#{ until i thought of this needy elf }

[eddieandbird]

okay so a quickie with eddie before a hellfire meeting, can be fingered with a nipple play you know? reader maybe was just helping eddie organize the table for the rpg (I dont know anything about D&D) or something but she was just so needy for him and he just wants to make his girl feel good and get her all relaxed and soft

Also, I really wish if after everything you could make him clean her with that tissue he always has in his jeans pocket, because his girl made a mess (skirt up, panties to the side) so just him cleaning her and her her thighs, putting her panties in his pocket for later

also an observation for his rings, like the cold metals touching her (inside her??)

Take your time! Love u xo 😚

i love you! hope you enjoy this one babe -bird

Stay Here—

You’re distracting Eddie as he preps for a Hellfire Club meeting

tags/warnings: smut | 1.9k words | f!reader | fingering | praise/pet names | softdom!eddie?

———

Eddie sounded like a madman, muttering to the papers before him. He was knee-deep in planning Hellfire’s next campaign, hunched over on his throne. He looked like he was about to rip every hair out of his head over getting the details just right.

You, on the other hand, looked like the complete opposite. With a tiny elf figurine in one hand and a thin brush in the other, you sat on the club table facing Eddie without a care in the world. Your tongue peaked out of your plump lips as you concentrated on the craft.

You didn’t notice the way your legs kicking beside his arm, but Eddie certainly did. He was already struggling to get words from his brain to the paper and the light shaking of his workspace made it worse.

“Sweetheart,” Your attention was pulled by him as he gripped your thigh. “C’mon, I’m working,”

With your tools still in hand, you raised your arms defensively. “Sorry,”

“It’s alright baby,” He sighed and gave an affectionate smack to your leg.

It didn’t go unnoticed that Eddie kept his hand there. The skin beneath his fingers felt hot, especially around the cool metal of his rings. Your eyes began flicking back and forth from the elf to your lap. With pursed lips, you pressed your legs together and tried to shake off the more unsavory thoughts that were brewing in your mind.

He felt his fingers get pinched in your soft flesh and journeyed them upward. When you inspected the sudden movement, your heart skipped a beat. To your disappointment, Eddie appeared to be still in the throws of his writing.

“Everything alright, honey?”

“Yeah, just trying to get this next scene down,” Eddie’s monotone response confirmed your observations.

“Sounds good,”

You adjusted your posture then rolled your shoulders back. On one hand, you were thankful that he seemed oblivious to your thoughts, on the other, you couldn’t wait until he was finished so he could touch you properly. His touch was vexing you and little did you know, you were vexing him right back.

Eddie's attention kept getting stolen by the subtle ways you fidgeted beside him. He bit his pen, his focus slowly wavering from his papers. He couldn't help but notice how your eyes flicked back and forth, and how your chest heaved as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“You okay, baby?” Eddie's voice was low, a hint of a smirk in between his lips.

You stopped breathing for a moment as he asked that. “Yeah, I’m good,”

You wore a convincing smile as you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead. When you dipped down, he received a glimpse of your chest beneath your loose-fitting blouse. He gulped and blinked rapidly, the tie holding him to his writing was being pulled thin.

He could see how the flesh of your chest was pushed by the cloth and how the material seemed so close to exposing you to him. His mouth went dry, his fingers gripping your thigh a bit harder. He was struggling to keep his composure. He wanted you to come closer, to sit on his lap, but he refused to let his work go unfinished.

You mustered the strength to discreetly scoot across the table a few inches, just enough to free yourself from his grip. You repeated in your mind that he was busy and he needed you to not meddle in his creative process. Despite your earnest effort to behave, the absence of your thigh in his hand seemed to bother him even more. He knew the feeling of your skin was tugging him further away from his goal and he still didn’t want you to move away from him.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” Eddie cleared his throat. “Stay here, I need you,”

“Eddie, I-” You tried to protest, but really what were you going to say? You craved him and certainly didn’t want him to stop touching you.

Eddie knew you were a source of distraction, but his possessiveness demanded your presence.

“Did I say you could move?” Even if he was working, he knew he needed you by his side, to have you close to him. To feel your legs underneath his fingers and the warmth of your body beside his. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his lap and have you all to himself, but he wouldn't give in to his desires just yet.

“I’m not going anywhere, I just-” You paused as Eddie dug his rings into your flesh.

“Then stay here,” His demand interrupted you.

He pulled you by your thigh, forcing your clamped legs open. Wide eyes and slightly parted lips adorned your face as he positioned you how he wanted.

“Be a good girl and let me write this last part,” Once again, Eddie’s fingers scattered on the skin of your thigh. A soft gasp escaped you as you felt his middle fingers settle on the thin fabric of your panties. “No moving, no noises. If you can do that for me, I’ll be sure to take care of this,” his voice dropped an octave as he swiped over your aching center.

The subtle touches and the commanding tone of his voice made your cheeks burn, and the feeling of being pressed against him made you throb between your legs. You knew you couldn’t deny him anything, and you didn’t want to, even if he was contradicting himself. All you wanted was him and his touch, and he knew that he was making you wait for it.

“I’ll be a good girl, Eddie.” You said barely above a whisper

As promised, you stayed put as he continued writing with one hand, the other one toying with your eager body.

“I know you will, sweetheart,”

To Eddie’s surprise, teasing you with his free hand was what he needed to flesh out the final details of his campaign. The motivation of having your body as his prize after he finished his task and the repetitive movement on your skin was enough for him.

And there you were, crumbling underneath the physical attention. Short bursts of breath came through your nostrils as you choked back moans.

The simple feeling of his fingers tracing the material of your panties was making your body shiver. You wanted desperately to moan, to beg, to ask for more, but you couldn’t. It would only make Eddie do the opposite.

As if he read your mind, he looked at you and smirked devilishly. “You’re doing so good for me baby, I’m almost done. Just a bit more and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

“Okay,” You answered holding your breath. A quiet “Hmph,” escaped you as he pressed firmly into you. He could feel through the cotton barrier your wetness growing, your heartbeat pulsating against his touch.

“What was that, princess?” He raised a brow.

Your breath hitched and you shook your head furiously in response, denying the sound you made.

“That’s what I thought,”

He traced the elastic of your panties, pulling at it quickly to make a satisfying snap.

Eddie found himself enamored with every one of your reactions. The way you shivered, how you held your breath, how your body jerked when he toyed with you. Your tiny gasps of air were music to his ears and the feeling of your thighs tense under him made his jeans feel tight.

With a sly smile, Eddie slid his hand down the front of your panties, running his index finger along your entrance. The slick wetness around your pussy was almost sinful. “Such a good girl, staying quiet for me…”

He wore a fond smile as he teased you, sliding his digits around your swollen clit. “Hey, princess?” He broke the tense quietness with lifted brows.

“Mhm?”

“I was done writing a few minutes ago,” He gave a low, evil chuckle. You were about to give a complaint, but before you could speak, he hooked a thumb into your panties and slid it away from your entrance. With no hesitation, he then sank his two middle fingers into you causing you to lurch forward.

Your eyes slammed shut as you let out a stifled whine. Eddie’s sudden movement took you by surprise but it was exactly what you were begging for. His fingers were already filling you up, rubbing against your walls with perfect rhythm.

“But- But you said you-” You couldn’t find the words to speak.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You are too adorable when you’re all needy like this,” Eddie shot up from his throne and shortened the distance between you two. He had every intention to keep touching you, but he needed to remove them for a moment to roll your underwear off of your legs. You were too much in a daze to notice that he tucked it away in the pocket of his vest.

It happened in a blur and before you knew it, Eddie’s hands returned, gently parting your folds. It was his favorite thing, watching you hungrily as he explored your sex. You sat back, propped up by one arm, the other covering your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you are so damn wet for me,” He growled.

Every single touch of his made you twitch and shiver, your body aching for more of him. You felt so desperate and eager, so ready to surrender yourself to the whims of him. You opened your mouth to speak, but only a strangled gasp came out.

“I- Eddie, I-” You tried to form a sentence in your mind, but your thoughts were a blur. He was back to pumping his thick fingers into your greedy core, your juices seeping through the gaps around his rings.

Eddie’s devious laugh returned, showing the amusement he received from watching you. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. Just relax and let me make you feel good,”

Your head tilted backward as he filled you. His expression showed pure ecstasy, his pupils dilated with the vision of you taking stroke after stroke of his hand. The way your center practically poured out love for him and covered his fingers only encouraged him to not stop until you reached your climax.

“Such a pretty little mess…” He muttered.

The way Eddie looked at you was almost hypnotizing. His eyes burned into yours with pure desire and hunger, his body drawn to your own. He could see your face contorting with pleasure, the moans that escaped through your covered mouth, and your chest rising and falling as you felt the pleasure building inside of you.

He leaned towards you, lips almost brushing against your ear. "That's it, just let go for me, baby. Let me watch you come undone."

You couldn’t reply. Your response was a string of high-pitched moans that were stifled into your hand as you bit down on your fingers. Eddie’s soft, dark eyes were filled with admiration as you had a shuddering orgasm by his doing. His wicked smile widened as he slowly pulled his hand out revealing a sticky trail leaking out of you. You were left flushed as he was glowing with pride. He whipped out his infamous handkerchief from his pocket and softly wiped up your essence that had been spread across your thighs.

You were still catching your breath as Eddie smirked at you. His hand was covered in the evidence of your climax while you tried to regain a sense of your surroundings. When you met his gaze, he beamed at you once more.

“Go ahead and get yourself cleaned up now, sweetheart. Hellfire starts in thirty,”

[galesleftearring]

Bloodlust

Astarion x Reader originally written for @infernalenginesheart 's tiefling tav Odile.

Warnings: dom reader, sub Astarion. AFAB reader, no pronouns or names used. Cunnilingus, period sex, he's a vampire so there's blood, orgasm denial, gag, underwear as sex toy, I think that's basically everything.

The first time you walked into Astarion's tent after the rest of the camp had retreated into their own, it was almost more of a surprise to you than it was to him. You had known he was teasing you, watching you to see how you would respond, all day. He hadn't fed from you in a few evenings and you could tell he was getting restless, hungry for you, but enjoying the game too much to press his luck. It almost seemed he was waiting for you to capture him, not the fierce predator one might expect a vampire to be. You assumed he could smell the blood when you walked back from your morning wash in the creek, though you had thoroughly cleaned yourself. Your menstrual cycle would not be stopped by the stress of the road and your long journey, the fear of wondering what was to come. Would you make it out alive? You pushed those thoughts from your mind and focused on Astarion's wicked eyes at dinner that night. He has seemed to both plead and challenge you with each glance. Let me taste you. If you dare. I won't get carried away this time, I promise.

You enjoyed making him wait. The uncertainty, you were sure, would drive him wild. And that was exactly what you wanted - Astarion wild, lapping at your folds, desperate to taste the ruby drip staining your underwear. So you found yourself at the entrance flap of his tent, about to cross the threshold into the vampire's private chambers. He was sitting in the corner, up against a crimson cushion, disrobed but for his shirt. Its hem was just short enough that you could tell he was not wearing his underwear, but long enough that you could not see more than the outline of his soft cock. In his hands was a dagger, which he was polishing with a rag. Astarion looked up from his task as if he had been expecting you. He dipped his head in greeting, nostrils flaring slightly. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Wordlessly, you pulled the cord from your shirt and let it fall open. "My my," Astarion breathed, a smile playing at the edges of his lips, his eyes lingering on your soft breasts, supple curves coming to pinpricks of arousal already hardening in the night air. "I had hoped tonight would be our night darling. You should have heard the noises coming from the wizard's tent last night. Your friend certainly seems to have had an excellent night, judging by the way she was calling his name until the wee hours. It's about time we had our turn." You hadn't come here to talk about your companions' budding romance, and you hadn't come here to listen to Astarion run his mouth either. You had other ideas for his lips, other sounds you wanted to draw from him.

"I'm glad you're already on your knees," you smiled at him, "that will save me time."

