just that, I’m not sure how— How do I do this?” 

You cover his hands with your own, tracing his tattoos with your thumbs in slow circles. 

“I mean—” He suddenly cut in, “I’ve watched it—y’know—so I’m not oblivious. I just, I— God! Why is this so difficult!?” He jumped to his feet, taking his hands to wipe the nerves from his face, his fist rising to rest over his lips; fearful that if he said any more, he would expose just how afraid he truly was. He was resisting the urge to run for the hills, the urge to accept that he just may never make it passed this step. 

You rest your hand on his lower back, slowly approaching him from behind. With your hands looped around his chest and your ear turned to rest against his back, you breathe your words of advice: “...you take it one step at a time, one foot behind the other, and I’ll be here the whole way.” 

“If you ever want to stop, or slow down, you can tell me.” You added. “I care about you, you know that?” 

“...yea,” he hummed.

“I don’t expect you to be some type of sex god on your first go…” you huffed a laugh, “But, I do expect to have a good time… and if you let me take the lead, I’d like to make it so that you have a good time too.” 

Carmy felt torn, maybe it was unrealistic to think that he’d be great right off the bat, that he could please you without guidance. All that he could go off of was the porn he watched as a teenager and the dreams of you that have been plaguing his sleepless nights. He couldn’t help but feel ashamed that he couldn’t perform to how he wanted… and at how a part of him enjoyed the way you were speaking to him. He shouldn’t like the thought of being taken care of, it was the guy who was supposed to take the lead, right? 

You could feel the warmth of his hand fall upon yours, the rough pads of his fingers trailing faintly atop your skin. A taut breath shuddered within his chest before his mouth opened to voice his want, “...show me.”

Taking hold of his hand, you led him towards your bed away from the couch, keeping in his view all the while. You placed a light peck on his hand and watched as a smile tugged at his lips. Once the backs of your legs met the mattress, you guided his rough hand to your chest, bringing him just that little bit closer. Your lips met in a gentle kiss, coaxing a pleased hum from his throat.

“Take this off f’me,“ you pointed to your shirt, the rest of your fingers still slotted with his. 

His ministrations were eager as he tugged at the fabric with his lips still against yours. You subtly released his grip, placing the both of your hands on his hips to give him more mobility to free you of your clothing. 

“Slow,” you whispered upon breaking your kiss, grinning when his body nearly chased yours. “...like this.” 

You recaptured his lips before sneaking your fingertips below the hem of his white-t, the rest of your hands soon followed as you traveled to the dimples in his back. Relishing in the goosebumps that arose on his skin, you paused to appreciate the moment. By raking your nails up the back of his sides, his body shudders. His shirt raises the further your reach meets the underside of his arms and you hook your fingers beneath the fabric to tug it up and over his head. Carmy then makes a sound of disapproval when you ultimately have to end the kiss to remove his shirt. 

To your surprise, he doesn’t shy away once his chest is bare for you to see. Instead, he mimics your action, opting to personalize it to his own liking. He begins palm first, resting it affront your belly, just barely above your core. The sheer size of his hand in comparison to you is enough to make you flutter. His other hand stabilizes your back, resting it on the crest of your ass, pulling you into him— close. Carmy rests his forehead against yours, his glossy, blown-out eyes intruding deeply into yours. 

“How’s this?” he asks, his tone bordering a plea, as his hand travels higher. His hips cant towards you while his composure inevitably dwindles, having underestimated just how much he wanted to do this before. 

You can feel the callouses beneath his fingertips trail over the ridges of your ribs, stalling as they meet the underwire of your bra. You can hear Carmy’s exhales begin to shake, watching as his lashes grow even heavier. He helps your shirt the last bit of the way with his other hand and his lips part when he finally sees the skin beneath. His eyes drift to a close as he practically breathes you in, his hand slotting into your side where Carmy’s thumb mindlessly makes a rhythm of its own in the grooves of your skin. 

You ridge your fingers over the waistband of his jeans, anchoring him as you continue your kiss. Almost as if it were a handle, simply made for your possession. “My bra,” you direct, barely registering the need to speak, all too consumed by the taste of mint gum and something warm– something undefinable. 