His eyes widened, and a mischievous grin bared his glistening fangs to you. You thought you saw something twitch under his hem. This was more than enough confirmation to you that your advances were more than welcome, and you slipped out of your pants with more eagerness than ease. Pulling your shirt over your head, you stepped closer to him, wearing nothing but your underwear. You could feel that they were starting to dampen with more than just your monthly bleeding. Astarion placed the dagger on the ground, not breaking eye contact with you. You could see your own dark eyes reflected back at you, infernal fire blazing. You closed the distance between the pale elf and your aching core. He looked up at you from under soft lashes, suddenly pliant and needy. The smell of your blood had him on edge already, you could tell, and the shirt was now doing little to hide his erection. Guiding your fingers through his white curls, you found a grip and pulled back, snapping his chin up toward you. He gasped, eyes glazing over slightly. "Eat," you commanded, shoving his face into your undergarment. He shuddered with pleasure, then pulled the last layer of separation from your skin to the ground.

Inhaling deeply, he shut his eyes and began to lap at the slit between your thighs, his tongue hungrily searching for every drop of wetness. It wasn't enough. You pushed his face deeper into you, smothering a small cry that had escaped his lips. "Do you want to feed from me or not?" you demanded, the power of having a vampire desperately clinging to you almost as erotic as the movements of his starving tongue within your folds. He groaned, the sound muffled, and as if in response to your question flicked his tongue inside of you.

You gasped despite yourself, grinding into him, seeking friction while he drank from your core. You were no stranger to sexual games, but none like this - no vampires in your past bedpost notches, nobody so hungry for your cunt. You felt his concentration shift, less of a physical sensation than a mental one, and realized he was frantically tugging at himself, his fist balled around his long, slender cock. Your hands still in his hair, you pulled him roughly from your lips. "Did I fucking tell you you could touch yourself?" you growled. "Was I not clear when I told you to eat?"

Somewhat dazed, he looked up at you. "I hardly see how my hands make a difference to you," he pouted, "and besides, most partners enjoy the pleasure of the other party."

Before you could think better of it, you pulled your hands from his hair and grabbed him by his blood smeared chin. Shaking his head slightly, you bent to be inches from his face. "Lie down," you ordered.

All the fight left his eyes, replaced with desire. "Yes," he mumbled, lying back onto the cushion he had been resting on moments before you came in. Holding his hands above his head with one of your own, you lowered yourself to his waiting mouth and sat as though it was your throne. Astarion began to lick and suck at your clit, seemingly spurred on when you dug your nails into his wrists. You could feel him moan against you, the humming buzz of the sound vibrating against your sensitive nerves, and you moaned back. His tongue began circling faster, and you felt the pressure mounting in your stomach. Orgasm was close at hand.

Astarion's teeth gently scraped at your clit, careful not to bite down. This small pressure was enough to send you over the edge, your hips rutting against his mouth as you rode out your orgasm. "Fuck, oh yes, that's it, fuck, good boy, fuck" you panted, only half aware of what you were saying as you came down from the high and pulled off of him, still holding his hands firmly in place. You looked down to assess the situation: Astarion was staring at you, eyes glazed with submission and lust, chin coated in your cum and blood and his own saliva. His cock was dripping slightly, precum beginning to stain the stomach of his white shirt.

You decided to take mercy on him. Spitting into your palm, you wrapped one hand around his member, the other still holding his hands firmly in place. He inhaled sharply at the touch, eyes widening as your pace quickly sped. You were able to finish him quickly like this, his back arching with his cries as he spilled onto his chest. Panting, he came to with a moan so loud you knew the rest of camp would have heard him had they been awake.

You praised him again, but your hand was still around his twitching, sensitive cock. You weren't done. And, given how hard he still was, it seemed he wasn't either. You picked your underwear up off the ground beside you and stuffed it into his mouth to muffle his cries as you straddled him, finally releasing your grasp on his wrists. He bucked his hips involuntarily as you lowered yourself, the head of his cock barely grazing your entrance. "Do you want it?" you teased, "do you want to feel yourself buried inside me?" He nodded, eyes wide. "That's good," you continued, "because that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to fuck myself on you until I'm coming again, do you understand me? I'm going to use you until I'm satisfied and then, and only then, are you allowed to cum again." You pushed yourself down onto his full length with these words and watched his eyes roll back as you began to ride him, fucking him roughly and hard, your pace faster and faster. With one hand you began to play with your clit, and with the other you pulled his hands up to cup your breasts. His fingers slid over the buds of your nipples and pinched, the pain surprising but not unpleasant. Looking at him like that, eyes wide, drool starting to pool at the corner of his mouth - how slutty he looked in his post orgasm glow and still flushed with arousal, your underwear in his mouth muffling the moans he let slip with every drop of your hips, you felt the snap in your core and let your cunt spasm around him as you came again.

He was whimpering now, barely holding it together, but it seemed that he had obeyed your order and not cum. You debated for a moment if you were going to keep riding, let him finish - you had a protection charm, so there was no worry of unwanted consequences if he filled you, but you decided you preferred him like this. Better not to give him too much of what he wants. You stood up, the sudden loss of friction making him look at you desperately, greedily.

"Sorry Astarion, did I not make myself clear? You don't get to cum again tonight." You laughed, picked up your clothes, and left him lying there, cock throbbing, your underwear still in his mouth.

A souvenir. You'd have to come back for them tomorrow night.

[theconstellationprincess]

I have been having age regression thoughts about Annatar and Celebrimbor so um. Here you go!

(set early on in their relationship)

-

Annatar ran a hand through his hair, musing its perfect state, and sat down at his desk. The room Celebrimbor had provided for him was wonderful, everything an elf would need. Unfortunately, Annatar was not an elf, and he had needs that, to his knowledge, elves did not have apart from when they were children. Annatar is not a child, he never has been, and yet he is cursed with an affliction that all Ainur bear, which is to, in time of high emotion, behave in a manner that can be likened to that of young offspring. Vulnerable, needy, emotional. All things that Annatar prided himself on not being.

Aule had always been... unsettled, when any of his Maiar had behaved in such a way, even though it was the will of Eru that made them this way. Annatar can recall times where projects had to be delated because the Maia completing it had slipped. Of course, Annatar was above such petty stresses as the ones they all had faced in those workshops, and he had never related to his peers in that sense until Melkor-

And now Melkor is gone, and Annatar is in Eregion with Celebrimbor, descendant of the greatest of elven smiths, and he is the least stressed he has been, perhaps, ever in his existence. Which is why he is struggling to admit that his quarters are not sufficient for his present needs, because he does not want to admit that he has been regressing. It is an odd term, because the Ainur did not experience infancy or childhood as the Children of Illuvatar do, but that is the term used by many, and Annatar is in no mood to dig deeper into why.

The papers on his desk are very carefully organized, neat little stacks with scribbled words that make very little sense right now. Frustration bubbles in his chest, and he pushes one of the bundles off the edge of the desk, relishing in the way the papers flew outwards, scattering on the floor. But when they have settled, all he has accomplished is making a mess that he will need to clean up later, and a wordless whine escapes his lips.

He is not supposed to be regressing, because Celebrimbor had requested that Annatar join him in his forge to work on a new project together, and it has been quite hard work gaining the just of the Lord of Eregion, so Annatar is not keen to skip this rare opprotunity. Soon, Annatar will introduce Celebrimbor to the rings, and things will progress much quicker, but for now he is still in the early stages of his plan. Annatar sniffles, and slinks off of his desk chair and into the space under his desk, pressing his body into it because it is safer to be hidden when he gets like this.

It seems to be a nearly everyday occurrence since he had arrived, and it was as confusing as it was distressing. Tears filled his eyes, and fell before he had a chance to blink them away. Annatar had many wants and wishes in the world, almost too many to list, but being cured of this near constant state of emotional fraughtness has been gradually moving itself up the list, and has now found itself nearing the top. He was frustrated beyond belief with this problem, because he should be happy, things are going his way, and yet every day he finds himself feeling small, tucked away in the bedroom Celebrimbor supplied. It is even more of an inconvenience now that it has started happening in the mornings as well as the afternoons.

A sudden knock on his door pulls Annatar from his thoughts. He stiffens, flattening his back against the underside of the desk and sitting very still, scarcely even daring to breathe. "Annatar?" Celebrimbor's voice rings out clearly, though marred by a concern that makes Annatar cringe. "You did not come to the forge, and no one I've asked has seen you today. Are you alright?"

How had so much time passed without his notice? That Celebrimbor had already gone to the forge, presumably waited for Annatar's arrival, and had time to ask around about him before finally coming to his quarters. Annatar took a very slow breath and gracefully removed himself from his hiding place, approaching the door with the eagerness of an orc told to eat vegetables. He was certain he looked a mess, but that would work to his advantage in this particular scenario. His plan to build a stronger foundation to his relationship with Celebrimbor today was not yet unsalvageable, it simply needed to be refitted to the confines of his current state.

With another stabilizing breath, Annatar pulled open the door and came face to face with Celebrimbor, and immediately felt the momentary rational thought that had come to his disappear in favor of an overwhelming guilt and shame that caused tears to fill his eyes once again. A whimper falls from his quivering lips, and Annatar hardly has a moment to attempt to regulate himself before Celebrimbor is embracing him, arms wrapping around Annatar tightly and squeezing.

Annatar blacks out- not truly, but it feels as though his brain shuts down and all he is left with is the sensation of being hugged by the elf who had been so kind to him, who Annatar was planning on betraying. "I'm sorry," Annatar gasps out, voice hoarse and shaking- his words barely understandable, but Celebrimbor hushes him.

"Hush, Annatar. Will you tell me what pains you?" Celebrimbor asks gently, pulling back and oh- how Annatar wishes to chase the touch, despite how overwhelming it was, for it was also comfort, a rare opprotunity given to Annatar. The look in Celebrimbor's eyes is painfully genuine, and it makes Annatar want to confess to everything right there, for he is certain that Celebrimbor will forgive him, and perhaps hug him again. But there is a very loud voice in the back of his head screaming at him not to do that, and he desires to be good. Perfect. So he listens to it, but then struggles to come up with a different response to Celebrimbor's question. What pains him? Guilt for lying, for thinking about such awful things, for being who he is, but he is not supposed to say that.

"Sad," Is his eloquent response, after a long moment of quiet. He pauses, waiting to see if the voice in his head would yell at him again, but it is silent, so he adds, "Don't wanna be alone, please." He carefully avoids making eye contact, until Celebrimbor reaches out and gently takes Annatar's face in his hands and guides it so that they are looking at each other.

"Are you regressed, Annatar? It's alright if you are, I just..." The rest of Celebrimbor's words don't process, because Annatar is shocked that the elf knows the term, let alone understands it enough to apply it to Annatar. Were elves aware of the concept due to Ainur speaking of it, or was it something they engaged in? "And I would be happy to keep you company." Celebrimbor finishes, looking at Annatar expectantly.

"Regressed," Annatar says the word slowly, rolling it around in his mouth, stalling for time to figure out how to proceed. He likes having plans, but there is not one for this scenario, and so he must stall. "Yes." Annatar eventually says, and then the world seems to settle, because Celebrimor nods at him with a soft smile and Annatar feels safe.

His face feels gross- from the crying, most likely- but it makes him scrunch up his nose, and Celebrimbor laughs, and Annatar realizes that he wants to hear more of that sound immediately. Tears all but forgotten, he grabs Celebrimbor's hand and drags him into his room, because Annatar is going to make Celebrimbor laugh till he no longer can.

-

[shadowhearts-wife]

Delicate

Gortash X fem!tav

Summary: There was no reason for a man such as Lord Enver Gortash to always have three of his fingers free of his very elaborate and unpractical jewelry at all times—except one…

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1,149

Tags: F/M, Baldur's Gate (Video Games), Enver Gortash/Tav, Enver Gortash/Original Female Character(s), Enver Gortash, Tav (Baldur's Gate), Original Female Character(s), Ilana Delphi (Baldur’s Gate 3 Original Character), Gortash has exactly three fingers that don’t have rings, His middle finger, His pointer finger, And his thumb, I can see him, Ok sorry time for the smut tags I hate this part I’m sorry, Vaginal Fingering, Smuti, dk what else, gort - Freeform, Semi-Public Sex

A/N: Too many Gortash screenshots appeared on my timeline today, especially good ones of his hands my god.

AO3 version can be found here!

There was no reason for a man such as Lord Enver Gortash to always have three of his fingers free of his very elaborate and unpractical jewelry at all times—except one very important reason to be discovered on this afternoon as his body pressed closely to Ilana’s as he held her against one of the back walls of a desolate hallway in Wyrm’s Rock Fortesss.

They weren’t a proper couple at all, and surely weren’t planning on becoming one, not now and not ever. To Ilana, Gortash was just a guy who seemed lonely enough to need something casual in his life, and it would be safe to assume Gortash thought similar of her. Especially here as their lips were lustfully meeting, Ilana rocking her hips in a very needy way into his in desperate search of friction all while Gortash used his right hand to pin her arms above her head.

Gortash groaned into her lips as he felt the contact from the half-elf’s needy movements, she was brushing against him in all the right spots to drive him mad. It was risky enough of them to be using a back hall for such activities—despite the risk being all part of the fun—he couldn’t imagine it if they began to strip down out of their clothes and go at it while someone were to walk by at such a quiet hour. No one typically came back this way until later in the evening, but you never knew. He had something of a reputation to uphold.

He finally broke back from the kiss, hissing softly as she gave another push of her hips into his. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” his voice was raspy as he shifted his body away from hers.

Ilana whined softly at the loss of his warmth, her hands still above her head so she didn’t bother moving from the wall. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t shoved me against a wall and teased me first.” She looked at him, her golden eyes studying the way his breathing was unsteady and the way his perfectly unlaced shirt gave her such a good view of his chest.

“Maybe I just like seeing those desperate looks you give me…” Gortash’s free hand that had been placed on her waist began to travel, running over her side and over across her stomach. “Just like that one you have right now… am I allowed to continue?” He was sure to ask, not wanting to make any further advances without explicitly permission.

Nodding quickly as her breath caught her in throat, Gortash’s hand stopped right over the waistband of her pants. “Please… you can keep going, please…” her voice was low as she felt his hand travel under this band and into her pants.

His voice was nothing but seductive as he reached his hand between her legs, causing a gasp from Ilana as he brushed his two fingers free of jewelry at all time over one of the most sensitive spots on her body. He had never gone this route before—usually it was just quick, rough, but pleasurable sex in his office or the comforts of his… smaller than average bed. But this… this was heaven. “Do you like that, Ilana?”

Gortash had finally freed her hands from over her head so he could use his free arm to wrap around her and lean into Ilana, resting his face in the crook of her neck to leave kisses and soft nips at it before beginning to suck on her skin to leave a mark.

Ilana fought to keep her breaths steady as she nodded whenever his fingers ran over the right spot, earning the dark haired man a moan from her lips. She wrapped her own arms around him now, grasping to his jacket to have something to do with her hands as she felt pleasure shoot through her, almost like lightning.

Gortash didn’t let up for even a second, leaving mark after mark on her neck, tugging her shirt whatever way he needed to reach further down to her collar bone. His fingers continued moving, increasing from their delicate pace and focusing on the areas that got more of a reaction from her. It was when she began to tremble when Gortash decided he would take it to the next level and find an even better way to go about this as he moved his hand lower in order to insert his fingers into her.

Ilana slumped against him somewhat, not prepared for him to do that, but not opposed as he worked his fingers in and out, his thumb now working circles externally for even further pleasure. “E-Enver—gods—right there-“ she cried out into his ear, trying not to be too loud as she rocked her hips into his each and every touch. “Right there! Don’t stop!”

The sound of his first name coming out of her mouth like that was nothing but arousing to Gortash—for Bane’s sake, he wasn’t expecting to feel so proud of the way he was making Ilana feel, but he also didn’t expect to feel so turned on by her each and every word and movement.

As Ilana shuddered, closer and closer to approaching her climax, Gortash could feel his own needs throbbing between his legs. “The things you do to me…” he groaned, “I don’t know if I can go without your touch after this, gods-“

There was no response from Ilana as she felt the feeling in her abdomen, like she was about to burst with just a few more movements. She grasped onto his jacket for dear life and buried her head into his shoulder to drown out the cry as she rocked her hips further into his hand before her whole body shook and tensed, indicating her release.

Gortash didn’t stop moving his hand right away, just moving slower and slower to help her ride out her orgasm until he came to a stop and removed his hand from her, giving her time to breathe.

“How was that?” Gortash asked with a smirk, knowing just how much Ilana enjoyed that. And in all honesty… he enjoyed it too. He hadn’t put that much care into sex since… her. Another woman he dedicated his life to years prior.

“Gods above… you actually know how to pleasure a woman.” Ilana stood a bit taller, her breath steadying as she looked at him. Sometimes she wondered how she would ever be able to say goodbye to this once their little “partnership” came to an end and all of the Netherstones were found… but not given to him.

But right now, as he left her with a flushed face and shaking legs, that was the least of her worries. The first thing on her mind was getting her strength back for round two.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Temptation

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader

Summary : Thranduil, ever the stoic ellon, finds himself tempted by his baser urges when he catches the way you eat flavoured shaved ice. 

Themes : Slow burn | Smut

Warnings : Kissing | Food play | Penetrative sex | Dirty talk / Degradation | Love bites | Rough sex | Hand pinning 

Word count : 2.3 k words

Minors DNI | 18+

This is the second part of three seperate fics, each with a different theme and a different character. The third, featuring Aemond, and titled Adoration, will be up tomorrow, same time.

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

Thranduil watched you.

He should have been focusing on his book instead, but he felt impelled to watch you.

You, on the other hand, were perched next to him on the sofa, enjoying a goblet of shaved ice. It was cold to the touch, its contents smothered in spiced plum syrup. It was a treat you allowed yourself even on cold nights, and it was a little ritual for the two of you. Thranduil would read, and you, you would indulge yourself in sweet decadence.

So content were you with eating that you failed to notice what the ellon next to you was doing. While you ate, Thranduil would leaf through his book, visions of licking the syrup from your skin haunting his every thought. He shook his head, determined to control himself. Such passions were the province of the young, and he, a much older elf, was determined to have better control of his baser urges. And he thought he did, until he caught you licking sticky red syrup off the pads of your fingers.

Oh, how he longed to lick those fingers, to run his tongue over your skin. Thranduil swallowed, forced his attention back to his book. He leafed through another page, his skin flushing when he heard you go, “Mmm, so good.”

He groaned softly while he watched you pour more syrup into the goblet, while you licked up syrup stuck to your fingers. His control slowly crumbled to dust as he felt blood rush to his loins. Thranduil forced himself to read his book once more, all while his need to sate the lust coursed through him like red hot fire.

It was absolute bliss you thought, as you savoured another morsel. When you savoured another mouthful, you heard a soft whimper. You turned to Thranduil and studied him. Why did he look flushed, his eyes so heavy and dark? “Meleth?”

Thranduil coughed and turned another page, making a great show of him reading. He tried hard not to look, to not make it so obvious he wanted you. He took a deep breath and muttered an oath when the scent of syrup tortured him, urging him to do indulge in a decadence of his own. And since he didn’t answer, you leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Meleth? Is everything alright?”

Thranduil swallowed and made himself look at you, saying. “I--.” His gaze automatically drifted your hands, disappointment washing over him as they were clean and no longer had syrup all over them. “I’m fine, petal. Truly.”

“Are you sure?” you hummed when his eyes flicked to yours. There was something strong there, something dark and hungry and needy. And why did he look at your hands like that, like he wanted to eat them up? It thrilled you still, to see wanton need flash in his eyes.

Thranduil coughed again, determined to win against the vicious sexual tug pulling at him. “Yes, petal.” He leafed through another page, all too aware of your gaze on him. “I’m sure.”

You studied him, sure there was more than just reading on his mind. “Alright.”

Thranduil’s eyes may have been on his book, but his ears were tuned into the sounds coming from you and around you. He heard a stopper being pulled, syrup being poured, ice crunching between your teeth.

More shaved ice washed down your throat, the syrup sweet as it lingered on your tongue. Thranduil swallowed as he watched you again, his primal need slowly starting to win out against all else. When he caught you licking your thumb Thranduil finally yielded, his need to have you under him with his tongue running all over your skin proving too much for him in the end. He muttered “fuck it,” under his breath, snapped his book shut and tossed it onto the table.

The loud thud made you look up. “Meleth?”

Thranduil scooted over, took the goblet out of your hands. “Do you,” greedy eyes drifted to your fingers, stained again with plum syrup. “Do you need help with cleaning that?”

“What?” You look at your fingers, at his darkened eyes. Your throat went dry when Thranduil ran his tongue over his lips. Heat spread in your core. “Yes,” your hands trembled as the warmth in his pressed against yours. “Yes, please.”

When he dipped his head, tenderly pressed his lips against your index finger, you take in a sharp breath. A gasp rose from the back of your throat when his lips slid lower, past the first digit, pulling back with a soft pop before moving onto another. Your breath grew choppy when he moved from one finger to another, first with his lips, then with his tongue, dragging out sharp gasps when his ran his tongue over your palm. “Th-thranduil,” you panted, your pussy growing slick with each passing second. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Thranduil growled, pushed you onto your back. “I – I was hoping-” he mumbled, one hand picking up the bottle of syrup, the other hooking into your collar. “-I was hoping you’d let me indulge in a prurient fantasy of mine.”

Your eyes darted to the bottle, to him. A knowing smile spread across your lips, bringing about a near similar one across his. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

There was a sharp rip, of your dress being torn down the center. A large hand gliding over your torso jolted you, as did the cool syrup that was poured over your skin. Thranduil dipped his head, his mouth so hot against your cool skin. The air around you seemed to still as he licked and tugged and sucked his way over your flesh, first your navel, then your ribcage, then the soft swell of your breasts. He lingered here, tasting you like you were a delicious morsel, his lips tugging on your rigid buds, his teeth grazing, fingers skillfully tweaking, ripping his name from your lips.

His name. Oh how Thranduil loved it, hearing his name roll of your lips. He’d back away, sprinkle more syrup over your skin, dipping his head, his eyes occasionally snapping up to yours. When his tongue flicked over a nipple, you moan, “I love what you’re doing with your tongue, meleth.”

Thranduil groaned against your skin, need gathering in his belly when you slid your legs and rested them against his thighs. “It is a start petal,” he breathed as he moved up, capturing your lips with his. “But there will be more.”

You tasted him, the syrup, the spices, and the warm, sinful taste that was him, purring as his teeth nipped your bottom lip. “Your body feels hot and sticky already,” Thranduil crooned as he ground his hips against the insides of yours thighs. As one hand cradled your neck, keeping you steady, the other snaked over your waist, tracing its way over your legs before sneaking under your skirts. A smooth palm gliding over the insides of your thigh made you tremble, fingers pressing against cotton made you gasp. “Wet for me already?” Thranduil tsked as he continued to stroke your pussy. “My my, petal, you’re so weak.”

“Y-yes,” your back kept arching every time he pressed his fingers over your entrance, his thumb rubbing against your already throbbing clit. “S-so w-weak.”

“Pathetic, petal,” Having you neatly under his thumb now in every sense of the word, Thranduil smirked as he continued to watch you squirm beneath him. “I wonder how long it would take before I have you moaning my name again.”

It didn’t take long before his name rolled over your lips in a half-whisper, half-moan. When he pushed your panties to a side and ran a finger over exposed flesh, he chuckled as you whimpered. “Not long, I see. But keep mewling for me, petal,” His voice was barely over a whisper. “It’s like music to my ears.”

You couldn’t think, barely even speak. All you could do was feel. Your breath grew labored, your mind fuzzing up with each shudder that shot up your back. You felt a finger slide into your slick heat, making you arch into him every time it hit that sweet spot, making you see stars and moan even more.