Now this— Carmy actually felt like he could manage. He had done it once before in high school, ushered to a party he otherwise didn’t want to attend. The girl, he didn’t even know her name, but she had already taken her shirt off for him. All that was left was the bra, he managed to fumble for it in the dark before someone barged in and marked that he remain a virgin well into adulthood. Carmy was thankful for that now; you were well worth the wait. Whatever he could’ve experienced pales in comparison to sharing this bed with you, even if it has only just begun. 

Carmy didn’t register that he would have to focus on the ministrations of his fingers instead of melting at your lips long enough to undo the clasp. You had this hold over him that was all-consuming like some thick haze clouding his vision; he wanted to give into it. But, fighting his innermost wishes, he tugged at the clasp, and couldn’t help but grin against your lips at his successful first attempt. Like a child, he nearly wanted to bolster his achievement with a celebratory fist, but knew well enough to avoid looking like an idiot. 

But, he might’ve failed at doing just that because the second he caught sight of your chest, he could feel all sense escape him. His head dropped to your shoulder, his thick curls tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. You can feel the warm puffs of his exhale against your skin, his breath growing more haggard by the second. His hands traveled up the expanse of your sides, cupping your breasts in each of his palms. His hold— incredibly gentle, muscles taut with obvious restraint. He sublimates with a fierce kiss to your nape, a groan escaping his lips despite muffling himself into your shoulder. 

“What do you want, Carmy?” you meagered out on short breath, “Tell me,” 

His arm snakes around your torso, taking a bruising hold as he anchors you close to him. His other hand gropes the mound of your breast, the vein beneath his skin growing prominent as he wills himself to hold onto what remains of his restraint. 

He makes an incoherent sound, filled with need and almost reminiscent of a word, but he nuzzles your neck as if he conveyed what he wished. He pushes his hips into yours, pulling away to look at where you met as if he were putting himself on display. “It hurts,” he whines with a wounded look… one that you would damn near call him devious for. 

You undo the button of his jeans and watch as the fabric tries to force its way open at the pressure beneath. The zipper undoes itself halfway and you guide it the rest to reveal the bulge beneath his cotton briefs. He sighs with a slack jaw at the relief, watching your hands intently in anticipation. You palm him through his briefs for a moment, teasing at the weight of him in your hand, gauging his expression as his brows lift and a throaty exhale falls from his lips. 

“You still okay with this?” you gloat while pulling away your hand, “We can still stop.”

His grip immediately snaps to your wrist as his eyes bore into yours, “Not funny.”

You gingerly hum a reply, “Kinda funny.” 

You begin pulling your pants below your ass before stepping out of them one leg after the other and Carmy takes the cue to do the same. You took a seat on the mattress, playing audience as he took off the tight fabric. He kept taking glimpses of the small cloth that was scrunched at the top of your thighs. He couldn’t help but be caught up on the fact that you were sitting before him in your underwear, your legs crossed, your ass peeking from the underside of your thigh. He would give anything to see it. The same ass he would sometimes zone out on in the kitchen from the view of his office. The same ass that was hugged perfectly from your jeans. He was broken out of his thoughts from the sound of your laughter, and he couldn’t help the heat that crept to his face at the realization that he was caught. 

Now that his jeans were gone, you could see his body for what it was. All that you could say is that you were pleased; seeing his built body and blushing face in front of you with the dick you’d been craving to see, barely hidden behind his briefs. He was almost hesitant walking over to you, like the moment was growing ever more real as it grew closer. To your surprise, when he sat next to you, he already took things into his own hands. He makes an advance at the back of your neck, swiping away any hair that resides there to clear him a space to leave small blemishes with his lips.

He was almost convincing you not to turn around, as if a distraction could postpone the rejection that he was adamant would soon occur. So, like in his pursuit of cooking, he set forth to please. He could remember the insecurity he felt when he first entered the field, the scrutiny that burned into his skin nearly as permanent as his ink tattoos, and the acidity at the back of his throat that made him feel like he was one failure away from collapsing from within. He would then drill through the motions of training and practice to overcome, like a sculptor who chiseled away at their stone. It's that same work ethic that now has him chasing your pleasure as if it were his own. It is why all sound washes away like water within his ears as he kneads delicately into your skin with all-seeking hands. As well as the reason why his kisses down the expanse of your back only relent because wanting pants were left in their wake. His eyes are sealed shut— vision abandoned so as to not see your regret nor disappointment.