Seeing your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth parted in half-moans made him want darker, more sinful things.  “Touch yourself, petal,” He rasped as you continued to writhe beneath him. “Go on. Play with yourself while I watch.”

He bit his lip and groaned when you caressed your breasts, first one, then the other. It was pure instinct driving you to play with yourself, softly, gently, cupping your breasts, playing with your nipples. A large hand rested over yours and squeezed, made you whine. “Th-thranduil,” you whimpered when fingers stretched your walls, when a large hand put more pressure over your own, sending tiny jolts of pain along with waves of pleasure all over you. “T-too m-much. P-please…”

“Too much?” Thranduil chuckled and squeezed again, making you bow your back and buck into his hand. “Petal, I’ve just gotten started.”

The next time your body trembled, your walls clenched around his curled fingers, made him moan in sync with you. Thranduil pulled back his fingers and pushed in again, fucking you slowly, taking you to the brink with each thrust. Despite his skills, you were left unsatisfied with his fingers. “It’s n-not enough,” you plead.

He let go of your hand, propped himself up and dipped his head a little lower, his ash-blonde hair rubbing against your cheeks. “What’s not enough?”

“Your f-fingers,” your back arched as your pussy clenched around his fingers again. “N-not enough.”

“Pitiful, my petal,” he crooned. “I was hoping you’d hold out a little longer.”

You purred shamelessly. “I- I can’t.”

Thranduil groaned in ecstasy. He had been dreaming of his cock plunging into your cunt for quite some time now. “Well, in that case, petal,” he knelt up and pulled out of you, making you whimper from the loss of contact. You forced your eyes to open, find him undoing the clasp of his belt. “Hips,” he rasped, as he tossed the belt to the table. “Lift them.”

Your underwear was pulled over your thighs, your legs, achingly slow, before being tossed to the ground. Thranduil dipped his head, latching onto the hollow of your throat. It felt intoxicating, feeling his teeth graze over exposed flesh, leaving patches of purple and red to bloom in their wake. “M-more,” you plead.

A breathy chuckle was all you heard when that dark and sinful mouth marked its way down the cleft between your breasts before turning its attention to a nipple. More jolts of pleasure washed over you, made you tremble beneath him as his mouth plundered its way all over your body, gliding over your ribcage, your belly, before skimming its way back up again, colliding with your lips with a deep and hungry kiss.

You couldn’t wait. Not anymore. When his tongue licked past your lips you snuck your hands to his breeches, pulling it down past his hips, freeing his cock. “No, petal.” Thranduil grabbed onto your hands, pinned them down over your head. “Not yet.”

You whine, “please.”

In the mood to tease, Thranduil rubbed the tip of his cock against your sopping wet clit. “Not yet, petal,” he moaned.

It felt like you were being taken to the brink again. Your body trembled and trembled every time his cock rubbed against your pussy. “P-please,” you beg, and more desperately this time. “Pl-please th-Thranduil.”

Thranduil moaned long and deep when your legs hooked around his waist. “Please,” you almost sobbed.

Feeling your slick heat finally undid him. Overcome by the savage need to take, Thranduil sunk his cock into your aching cunt, his own body trembling in relief as your walls clenched around him. He kept your wrists pinned down with one hand while the other snaked its way over your quivering muscles before resting against your hip, lifting it, letting him plunge as deep as he could with each thrust.

“Is that what you wanted, petal, hmm?” Thranduil hissed as shallow thrusts grew deep and rough. “My cock inside your cunt?”

“Y-yes,” With your wrists were pinned against the cushion you felt caged in, unable to move, but all you could was arch your back every time his hips pushed in and slammed against you. “Th-this is ex-actly what I wanted.”

“Good, petal,” he half-crooned, half-moaned, as his body settled into a rhythm that drew the most lewd noises out of you. Feeling his hips grind against the insides of your thighs, seeing you bucking beneath him, your lips parted, your eyes squeezed shut, intoxicated him. He railed you, holding you steady at the hip, never ceasing, not even when he felt your cunt clench around his cock. “Cum for me,” Thranduil muttered as muscles in his own belly started to coil. “Cum for you king.”

The sofa kept creaking as he rocked back and forth, plunging his cock as deep as he could before pulling out again, leaving you empty and aching to be filled. Your heels scrabbled for purchase against his back and your own arched again, his name rolling over your lips again and again. You felt lightheaded, your body drawing taut like a bow-string. Thranduil plundered your lips with his, drowning out your moans, whimpering when your heels dug into his back, pushing him even deeper. It felt like a spring that had been released and waves ripped through you, making you forget everything, save for the man heaving over you, taking you to the edge of the cliff and over it. You could feel it, your walls tightening around his cock, your mouth parting in one final cry as your body shook violently. Thranduil didn’t last even a bare second, his own orgasm washing over him, deep grunts peppering the air as he came inside you, his cock spilling every drop of his seed until he was utterly spent.

After savouring his sated bliss for a moment, Thranduil dipped his head again, this time licking up tiny beads of sweat that had formed along your body. “Delicious,” he panted feverishly. He brought his body to rest of atop yours, his hands brushing back your hair, his lips brushing over your brow as you trembled beneath him. When you finally managed to open your eyes, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, you look around and mumble: “We made a bit of a mess, didn’t we?”

He chuckled in agreement, shifting his weight and you until he had you on top of him. “Yes, we did, petal. And I wouldn’t mind making more of a mess again.”

[glassgulls]

Welcome Home

Fandom: Lord Of The Rings

Pairing: Haldir x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW do not interact if under 18. Sexual themes. Community label compliant.

Summary:  Haldir returns from a patrol to readers open arms. Blatant smut with no plot whatsoever. Sorry Haldir fans.

Comments: Another product of my hyperfixation on Haldir. I've teased this a lot and I'm glad it's finally finished and out my brain now. @creativity-of-death I've finished mine now I'm looking forward to your own. 😉 If anyone would like to be added to my general tag list let me know. ♥️

Word count: 5, 106

NSFW UNDER 18'S DO NOT INTERACT

Haldir ran his fingers over your bare skin tracing the delicate skin over your ribs. Your whimpers of his name driving him on as the blood thundered in his ears. Pressing close to you he growled as you bared your neck to him so he could trail his lips over the sensitive flesh.

“Haldir.” You whined in need, making him chuckle against you.

“So impatient meleth nin.” His voice a low warm rumble as he continued to suck on your pulse. Moaning loudly you arch into his body that’s pinning you to the bed.

“I need you.” You breath out, raising your hands to grab at him, he’s still wearing the grey grab he wore as Marchwarden. He was not long back from his patrol, upon seeing you waiting with open arms and loving smiles the broad chested elf had been unable to resist you.

It was a common occurrence now with you, that careful and painful calm and collectiveness he had cultivated over decades in his position would snap in a moment with just a glance from you. It was a terrifying experience for him as Marchwarden to Lothlórien when he had first met you, he thought everything he was was wrapped up in that role. He was a protector of this land and older brother, almost to the point that it was difficult to see anything else outside of that.

Until you came along.

Under his bulkier frame you looped your arms around his neck to pull him against you. Your love and desire for him was insatiable. Though he was still uncomfortable with public displays of affection, alone your handsome elven lover couldn't keep his hands off you. Indeed when he had arrived at your flet after returning back from his patrol he had not hesitated to stride into your ecstatic embrace. Welcoming him home and gripping him close to you he was the one to initiate the heated kiss. Citing that he had missed you so while starting to walk you backwards towards your bedroom while stripping you bare.

His blood burned for you, in all these years alone, self isolation due to his responsibilities, Haldir had become convinced that he was incapable of feelings like this after all this time. But now, looking down at you spread before him and so accepting of him and all that entailed the ellon couldn’t imagine life without you, couldn’t comprehend being alone and not sharing his heart and soul with you.

“I love you.” You whispered to him, making his usual stoic expression slip into a stunning smile that shatters your world every time. Nothing is more beautiful to you. Those blue eyes boring into you, through you and setting your blood on fire.

“Meleth nin,” he says and cups your face seeing how your eyes are blown out with desire. Desire for him.

Leaning close he trails his lips across your own, then drifts along your cheekbones to your ear, nuzzling against you. “There will be no one but you for me." He promises and starts to nip at your ear savouring the way your breath hitches. Your hands are tugging at his clothes wanting his skin against your own now.

"I need you," you repeat, making him chuckle again. You were so needy for him that Haldir feels relieved that he wasn't the only one to feel this way. You were just more vocal about it. He sits up and watches you try to rip off his grey robe. When you scoot closer and start to straddle his thighs his laughter dies in his throat as you brush against his blatant erection. A shudder runs through him and seeing the reaction you lean up and suck on his lower lip. His own hands start to help you and the way you tremble against him makes the ellon feel dizzy.

"Haldir I swear I'll start screaming soon." You mutter against his lips. He only hums and kisses you ravenously, his fingers making quick work of the laces and straps of his clothing. Your hands slip under the clothing and both break apart to tug the cloak and tunic off.

Feeling your bare skin against his chest he groans softly.

"I ache for you meleth nin." He confesses and he swears he can feel the flutter of your heart against your ribs, you're pressed so close to him. Haldir watches you as you bite your lip, look down and with a hurried and impatient breath start on the lacing of his trousers. Glancing up at him you see Haldir watch you, he grins again as you lunge at him to kiss him hungrily. It's not an elegant kiss but it's beautiful to him in how it is utter demanding.

Again his own hands help with the untying as you busy yourself cupping his jaw and kissing and biting his lips. As soon as his hard on hits the cool afternoon air the Marchwarden hisses. You pull back and Haldir can't help but marvel at how breathtaking you look with kiss swollen lips and near feral gaze. Whispering your name Haldir watches as you lick your palm before reaching for his erection. The Marchwarden barely recognises the strangled groan that comes from him as you run your slick hand over his dick carefully. Gathering the leaking beads of precum at the tip you gaze reverently and start to give testing strokes.

The blond ellon reaches up and palms your breasts with the same devotion. Marvelling at how perfectly they fit in his grasp, like you were created to complement each other. Leaning towards you Haldir nuzzles your neck again while pinching your nipples savouring the way you gasp.

With your free hand that's not around his hard dick you push him onto his back. Trailing your hand down his chest to trace his defined abs. You help him pull his trousers down and toe off his boots. Lying there finally naked Haldir regards you under his blond eyelashes, that cool, control mask back on his face. Leaning over him, you place a lingering kiss above where his heart beats frantically despite his expression.

Your gaze flick up to meet his, eyes nearly black with how wide your pupils are with lust and he’s surprised he’s still physically able to blush considering all his blood has rushed to his groin. Slowly you drag yourself up his torso kissing and sucking on his skin, chasing along battle scars that have been hard won.

As you reach the hollow of his throat he lifts his head back for you to have access and stares at the ceiling trying to gain back some self composure otherwise this will end all too quickly. It’s entirely his own fault, being away from you on patrol has frayed his nerves. His desire and lust dissolving the Marchwardens famous composure. You make him feel young and entirely vulnerable which is both exhilarating and terrifying.

Your face looms into his field of vision and you nuzzle at his jaw.

“Marchwarden,” You purr indecently and Haldir groans, breathing harshly through his nose. “Take pity on me and let me love you sir,” Your voice is like honey, the words making his resolve disappear at the title “You will won’t you?” You continue kissing his lips softly and nipping at them. Haldir grunts an affirmative as he grasps at your jaw kissing you back and flicking his tongue out against your own. You pull back and grasp his chin so he looks at you before gazing at him.

“Let me show you how I worship you, how my thoughts are always filled with you.” Your voice is barely unrecognisable with the raw desire that torments you.

“Show me.” Haldir commands, watching how your eyes burn and a wicked smile on your pouting lips. In a blink you crawl down his body nipping and biting at him leaving little marks on his perfect skin. As you go lower your fingers trail along his knees, then thighs in a maddening whisper, you trace words of love below his navel and suck a little bruising mark on his hip. Your hand starts to slowly pump his dick again, savouring the burning heat of his flesh. Pausing, you look at your lover.

“Watch me my Marchwarden.” You whisper then keeping full eye contact swallow the head of his cock. Haldir hisses out a soft curse as you try and suck more of his large dick into your eager mouth. He’s large, not only in length but girth also which always makes your lips pinch with the stretch. The ellon’s fingers are already in your hair sweeping it out of your face so he can watch you clearly. The urge to snap his hips up into your drooling mouth is taking the last of his self control. Grunting your name he watches awe struck as you slowly start to bob your head down his length, hollowing your cheeks to create a blissful suction. Humming wantonly around him makes him groan loudly and he grabs at the bed covers below him to ground himself. His hips roll gently in time with your ministrations and you sink lower onto him. Tears springing at your eyes as his cock hits the back of your throat. You try to relax your throat and swallow around him.

“Meleth nin,” He gasps out, his blue eyes burning into yours and he’s watching in rapture. You continue to please him, keeping your gaze on him as much as possible through the watery mist. When pulling back to gasp for air you continue with your hands to keep up the pace. Haldir nearly chokes on his own tongue when you lick at his balls, carefully sucking and playing with them. His fingers tangle in your hair as he moans out praises to you.

“You are so perfect,” He utters and his hips are thrusting at a lazy pace with your fist. “Not even in my dreams are you this beautiful.” He murmurs. When you shiver at his praise you lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock and suck on the head, humming happily around him.

The sounds of your gagging and excited moans makes Haldir grunt loudly, spurring him on to run his fingers through your hair tugging gently.

"Come to me meleth nin." He orders you. Releasing his cock from your mouth you give the tip a chaste kiss. The sheer contrast of such an innocent gesture in a lewd way sends delicious shivers through the ellon. He pushes himself up and pulls you up to him kissing you as he repositions you both of your bed. He can taste himself on your tongue as he licks into your mouth chasing the whimpers that escape you. Lying down on the pillow the Marchwarden holds you close, kissing your neck making you keen in delight.

"Now it's my turn," He purrs against your ear letting his fingers trace your spine. Shivering in bliss you can't help the mewl of his name. Haldir tugs you further up ordering you to kneel on the pillows hands on the wall. With the gorgeous ellon between your thighs and you can't help but blush even now as you fully expose yourself to his eager eyes.

"So wet for me my darling", he breathes, the puff of air ticking your sopping cunt, his hands circling your thighs. "Look at me."

You look down to see his impossibly blue eyes connect with your own making you tremble. Haldir lets his nose nuzzle against your mound inhaling your scent and a low groan rumbles through him.

"Haldir," You stutter out shyly, he was so close to where you needed him.

"Let me quench my thirst." He mutters seductively as his hands tug on your thighs pulling you to him. As you gaze at him Haldir makes a show of opening his mouth and takes one long swipe of his tongue from cunt to clit, causing your whole body to convulse as you cry out.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh enough to leave bruises and you know you'll wear them in private with pride. Haldir's strength ensures you can't move as you are now seated on his face as he devours you. Sharp cries and whimpers roll out of you as Haldir flicks his tongue through your soaked folds tasting and sucking at you. Your hips start to roll softly in time with his mouth and the room fills with the lewd wet sounds.

Keeping your eyes on your lover below you don't bother hiding your moans and cries of his name. You know that Haldir thrills at that, hearing his name uttered in such a ravaged way by your lips. He rewards you with a wet suck on your clit that makes your eyes roll in your head.

Your hands fly out to steady yourself on the wall above the bed as you look down to see the look in Haldir's piercing gaze. Oceans of blue eclipsed by pupils blown wide in wanton lust. Lifetimes of desire rolling out to consume you and drag you under in that forever blue. You welcome it, breath ragged and frantic to dive in and drown in those eyes.

A whiny whimper crawls through your teeth as Haldir adds one finger into your tight heat. You buck your hips against the intrusion desperate for friction. The sounds of your body's desire are loud and lewd in the still air.

Haldir keeps up a steady slow pace to whip you up into a feral mess. His name spilling from your lips in a torturous plea as he introduces another finger and then another which has you clawing at the wall as you writhe in ecstasy. When you gasp out how close you are, Haldir doubles his efforts, thrusting his fingers in a pounding pace while he alternates whispering praises and sucking on your clit that has tears springing to your eyes.

Looking up at you Haldir takes in the sight of you completely unravelled, sweat glistened skin that he aches to taste. His long fingers revel in the feel of your thigh muscles frantically twitching and roil as you use him to hunt your release. Those long nights away from you had been filled with thoughts and dreams of you like this. One who was always giving everything they had to him to make him happy. Now it was his turn to do so, he curled his tongue around the fingers fucking you at steady pace to ravenously chase the arousal dripping down your thighs.

"Haldir," you cry, your voice wavering in the afternoon air. The tight cord within is stung taught at his heavy pace. The crest of your climax licks up your spine as your whole body freezes as the wave hits you. His name is choked out as you claw at the wall you try to find purchase as the hot bliss hits you over and over again. Haldir keeps tempo with you as you ride out your release, his clever mouth alternating between sweet praise and lapping up your juices. Resting your forehead on the wall in front of you you gasp ragged breaths twitching as Haldir's mouth continues to lick and suck on your cunt and thighs that borders on over stimulation.

Whining softly you open your eyes to see the smirk in his gaze which you try to throw back but your whole body feels like water. His hands run up and down your thighs soothingly and with the grace of a newborn deer you swing your leg over so you can lie down next to him.

You feel his gaze on you and turning to the side you see the evidence of your climax glistening over his mouth and chin and you’ve never seen Haldir look so smug. His hair is dishevelled and falls loose over his shoulders as the ellon leans over you and you can’t think of anything that could compare to his glory.

Despite the hot flush of your body the touch of your fingers are cool to his burning skin as the Marchwarden chases the sensation and leans into your caress to his face. With your free hand you slide it up his arm to then drag your nails back down, throwing him a smug grin when Haldir shivers.

Biting on your bottom lips you can’t help but glance down and let out a breathy gasp at the sight of Haldir's cock sitting heavy and proud against his stomach. His skin is sticky with prespend and it’s all thanks to you. Your mouth waters at the thought and all you want is to taste him again. Swallow him down as much as he will let you and you’ll be thankful to Eru that you are blessed to do so.

Blond lashes flutter as Haldir's gaze follows your own and seems to be able to read your thoughts. Moving over you you let your hand on his arm skim up to rest on his shoulder so you can feel the bunched coil of his built body slowly drape over you and settle between your waiting parted thighs.

The heavy weight of his muscular body presses you in the bed as he leans on his arms to stare down at you.

“Bain.” He breathes reverently. Despite the situation you can’t help the heat settle in your cheeks.

“I’m not beautiful Haldir, I look a mess.” You laugh softly wiping your sweat slicked hair from your forehead. The blond elf blinks slowly and leans down to nuzzle his nose against your temple before pulling back to kiss you softly.

He knows you’ll never believe him when he tells you how beautiful you are like this. Naked and wrecked under him, letting him ruin you completely and be allowed to witness how utterly transcendent you are while open and vulnerable. It’s a gift he still doesn’t quite understand how he’s earned but he will fight to the death to protect it. To protect you and give you anything that you ask for.

Wrapping your legs around his waist you let your feet caress his thighs for a moment.

“Haldir,” You whisper against his mouth as you nip at his bottom lip. “I’ve been empty without you please.” The hushed confession seems to bring him out of his thoughts and you both shudder as his slick erection slides against your stomach.

“Le melin.” He rasps out, desperate for you.

"I love you too." You whisper while letting your hands wrap around his neck. As you let one hand freely tangle in his golden hair. His braids holding his hair back, now loose thanks to your actions, let his hair tumble down around you both. Letting your gaze flick over him he looks wild and untamed, the control of his duties forgotten in the pleasure of your connection. Haldir’s gaze is intense and pinpointed on you, the whole world outside forgotten as the two of you are the only ones in your contained universe.

There’s an empty ache inside of you that is desperate for Haldir to fill. Reaching up you cup his face and kiss him with a sizzling hunger that he returns eagerly.

“Take me Marchwarden,” You order him before there is a clash of teeth and tongue between you, a low growl from him answers you. Holding his jaw you see the feral look in his eye as you softly suck on his bottom lip a moment before whispering. “Make me yours Haldir.” Your voice now takes a keening plea to it. The blue of his eyes go dark at your words as he quickly notches his hard cock at your slick entrance. His eyes find yours again as he slowly enters you, making you arch your back and scramble at his shoulders.

There’s always a stretch that accompanies Haldir's ample sized hard dick entering you despite the careful foreplay, the time apart always exasperates it.

Haldir can never look away as he takes you like this, the glassy look that enters your eye as you mouth opens in a silent “o” to take in air. The Marchwardens breath is haggard and harsh through his nose as your tight heat envelopes him, drawing him deeper. He can only grunt your name as he rests his forehead against your own.

You gasp Haldir's name in a way that borders animalistic as your nails claw desperately at his back. Gazing up at your lover you find him watching you still in that unblinking way that should border on unsettling but it only fills you with ease as you know your possessive look matches his own.

As he continues to ease his way into you you can feel the bunched mass of muscle of his shoulders as he holds himself in check. Knowing that he’s having to stop himself from losing complete control with you. Every inch that pushes into you makes you whine at the stretch, the delicious throb as Haldir’s cock nudges into you. You know you’ll feel him for days after this but can’t help yourself.

The groan that rattles out of him as he finally bottoms out in you vibrates through you both as you gasp for breath and bury your face into his neck. There’s a sheen of sweat across his skin, a taste of salt and dirt from his patrol as you flick your tongue out and take a long swipe along his neck and collar bone. His breath catches and Haldir mutters something particularly filthy in his own tongue that makes you giggle.

Pulling him close you nuzzle at his ear and nip at the lobe.

“Welcome home.” You purr in his ear and can't help the wicked grin as Haldir shivers when you punctuate the word by clenching around his hard cock in you.

Haldir rolls his hips once to test your adjustment to him, he knows he’s more than a little well endowed and the fear that he may hurt you is always in the back of his mind. Even now as you cling to him Haldir is conscious of you, your body a safe harbour for him to return to and become whole again. Your words in his ear stir up the fire in his veins. He knows the double meaning of your welcome home. As being one with you like this, connecting as one, is his home.

Haldir can feel the grin against his ear and repays you with a shallow thrust that makes you fall back on the bed and moan loudly.

Blunt nails drag along his shoulder blades and knowing he’ll have your marks on him fills Haldir with a carnal possessory. He gives another thrust and watches in awe as you arch your back again and let out a ragged call of his name. Over and over he draws in and out of you making you squirm and mewl under him. His breath comes quick as he sets a hard pace making sure to hit deep inside you.

Arching your back Haldir hits the spot inside you that makes your eyes roll white at the bolt of pleasure. He leans down and kisses your neck, sucking and worrying the delicate skin at his pulse point. At your whine Haldir runs his tongue over the blooming mark to soothe it. He can feel each shuddering breath that leaves you as Haldir continues a plunging beat, the wet sounds of your bodies coming together sits in the air.

Leaning back Haldir disentangles your leg from his waist so he can lift them higher and hook them over his shoulders. At this angle Haldir is able to slide deeper than you thought possible. Clutching at the bed cover beneath you all you can do is shriek Haldir's name.

“Eru don’t stop!” You plead savouring the fact that he’s finally let go of that control he’s always under.

“Look at me.” Haldir commands and your eyes snap open. “Bain,” He repeats and gives a particular heavy thrust that punches the air from your lungs as your whole body jolts.

“Bain!” He growls loudly watching as your breasts jiggle with each powerful thrust.

“Haldir.” You call and feel your eyes prick with tears, you feel full, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Le melin,” He calls out as he grinds his hips into you. “You take me so well meleth nin.” Haldir praises you in a low throaty tone.

He marvels at the way the sheen of sweat makes you glow in the late afternoon sun, draped in gold hues as you lie under him at his mercy. Your eyes always so bright and full of unbridled adoration for him were distant and lost in a haze of rapturous lust. Gripping your thighs closer to him he picks up the pace as he feels the oncoming wave of his own release but first he needs to feel you, see you come again.