 He knows yet that you’re aware of this shield, and only pains himself with a tightening chest as you pull from his embrace. The ache doesn’t go away, even once he realizes that you’ve sat yourself in his lap, facing his way. Part of him wants to flee, but he can’t even bring himself to explain why. He knows what he wants and why he’s here in this moment, but can’t ascribe the reason as to why he wants to break away despite his desire on the crest of being fulfilled— It nearly baffles him. No, It practically angers him. 

“Carm,” you begin in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re mine— and the only way you’ll stop being mine is if you don’t want me to be yours anymore.” 

He focuses on the sensation as your arm hooks over his neck for your hand to come up and play with his hair. The soft drag of your nails against his scalp has his eyes open beneath lidded hoods.

“You’re in your head right now, and I don’t want you to be… because what you’re thinking isn’t true.” He watches the words fall from your lips and hangs on every word. “Now, I say it again— if you feel like you’re not ready, I won’t rush you. But, if you don’t want to do this because you’re afraid I don’t want you?... then you’re kidding yourself.” 

He’s all out of words to say, so instead, he lifts your hand in his and guides it to touch him where he needs you most. You’re a little shocked from the change in pace with your hand now palming his eager erection. He immediately exerts a sigh, and you mention nothing of the twitch of him from beneath your touch. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he begs with poorly masked skepticism. “I wouldn’t forgive you.”

“---that’s more than I’d forgive myself,” you shake away his concern, your adamancy shining through your expression like a beacon over a fjord. 

This time when you kissed, he tasted less like mint gum and more like molten heat. This kiss was beholden of a warmth attributed to the time spent between you, something a product of late nights cleaning the kitchen to garbled jazz and rock music from a cheap speaker. It was the product of brisk air biting at your nose during alleyway conversations, the smell of crisp mornings, and cigarette smoke wafting on the wind. The result of casual dates, never acknowledged for what they were; instead, listed as evening talks spent in each other's apartments, sharing naps, and dreams of the future. 

You hold onto that feeling, the same as he does. You guide his hand to your heat, smiling as you notice his movements stutter. Without relenting, you continue to rub him above his briefs, applying gentle friction to keep him present. 

“You feel that?” you directed his hand to set aside your underwear and up to your aching bud, “that’s my clit— do you know what to do with it?”

He stations his thumb on the bundle of nerves, rolling in languid circles. His eyes, linger upon your pussy that he’s been eager to see all afternoon, but soon look up to gauge your reaction and you can almost hear his unvoiced question of ‘did I do good?’ 

“Yes,” you grin. “Right there,” 

He nearly choked when you unearthed him from his briefs with no warning, unable to push off the change in focus seeing as he was no longer in the lead. He’s probably not much longer than 6 inches, but he’s thick and sits heavy in your hand. He watches in awe as you lick a stripe up your hand before applying light pumps to his dick, afraid to push him over the edge too soon. 

“What you’re doing to me right now, I’ll show you how it feels.” you breathe a chuckle, “...it shouldn’t feel too different.”

He briefly nods before you place your thumb against his slit, your palm working away slowly against his head while your thumb mimicked the motions of his. “Oh, fuck.” he whispers as if it almost was a question. The slight squelch from your lightly clenched fist was like the spoon that stirred the swirling contents of his mind. It was cute to witness his dilemma of where he should look, either at your glistening pussy that wept at his thumb on your clit or his dick that was bare and aching under your attention. His pants grew quicker with less between and you could tell he was nearing closer. You bridged that happy medium, fastening your pace and crooning as his pants grew into meager moans. It was only once his voice grew silent and his abdomen strung tight that you removed your hand entirely. He whined a sound of displeasure, to which you gave a remorseful smile and placed a peck on his forehead. 