“Touch yourself meleth nin, I need to feel you come around me,” He sees your eyes focus and with a heavy hand release the bed cover to snake a hand down your body. Haldir blinks with his blond lashes, the sweat dripping down his forehead away. Nothing can get in the way of this view. The hiss you release as you start to circle your clit in time with his thrusts is mesmerising.

“Haldir, I’m so close.” You wail and Haldir moves your legs up straight tilting your hips back as your wail tails off into a howl at the steep angle. You didn’t think he could get deeper but Eru you don’t think you’ll ever not feel complete again without him inside you like this.

“That’s it meleth nin, let go.” He calls softly and watches in rapture as your whole body freezes up under him, your free hand in the covers twists the material beneath your grip as you gasp for air and only struggle out a strangled groan.

Haldir drops your legs and lies flat against you as your walls convulse and flutter around his dick. Your legs wrap instinctively around his hips and lock at the ankles to keep him there as he grinds in deep to chase his own climax, crashing his mouth against your own Haldir licks the inside of your mouth as you whimper softly. The punishing tempo of his thrusts boarders on over stimulation and you squirm in his grasp as another wave of an orgasim hit you.

Swearing loudly you cling to your lover as he ground out your name between slams of his hips. The headboard rattled against the wall loudly but you couldn’t comprehend trying to have the mind to wonder if anyone could hear you both.

Haldir buries his face in your neck as his body loses rhythm, his thrusts become erratic as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Fill me meleth nin,” You coo with a hoarse voice. Haldir grunts softly and wraps his arms under your back to pull you tight against him. With a shuddering final thrust you feel Haldir’s hot release flood you. The heady groan that erupted from you both shattering the air around you. Clinging to Haldir you savoured the slowing grinding thrusts of his body as he fills you deep with his cum.

His pants echoed your own as Haldir’s breath whispered against your sweat soaked skin. Letting out soft groans Haldir swivelled his hips to grind them against you and you can feel the mixture of both your releases trickle down your thighs. Haldir nuzzles against your neck humming soft words of adoration into your skin as you run your fingers through his long hair.

After a while of basking in each other's embrace Haldir pulls carefully out of you and rolls on to his back beside you. Throwing an arm over your eyes you can’t help the tired smile tugging at your lips. Exhaustion is creeping into your bones and you should really get up to clean yourself down but you’re enjoying the feeling of being thoroughly fucked by the love of your life. Haldir leans over you to kiss your lips softly before pulling back and you feel the bed shift as he gets up. Peeking open an eye you marvel at his naked retreating back and the light swagger as he stalks into the adjoining bathroom.

Letting your eyes flutter close again you hear the soft sound of water and then the tread of Haldir return to the room.

There is a heavy pause in his movements that make you peek from under your arm to see him leaning in the doorway to the bedroom watching you. Standing completely naked, hair tousled and sweat now cooling on his skin you’ve never seen him look more handsome. You throw him a tired smile with which he gives you a cocky smirk knowing how much he’s wrecked you.

“You don’t have to look so smug Marchwarden.” You throw at him and let your arm flop over your eyes again. You can hear his light laugh as he returns to the bed again, the dip below you alerts you to his position.

Opening your eyes you see him prowl up towards you and if you weren't so severely blissed out and exhausted you’d feel inclined to another round but the heavy sleep tugging at your eyes is too powerful. The cold brush of cloth against your inner thighs makes you jump and hiss at the touch though and you lean up slightly to see Haldir wiping down your inner thighs.

He carefully lifts your legs with a loving caress and cleans you up before placing a chaste kiss to your stomach. Looking up at you he takes your breath away with the adoring look in those gorgeous blue eyes. Opening up your arms you call to him to which he readily submits to after dropping the cloth on the ground by the bed.

After settling down together you curl up next to Haldir as he flings an arm around you to hold you close to his chest. Letting your head rest on his shoulder you can feel the ellons soft breathing, kissing the skin there you can see his lips twitch into a smile.

“Welcome home again, Haldir.” You whisper. After a heart beat you feel Haldir roll you both onto your side, your own body starting to protest after the strenuous acts of before. He tucks you into his side as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“It’s good to be home meleth nin.” He answers softly.

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard, @knittastically, @heilith, @sotwk, @middleearthpixie, @asgardianhobbit98, @evenstaredits

[zuppizup]

For the DVD commentary ask game-

when you wrote that worried pregnant Rayla fic were you implying that Rayla had miscarried before? and why did you come up with the conclusion they would have a baby boy instead of the majority of the fandom tending to give them a baby girl?

i adored that fic btw

Ah, this fic, that I didn’t even name 😬

First and foremost, I elected to give them a boy precisely because girl babies (certainly first babies) seem more common in fandom and I wanted to even the score. 😅 Nothing particuarly deep there. Which is also why I had Rayla thinking the baby was a girl right up until he was born.

(I’ve actually got two WIPs where they have a boy baby, so I am working hard on evening those numbers!)

With any OCs (babies or adults), I write them to fulfil a role, rather than bringing in a fully developed character and working the fic around them, and whether or not the baby in those fics was a boy or a girl didn’t affect the overall fic.

(Anecdotally, speaking as a parent, the general consensus among the other parents in my acquaintance as well as medical professionals, is that baby boys are more clingy and needy, while baby girls are stronger and hardier. So, if I “want” a needy baby, I’m more inclined to make him a boy. 😆)

Regarding the theme of the ficlet…

I suppose it’s the scientist in me, so while, biologically elves and humans are obviously very similar, they’re different enough that I just can’t not believe halflings are less common than full elf or human children.

Spoiler tagging for discussion of miscarriage and infant loss.

I did touch on fertility issues in my Life is What Happens series, but more implied that, for unknown reasons, Rayla never seemed to be able to get pregnant, which is a different pain to the pain of being able to fall pregnant but suffering miscarriage (or in the case of that ficlet, repeated miscarriage). Again, these are issues they are incredibly common, even if people elect not to speak about them, and I thought it was an interesting topic to explore in fic.

DVD Commentary Ask Game

[taleswritten]

Garnet eyes flutter shut as Halsin begin's working his lips over his neck, lips parting in sharp gasps every time he sucks a hickey into his flesh. Astarion finds he loves it - being marked by Halsin. Something that he hadn't really expected to enjoy as much as he does.

It is not easy to mark a vampire's flesh, the only reason that Halsin is capable of leaving red marks in his wake is because Halsin had made sure to feed him beforehand. He wonders what they look like, how pretty they are. It is a pity that Astarion will never be able to see such marks, he can only feel the pleasant throb they leave behind.

It all feels so good, especially when Halsin begins teasing the sensitive tip of his ear. Tongue against flesh sends shivers down his spine, he's certain Halsin can feel it. Halsin is an elf, he knows how sensitive those ears are, he knows that it'll make Astarion sing for him. Sharp gasps turn into more soft moans. Damned elf loves to tease, it seems.

Two can play at that game. Astarion's quite good at teasing, though right now with the pleasure and teasing he is getting, he's rather useless. He keeps in mind for later, to tease him right back, drive Halsin as crazy as he is him.

"Hm?" He almost doesn't register the command through all the wonderful sensations he is being given but as soon as he processes it, he effortlessly lifts up off of Halsin's lap. He allows the elf to guide him wherever he wants him to go.

The sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other suddenly drives Astarion insane. The way it makes him shudder in pleasure, the way it hitches his breath, and the way he swallows back sounds that would have been entirely too embarrassing is all signs of that.

Gods, he's so big. Astarion could tell before but now even more so. It makes sense, he supposes, the rest of him is rather large why wouldn't he be there too?

There are certainly no clean thoughts left in his head and instead he's thinking of many ways to be impaled on Halsin's cock, thinking about the way it feels. Astarion's cock twitches and throbs in response to the arousal coursing through his body.

He wants all of those things too. He wants to fall apart on Halsin, to finally be allowed the luxary of pleasure and enjoying it instead of it being something to suffer through like so many times before.

He wants it to be different this time which is why he'd been so frustrated to begin with. Not only frustrated with himself but in general because he wants this to be different this time around.

He rolls his hips once more, grinding his throbbing cock against Halsin's own. The oil makes it easier than it would have been before, the gliding doesn't feel forced but instead, effortlessly they move against each other.

Yes, he'd like to let go, to break against Halsin, to enjoy pleasure after pleasure until he could no longer thing. Until the only thing on his mind is Halsin and how good he feels.

The question is asked and slowly, his eyes open to look up at Halsin. He wants to, he wants to do that for Halsin, he wants to be able to do this not only for Halsin but for the both of them.

Another roll of his hips, this time more needy and desperate than before, a little faster instead of the slow pace they'd been keeping up with. The pleasure ebbs and flows with each grind, Halsin is no longer stroking him like he had been before and he wants to chase that pleasure. Though, it's a sweet torture, made to last. He doesn't want this to end so soon, though he thinks between them they've got plenty of stanima.

"Yes." Astarion says and when he speaks, it is breathless, yet he is certain of his decision. He wants to try at the very least. He wants to be so in wrapped up in the pleasure that his moans echos throughout the forest. He wants everything.

To feel good, to forget about the troubles with the tadpole and Cazador. He wants to be so worry free that the only thing he can think about is how good Halsin's name feels on his lips.

"I want that." Again, he wants to make sure that Halsin knows he's not just saying it. He's got a habit of doing that but he means it, he wants this, he wants it more than anything in the world right now.

"Why wonder any longer when you can have?" As if his desires weren't clear enough before, there is no room for doubt here. He trusts Halsin, he's giving himself to him - a rather huge step when being claimed in any way has always made him uneasy but Halsin does not make him feel that way at all. He makes him want to be claimed.

He reaches between them, fingertips teasing in the way they glide along the shaft of Halsin's cock, now slick with the oil he'd been using on him, but doesn't quite start stroking him. He does not know if Halsin will accept it when he seems rather focused on Astarion's pleasure first instead of his own. "I'm yours, darling."

Although it isn’t typically his approach since Halsin doesn’t happen to have a particular desire to use lines to woo someone, he does find it fairly fun on occasion. This is no effort towards seduction, no motivation other than conveying his thoughts towards Astarion. He did not think that he was envious of the others with their tadpoles yet he can’t deny the way he wishes he could show Astarion the true way he feels. If it were so easy to open a bridge between their thoughts he would have proven the depth of his devotion time and time again.

Astarion moaning softly for him does so much that Halsin twists his wrist carefully on the upstroke. He never considered himself a greedy man and yet Astarion rends him incapable of logical thought. Every part of him begs to claim the man in every way he’d welcome and when the pale neck is presented Halsin knew how he would start. Halsin dropped his kisses over Astarion's skin, smirking as he teased his way up Astarion's neck. His lips brushed just over his jugular, pausing for a moment to suck a mark there. He delighted in the knowledge that any marks he did make would show because of his very own blood quickening beneath Astarion’s skin. When he resumed his kisses he took his time in it, hoping to see a bloom of places on Astarion’s skin.

He stopped just at the base of Astarion's ear and debated working his way back down before a better idea came to mind. This time, his tongue teased at the tip of Astarion's ear. It curled briefly along the sensitive shell, flicking carefully in time with the movement of his hand. Astarion grinding against him feels so good, a broken sound left his lips. “Lift up, my heart.” Halsin requested, and once he had the room to do so he shifted Astarion further into his lap. He slotted himself just slightly to the side so that when he guided Astarion back down he could press his larger cock against his.

Hearing Astarion’s own thoughts as well makes him groan against Astarion’s ear. “So many times I imagined how your moans would echo for me, how *full* I would leave you, how good it would feel to bring you ecstasy,” He had never shied away from his own pleasure, but, it’s a wonder no one had ever caught him desperately fucking his hand with Astarion’s name on his lips. “I wondered how you might gasp and how tightly you would hold me - letting me be the rock you broke against time and time again.” He rolled his hips carefully, heavy cock gliding against Astarion’s cock with the liberal amount of oil he had been using to stroke him.

“You can do that for me, can’t you Little Star?”

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #30

What Forests Know

The trees know where I hide you, little one, but they’ll never tell a soul.

Monica awoke to bitter, biting cold, but the instant her eyes snapped open to confront it she was met with the warmth of a roaring fire. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she slowly sat up on the airy, soft comfort of her bed. It was a piece of familiarity in an unfamiliar place; the room itself was hollowed out of an ancient tree, older than the earth itself because Monica was no longer home. The longer she was awake, the more memories came flooding back, brought back to the reality that she hadn’t been home for some time.

“Good evening, little one.”

Her...captor was a Prince, a Prince of Elves no less, and Monica felt her body respond to his voice without conscious effort or thought. Nuada came into her line of sight, his archaic, pale features relaxing into a handsome smile as he beckoned with one hand--not for her, but for the tree to respond and a thin branch presented her with a hot cup of tea almost immediately, as if it had been commanded to wait for her to wake. She took the cup between slightly shaky hands, finding the contents soothing and warm, her eyes watching Nuada slowly lower himself to the side of her bed with the grace of something otherwordly. He was, after all, an Elf; the tips of his pointed ears split his ice blond hair and her gaze was drawn to them, even as his brilliant amber gaze raked lovingly over her face. He reached out, his touch curiously cold as he caressed her cheek but she didn’t shy away. Time in his captivity has taught her that Nuada didn’t like when she shied away from him; he responded so positively to her acceptance that after the first couple days she didn’t really even want to. There was something broken about this man who wasn’t a man--he was a creature older than she could fathom and for reasons she didn’t understand, he was seeking something she could provide.

“How did you sleep? Did you dream?” Nuada’s thumb feathered over Monica’s plump lower lip with a possessive smile. “Was it of me?”

Monica’s smile was shy as she lowered her gaze, her teacup in her lap. “I a-always dream of you.”

Nuada closed the distance between them in an instant, his dark lips pressing to her forehead, his hand moving to cup the back of her head. “Good girl.”

Outside, the bitter winds of Winter were raging a storm of ice and snow but within the hollow walls of an ancient tree, the howling wind couldn’t reach. Monica had no idea how big the tree really was, she wasn’t allowed to go outside, but the inside of the tree was tall enough to fit a house. Nuada told her he’d fashioned this safehouse for them both and designed it with her in mind; she had their bedroom (Nuada, from the first moment of her captivity, had insisted on sleeping with her), a library with more books than even she could hope to read, a kitchen with curious little gnomes who made her anything she wanted to eat, and though she had no contact with...well, anyone, she had Nuada. She looked up at him as he drew back, her eyes avoiding the piercing amber to trace the lines carved into his face. So close, she could smell the forest on him, the wild of nature that she wouldn’t be able to understand because he’d brought her to the Land of the Fae, far away from anything she’d ever known. Her fingertips shook slightly as she brought her hand up, tracing the beautifully curved line that was cut across the bridge of his nose, running beneath his eyes. Nuada made a noise in response, an exhale of pleasure at her willingness to touch him, his eyes fluttering closed so that his pale lashes hid those enrapturing eyes. He turned his head slightly, inclined it into her hand, before his own came up to cup the back of her hand and he moved her fingers to the heat of his mouth.

It was no secret to anyone who knew Nuada he had no respect for mankind. They were a greedy, violent race with a void where their hearts should be, but resting upon this bed was the only good thing to ever come from humanity. Monica was the flower blooming in Winter, the only star in an inky night sky, the one spark of humanity that was not a waste. Nuada’s brief encounters with the agency known as the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, or BPRD...to everyone there it had seemed he was after the last piece of his father’s crown, or even his sister Nuala...what fortune it was no one knew what he was truly seeking. It allowed him to steal her right from under their noses, to fool the Red Ape and the Talking Fish, the betrayers of their own kind for the sake of saving an unworthy race. Nuada knew the ones called Hellboy and Abe Sapien were searching for him, were desperately looking for her, and as he opened his eyes he had to admit to himself he understood why. Monica had been to them what she was to him; salvation, happiness, the physical embodiment of love. Those ancient eyes of his traced the curve of her cheek as his lips pressed affectionate kisses to her fingers; it didn’t matter. Let them come. By the time they’d think to figure him out he’d have whisked her somewhere else. He would never let her go. He would never give her up.

“I missed you while I was out.” Nuada spoke against her fingers before he lowered them, moving their joined hands to his chest, right above his beating heart. “Any moment I have to be away from you is torture, my love. You feel it too, don’t you?”

Monica could only nod, a little helplessly. The longer she spent with Nuada, the more she felt like she was drowning in a torrential sea of love and need; he was obsessive in his care of her, in the way he sought to be apart of everything that was her. He worked endlessly to make her happy, to provide her with whatever she wanted so that she would be happy with him. Initially when she’d confronted him about kidnapping her, he’d recoiled as if she’d struck him. “Kidnapped you? Little one...you cannot tell me you do not feel what I feel. How could you ever think I would do such a thing?” He’d sunk to the bed and put his head in his hands as if she’d broken his heart and he looked so young, then, a lost boy without hope, and Monica wondered at why she felt bad. He had kidnapped her. He knew it, she knew it, the agency she worked for knew it--she knew they were trying to get her back, that Anung and Abe would stop at nothing to get her back but as time went on, she wondered how they possibly could. She had no idea how long she’d been here now, but Nuada had gotten under her skin, worn her down by showing her the ragged parts of himself that he swore made him unlovable and she found herself loving him in spite of her best efforts to not.  He needed her and she could tell; she could feel it in the way his hands traced her body reverently every single night, in the way he kissed her as if he could do nothing else. Nuada was obsessed with her, devoted to her, loved her with every fiber of his powerful being and Monica was silently afraid that when the BPRD finally found her, she wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Nuada’s eyes picked up the indecision on her face and his fingers moved, from the nape of her neck so that he could tip her chin up to meet his gaze. “Are you thinking of them, again?”

Monica knew she gave herself away; she loved Anung and Abe same as she did Nuada and no matter what he did, he couldn’t make her stop--oh, but he desperately wanted to. Jealousy tinted his eyes a feral gold as her teeth worried her lower lip.

“You must give them up, little one. They will never have you again.” Nuada wasn’t scolding her; he never did. His tone never lost that petal-soft caress, as if he couldn’t help speaking to her as if she were the most fragile, cherished possession he owned--and he did own her. All of her. He knew every intimate inch of her because he would not allow her a single retreat from him. “I have told you, they could never love you as I do. There is something between us and only us; I felt it from the moment I first saw you.”

He’d told her this before; her first night here, when he’d insisted upon holding her while they slept, he’d whispered against her ear, “This thing between us...I am unsure how long I can hold myself back from you.”

It was a promise he’d made good on the very next morning, not allowing her to leave their bed until the next day. His touch was like iron, calloused fingers ever possessive as he lay claim to her over and over until she cried, begged him to stop but he simply swallowed her cries and took those for himself as well. Nuada could and did spend hours worshiping every single inch of her body and he would reverently speak to her in his native tongue as he did so, his words so tender she didn’t think she could bear to know what he was actually saying. But...wasn’t this wrong? He’d kidnapped her, taken her from Anung and Abe, from her home, from everything she’d ever come to know. When she’d thought she might be able to hate him because of it, to hold this love over his head and force him to release her, he’d fallen to his knees and begged her to love him back. To see a Prince, her Prince, looking up at her with his heart in his eyes...she hadn’t been able to work up the false hate enough to use it as a weapon against him. He’d rested his forehead against her middle, his deep voice only a whisper as he’d told her he wouldn’t survive if she ever left him. It would break him, destroy him, she was he needed to believe in this life. She’d gingerly wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and he’d wrapped his around the small of her back, turning to rest his cheek against her tummy like a little boy.

Nuada was not a fool. He was the firstborn son of King Balor, who himself was an old and wise ruler of Elves, but Nuada did not share his father’s vision for a utopia between mankind and the Fae. Nuada, now, did not much care what happened to mankind--he’d taken from them what he wanted and he would not feel badly for it. Isn’t that what mankind are known for?

“It will just be the two of us, my love, forever. Don’t you want that?” Nuada knew it was wrong to ask this of Monica, but some broken part of him liked when she affirmed how he felt, mirrored it back to him and as she nodded, he pressed his forehead to hers. “That is all I want. You, Monica, the air i breathe. The flesh of my soul.”

Monica brought her free hand up, curling her small fingers around Nuada’s wrist; they didn’t even come halfway around and he chuckled quietly.

“You are such a small girl. And you wonder why I seek to protect you?”

“A...Anung and Abe have n-never hurt me,” Monica wanted to at least reassure him of that, as well as defend the two who were not here to defend themselves.

“No, but they cannot protect you as I can. I will never allow any harm to come to you, beloved, and I will kill them if they dare try to take you from me.” Nuada’s voice took on a sharper, harder tone and Monica stirred to argue but he wouldn’t allow it. “If we are to be happy together, it must be this way. I know you think me jealous but i promise you, you have not truly seen me jealous. Not yet.”

Monica knew some of Nuada’s dangerous jealousy; there was a gnome she’d befriended when she’d first arrived here. The gnome spent hours talking to her, and too late Monica realized Nuada was growing jealous of the bond they’d formed. One day she’d awoken to find the gnome gone and whenever she asked Nuada about him, the Elf Prince would always reply the same way.

“Did you love him more than me?”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Nuada had gotten rid of the gnome, though Monica could only speculate how...permanently. After that, she’d learned not to test his jealousy and the lengths he would go to ensure he was the first and most important in her life.

“N-Nuada, please--”

“We were made for one another, Monica.” Nuada turned, nuzzling almost roughly against her cheek. “If I ever feel anyone threatens that, I will make them pay for it.”

“I know,” Monica soothed, knowing the only way to stop him from getting so worked up he actually left to try and dispose of Anung and Abe was to distract him. She moved her hand from his wrist, cupping his cheek and as she feathered her thumb over the line cut into his cheek he sighed in ecstasy. “You don’t...need to worry, Nuada. I’m y-yours.”

“Yes, you are,” Nuada nuzzled closer, his large hand curling around her throat in a show of possession. “Say it again, my love.”

“I’m yours.”

Nuada felt the burn sear across his chest and he smiled, his free hand taking the forgotten tea from Monica’s lap, passing it off to the living tree shielding them from the rest of the world. Nuada’s gaze locked to Monica’s, his forehead to hers so there was scant space between them--and he was working quickly to close even the tiniest breath that separated them.

“I am going to spend the evening pounding that fact into the very marrow of your bones.”