“Sorry baby,” you gave him an apologetic kiss for good measure. “You have to wait, we don’t want this to be over just yet.” 

You watch contently as his breath shudders in his chest, coming back down to Earth. He doesn’t have much time to register you climbing atop of him, only truly realizing once he noticed you were lining yourself up. 

“Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” you asked, taking a moment to really confirm if he was ready or not. “---no hard feelings if you aren’t.” 

“No–” his voice croaked in his throat, “No, I want this.”

You hummed in recognition of his response before lowering yourself down on him inch by inch. A pleased smile grew on your lips at the loosening of his, all while his brows formed a tight knot and he locked in on the site of where you both met. 

“Ah, fuck~” he hissed, clenching his jaw so as to not say more. 

Once he bottomed out, his head fell slack on his neck. His face– turned to the heavens, but his eyes closed in bliss.

“Mmm, you did good.” you praised. Proud that he lasted so far, you graced his exposed neck with a gentle caress of your warm hand. Your intention was to be rewarding, but truthfully, he found it laced with temptation.

With an ephemeral sigh pushed from his lungs to the sky above, you noted the jolt of him from within you. He releases a chuckle, thick with haze. “God~   you feel good…”

“What does?--” you fight back a smile, “How does my pussy feel, Carm?”

He groans, taking a brief pause before giving you your answer. “Warm~” his breath staggers, “...wet,” 

“What about now?” you ask, lifting yourself on his cock. Your hips start to rock in a languid rhythm, rolling down on his in tortuous circles. He sets again his bruising hold on your waist, as if holding you, holding anything, could keep him in this moment. 

You watch the muscles grow taut in his neck and a subtle pink blooms in the skin above his carotid. His abdomen matches; his muscles going rigid. You could tell he was already fighting his release, and it wasn’t unexpected. 

“Carmy,” you grab hold of the side of his face, your thumb resting right on the apple of his cheek. “Just let go—         you’re allowed to feel good.”

Calling it a gasp would be an exaggeration, but it was like Carmy resurfaced for air. Once he finally allowed himself to breathe, there was nothing to be done to quell his now free-flowing moans. Carmy wasn’t loud, it wasn’t quite like the volume he was capable of when coursing out demands in a busy kitchen. Of course, he wasn’t quiet either. His voice of pleasure resembled a deep sigh— followed by the slightest upturn. 

Witnessing his pleasure added that extra sensation to have you harmonizing your breaths. Your pleasure grew balanced— as if every motion that progressed his pleasure pulled you along behind him on a tether. It wasn’t long before you felt Carmy’s confidence begin to build— his pace along with it. His hips carved their own rhythm, setting a motion faster than the one you set with his sensitivity in mind. There was a clumsy, yet endearing quality to his thrusts that had you feeling dizzy.

“That’s it, Carmy~” you praised, pulling him in chest to chest so as to drive him deeper. “Fuck~   so good."

With your voice so close to his ear, he could practically feel the vibrations. With each comment of support that you made, he could sense his dwindling resolve. The sweat building on your bodies was proof of your efforts to reach your end. But, God- Oh God– he just needed you to cum. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he finished before he got you off. He hoped you wouldn’t notice the desperation behind it, but as he captured your lips in a kiss, he snuck his hand between you to stimulate your clit. His hips were still snapping up into yours, all while he could feel you grinding down on him. It was like some sinful equation of lust and desire; his mind couldn’t bear to push through it any longer. It didn’t help that he noticed that your smothered moans transitioned into filthy whines stifled on his tongue. He could barely lift his head, solely focused on the place where you met in timed thrusts. He couldn’t bring himself to care that he broke away from the kiss, not with the fact that he could now shamelessly listen to your unfiltered moans bless the air, even if his breath was escaping him in leisured pants. 

Like a wire under a blade, your orgasm snapped into place. If your choked sound of pleasure wasn’t enough indication, he was immediately aware by the tightness that was constricting him. The sudden feeling brought him to the precipice he had been stifling with his every ounce of will. His arms had wrapped you in an embrace upon the realization of what was to come, his nose buried so deep into your neck that all he could perceive was your scent. You waited for his orgasm to come to its end, ever aware of the warmth that was filling you. You noticed his entire body go slack, his frame melting into yours like a lost puzzle piece. His hair— deliciously tickling your neck. 

You gathered your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck as you had before, brushing out his untempered curls. He made a sound of contentment, the haziness of it rumbling in your chest. His hands, which now hung loosely near the small of your back, drew featherlight drawings on your skin. With the slightest turn of your head, you placed a soft, yet ardent, kiss to his temple— resting there, so as to imprint your feelings into his very flesh and bone. 

Carmy turns with a thoughtful look in his eyes, pausing as if to commit every detail of your face to his memory before reciprocating with a kiss that veiled a million words. 

You breathe him in, smiling into the action and sensing it when he does the same. “So– how did we do?” you ask, breathless with your eyes still closed from the moment you shared. You open your eyes when he takes you into his hold, both of his hands cupping your face on each side of your jaw. The ‘SOU’ on his knuckles— visible to the slow-turning world around you. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” he whispers with his eyes still fixated on your lips. 

You brightly smile, “---and you never will.”

[buckyshattergirl]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader x Steve Harrington requested by anon 18+

“Baby, you gotta be quiet.”

An impossible request, really. Especially when Eddie had been cruel and rolled down the window, smirking as he did. The van was parked amongst other cars, nestled near the back and the cinema screen was playing some B horror movie that you weren’t really paying attention to. 

How could you? You were on Eddie’s lap, legs spread and hooked over his, your skirt barely hiding the fact that your underwear had been pulled off, scrunched lace on the drivers side seat. You had your head thrown back, lazing against Eddie’s shoulder, your back to his chest and his hands were inside your shirt, hands palming over your tits, silver rings catching at your peaked nipples. 

“Good?” Eddie whispered in your ear, voice low and raspy. “I know it is baby, look’it how messy you’ve made Steve.”

The other boy was kneeling in the footwell of the van, an impossible task in his BMW and the only reason he let Eddie drive. He was a pretty sight, hands bracketing your thighs, thumbs pulling at your folds to spread you a little more and he’d been kitten licking at your clit for the first fifteen minutes of the movie. Nothing more, nothing less, just feather light touches with the tip of his tongue, soft and lazy drags that kept making you whine. Eddie had hushed you, grinning, threatening to roll down the window until he finally did. 

If anyone walked past, they’d hear you. Worse, they’d probably see the top of Steve’s head, the way it moved as he nuzzled further into you, how Eddie snuck one hand from your shirt to wind his fingers into Steve’s hair and pull him even closer. 

Steve groaned at the touch, let himself fall slack for the other boy, pliant as he allowed Eddie to guide him, swearing quietly as he was pulled by his hair, tongue still out and dragging from your needy hole all the way through your folds until he was flicking at your clit again. Over and over until your back was arching and you could no longer discern between your noises and the awful screeching on screen. 

Eddie’s teeth grazed your neck, nipped at your earlobe and you could feel how fucking hard he was underneath you, cock nestled between your ass cheeks, denim between you. His chin was hooked over your shoulder, pupils blown wide and eyes almost black in the dim evening light, trained on Steve’s face as he pushed him almost a little too roughly into the seam of your pussy. Steve’s lips were glossy with you, pink and swollen and Eddie couldn’t wait to lick you off of him after you’d came. 

A car door slammed from the row in front of you and you could just make out the wheels of the snack cart coming closer. Soon enough, a freshman would be knocking on the van window, asking if anyone wanted some popcorn. Eddie must’ve heard it too, ‘cause he was laughing softly, pulling your legs wider and letting his hand wander down to your cunt. He cooed, pulling the hood of your clit back until you gasped, showing you off to Steve. 

“Better make her come, Harrington, unless you both wanna get caught.” Eddie pouted, brows stitched together in faux upset, like he was disappointed in you both. You would’ve laughed if Steve hadn’t wrapped his lips around your swollen clit, tongue pulsing over it. “There you go, huh? You got it handsome, you’re gonna make our girl come so good, aren’t you, big boy?”

[buckyshattergirl]

the real plot of season four was eddie and chrissy starting a business

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