[meownotgood]

fics ♡

fired / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 16.9k

tags: 18+, smut, office sex, smoking, drunk flirting, blowjob, fingering, power imbalance, spit kink, teasing & dirty talk, dom aki but he lowkey a switch, suit kink...?

summary: Aki never thought he'd find himself falling for a subordinate, but stranger things happen when you're a devil hunter. At least being the boss has its perks.

a little death / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 20.6k

tags: 18+, smut, angst, smoking, love confessing, that one trope where they step in front to protect you, tending to wounds, hand job, finger sucking, aki is touch-starved and needy as hell

summary: You meant everything to him, and Aki promised to keep you safe, even if it meant dying for you.

cherry waves / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 6.1k

tags: 18+, smut, fluff, fingering, cunnilingus, tender sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, smoking, established relationship, lots and lots of i love you's, soft dom aki

summary: Aki is undeniably, wholeheartedly in love with you, and there's nowhere he tells you he loves you more than right here, in his bed, when you're under him.

arrival in tokyo / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 23.2k

tags: 18+, smut, exhibitionism (aki fucks you in an alleyway), light degradation, praise, pain play (aki puts his cigarette out on you), begging & teasing, face-fucking, thigh-fucking, spit kink, fingering, choking, 1 (one) spanking, pet names (good girl, baby, etc.), aki is a bit of an ass, he punches you in the face once

summary: Aki has found you insufferable from the moment you were paired up together. It's bad enough that they're forcing him to work with a damn devil, but you happen to be the most disobedient, irritating devil he's ever met. You seem to have quite the attitude, and brats like you ought to be put in their place.

heaven is a bedroom / hayakawa aki x reader

word count: 5.3k

tags: 18+, reader is fem bodied, fingering, praise, creampie, aki is a huge softie, tender and intimate morning sex

summary: Aki loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you, and on mornings like these, giving his love to you is really the only thing that matters.

under the influence / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 114.8k

tags: 18+, aki is a virgin, reader is a stripper, plot heavy, drinking & smoking, strangers to lovers, semi-public sex, dry humping, finger sucking, body worship, hand job, blow job, orgasm control, fingering, creampie, virginity loss / virgin kink, cumplay, overstimulation, reader is shorter than aki, reader has nipple piercings, reader has a bit of experience, both reader and aki are incredibly touch-starved

summary: When Aki gets dragged to the most popular strip club in Tokyo in hopes it'll help him "de-stress", against all odds, you help him do just that. In return, he finally cures your itch for something more.

let us live, if we must die / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: ongoing

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, forbidden love, reader is fem (referred to as princess, queen, lady, etc.), magic, slow burn, angst, blood, violence, and some overall dark themes, aki is a prince, and a half-elf because why not, worldbuilding, some dnd inspiration, possible eventual smut, tags will be updated as the fic goes on!

summary: You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince. 

drabbles (sfw) ♡

softcore / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, established relationship, aki being soft for the reader

indirect kiss / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, suggestive, aki shares his lollipop with you

the end, the end, the end / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

spoilers, angst, hurt no comfort, mild sexual content

kiss / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, just giving aki lots of kisses

devilish / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

halloween special, strip tease, kissing scene, slight exhibitionism, slight dubcon (both reader and aki are drunk), reader wears a feminine devil costume, suggestive content

embrace / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff & angst, just lots of tender hugs with aki

pocky / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, playing the pocky game with aki

505 / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

choking, slightly suggestive, lots and lots of angst

movie date / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, first kiss, lots of hand holding, going to the movies with aki

ashes & kisses / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, smoking, make-out session, body worship (male receiving), kissing aki's scars

new year's kiss / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

fluff, aki kisses you the minute the clock strikes twelve

last act / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

angst, hurt no comfort, bad ending, blood, aki watches you die in his arms

drabbles (nsfw) ♡

rosemary / hayakawa aki x fem!reader

smut, handjob, overstimulation, edging, sub aki

high to death / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

smut, angst, tender sex, established relationship, soft sex with aki after he almost died on a mission

ghost / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

18+, smut, sub aki, handjob, bondage, begging, choking, using the ghost devil power to pleasure aki

bloodthirst / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

18+, blood play, blood sucking, biting, dry humping, grinding, finger sucking, praise, reader is a devil hybrid, aki is a bit mean, power imbalance (aki is the reader's superior), reader refers to aki as "sir"

sense of control / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

18+, suggestive content, aki is the control devil, teasing, corruption, power imbalance, stalking, the office scene from episode 5 but with aki

equalizer / gun fiend!aki x reader

18+, reader is fem bodied, csm spoilers, gun play, fear play, blood play, monster fucking, mirror sex, dubcon, stomach bulge, aki has a metal dick

headcanons ♡

new message !! / CSM x reader

the texts they send you when you're away, includes: aki, denji, & yoshida

married life / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

married life with house-husband aki

morning routine / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

morning routine with boyfriend aki

family life / hayakawa aki x gn!reader

raising a family with your husband, aki

miscellaneous ♡

one / aki, who comes home from work really late and utterly exhausted

two / hayakawa aki drives you home when it rains

three / thinking about how pretty aki would look under you

four / the mattress shifts when aki turns, rolling over to wrap his arms around you

five / aki has never heard anyone tell him they love him

six / the lights in hokkaido seem to glow even brighter when you're here beside him

seven / aki usually wakes up before you

eight / there is an idea of normalcy aki always dreams of

nine / aki teaches you how to ice skate

ten / when aki dies, you find traces of him in your apartment

eleven / texts from boyfriend aki

twelve / aki hugs you tighter than anyone you think you've ever known

thirteen / on your worst days, aki offers to shower with you

fourteen - part one - part two / mermaid reader x sailor aki

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Rare Hearts - Oneshot

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: Marc takes you to the beach, and rocks your world and your relationship with him in the process.

Warnings: talk of sex, birth control, conception, doctors, and a brief mention of Marc's childhood

A/N: This is a second part to The Dress, which takes the night before this oneshot. It can be read on its own, the first part may provide some context. I've quoted the lyrics from Rare Hearts by the Growlers as well as stole another quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Marc’s lips are stained pink. The breeze from the ocean and the humidity in the air serve to ruffle his curls and make them more unruly than what they usually are in the city. He’s wearing the sunglasses you’d gotten him as a gift a few years back. All-in-all, it’s a nice domestic look on him, with the book he’d been working through propped open in his lap, pages turning backwards and forwards in the story until you’re sure his page is lost into the ether. 

There’s a cup of ice cream in his hands, a small spoon with the face of an elf on top of it, comically grasped between his fingers. He’d gotten four scoops of dark chocolate, not budging when you’d told him that strawberry would go with the chocolate really well. Steven may have been the one on your asses about the smoking, but Marc was always nagging you and Steven about your ridiculous sugar habits. Marc would often front after the grocery shopping was through, holding up packets of cookies and chocolates with a glare and a scoff, silently asking you to explain yourselves. You wouldn’t. Instead, you’d lean up and kiss him senseless. 

So, he’d gotten the dark chocolate, and looked at your pineapple and mango flavoured scoops with an upturned nose. Though he disapproved, he was never as vocal about it as Steven was, probably thinking that with his nicotine habit, he wasn’t one to judge. 

After he’d paid, and was heading back, you had sneaked in another order for strawberry. And though he’d complained and groaned at you the whole walk back to the sandy ocean, he’d plopped the extra scoops in his own cup and swirled them together as they rapidly melted and morphed in a brown and pink myriad. 

You weren’t sure what exactly had been put in the ice cream, but there must have been a food dye. The colour had latched onto Marc’s mouth and teeth worse than your lip stain did, and no matter how much water he drank and swirled around in his mouth, it wouldn’t go away. 

It’s only once you reassure him that it’s not that bad, and yes you’ll stop laughing at him, that he relented, stealing a heaping spoonful of your ice cream and grinning wickedly, his teeth an unnatural shade of synthetic pink. 

You realise too late that you’ve been staring for too long, too lost in your thoughts to realise that he’s no longer looking out at the water, his shadow casting over you and protecting you from the sun. Marc looks down at you now, brows furrowed a bit, trying to read you. You’re lying down beside him, propping up your head using your elbow. The breeze that’s fluttering his hair is playing around your dress. 

“Hm?” He’s been talking all this time and you’d been too preoccupied in the slope of his shoulders to notice. Marc tilts his head down to look at you better, precise in his motions to make sure the sun doesn’t fall in your eyes. “What is it, baby?” 

All that sugar had gotten to you, so you blink up at him slowly. Finally with a sigh, you hold your arms, a silent plea for something that you both need. 

Marc moves without complaint. He leans down so his nose brushes yours, tilting his head moments later to brush your lips together instead. Sneaking your arms around his neck you pull him down, impatient and needy, so you can kiss him properly. 

He moves so pliantly against you that it makes you doubt whether this really is Marc, and not Steven practising his American accent. The thought makes your skin crawl and you push it out of your head, deciding to trust Marc and the bits and pieces of himself that he seems willing to hand over to you today. The ocean air seems to have done plenty to better the both of you, the ever present frown and hunched shoulders disappearing from his body, your soul at ease. 

It’s when you whine and shift towards him, begging for his hands, one currently resting at the side of your head farthest from him, the other cupping the side of your face, to move further down, that Marc moves away. He pulls back and murmurs, “Wanna tell me why you were starin’ at me like that?” 

“Like what?” Your eyes flick down to his ridiculously-coloured mouth, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. Frankly, you want to kiss him again, push him down and keep going until you can’t get off his lap without pressing a towel to cover up what you’d done to him. To prevent your thoughts from getting worse, because he can see you right now, can see the way your pupils will blow to the size of quarters, your gaze flicks back up to his and your breath stops momentarily at the pretty sight above you. 

Your fingers drift up to trace his eyebrows, the sides of his nose, and you say exactly that, “Marc, you’re so pretty.” 

Underneath your fingers, his face twitches. It does it so many times that you think this is what it takes to make Steven front. No mirrors around and the ocean a good walk away from you. You want to apologise, to say that you didn’t mean it. But that would all be wrong. You did mean it, and you’d never apologise for something you meant, particularly when it came to Marc. 

So, instead, as a sort of compromise, you pull your hands away from him. A silent apology for going too far. But Marc shifts suddenly, putting his weight back onto his legs, freeing his hands that come to clasp yours, keeping them where they are. He doesn’t say anything else, his mouth, eyes, still occasionally twitching, the lingering embers of a dead fire, threatening to come to life and wreak havoc. 

You take it. It means the worlds coming from him. Marc who would usually bring out Steven in the blink of an eye, and Steven, who’d sit there bashful and ashamed, trying to pick up where Marc had left off. It’d never be the same, the three of you knew that. Words that were meant for Marc were never as sweet going to Steven. Steven had once confessed to you that in those moments, the sudden shift from the loving to the defensive, that he felt like an intruder on you and Marc. 

Regardless, Marc doesn’t do that now, battling through it in front of you and so, you push it to the side, not bringing it up again. “You enjoyed the ice cream?” 

It must catch him off guard because never in your life had he ever admitted to enjoying sugar, even if he really did, because he says, eyes dark with gratitude focussing back on you, “Wonderful. Great idea. The strawberry and the-uh-” he clears his throat, he’s so close to you that you can feel the vibrations in your chest “-the chocolate. Really good.” 

You only grin back at him, eyes glowing as much as your chest does at the thought that he liked something you suggested. Liked it so much in fact that he told you. In stuttering fragments of sentences, but he did it nonetheless. 

It’s one of those thoughts you treasure away for the nights when he wakes up panting, pushing you away and stumbling out the door, only to come back a few hours later with coffee and a shameful expression. The mornings afterwards were the hardest, where he’d take your hands in his and pepper kisses all over them until you cried. Sometimes, the worst times, Steven would front then, and Marc would hide away, sometimes for days. 

He’d often tell you that making you cry was the worst thing his hands had ever done. And you weren’t sure what to make of it. 

Marc’s fingers are now tracing your lips, mimicking your actions from moments ago, tugging them out from between your teeth. His gaze goes back up to yours and flicks down to your lips again. You nod imperceptibly and he takes the hint, swooping down to kiss you. 

You’ve always loved the way he kissed you. Devouring you whole and as intimate as if your souls had already done this for millenia. He makes your head spin and your heart beat erratically against your chest. 

Marc’s hand now goes to your chest, right on your heart and he feels its indecisive tempo. You can feel him smiling against you as he says, interrupting himself with small, butterfly kisses, “My little hummingbird.” 

The only thing, the truth, that you can tell him now is, “Yours. Yours.” 

It’s codependent and needy. But you want him to know, want Steven to know as well. That you’ll be theirs for as long as they have you, that getting rid of you might be a problem, especially if Marc doesn’t stop kissing you like you’re life itself. You hope he won’t, hope he’ll want to keep doing this for forever and a day or two more. He shifts and lays down, his lips never straying from yours. 

Ever attuned to your body, he pulls back suddenly and murmurs, “You getting horny on me now?” You whine and shrivel up like a flower in his arms, pulling away from him and hiding your face behind your hands. He hums, smoothing his hand down the side of your head, you can see how soft his eyes have gotten in between the gaps of your fingers, “I don’t mind. Fuck you real good when we get home.” 

You purse your lips to the side, stretching your arms above your head, “Promise?” 

Something flicks over his eyes, a fleeting thought that’s too quick and foreign for you to notice. “What if I knocked you up tonight?” His words. His eyes. You love them with all your life and right now they’re hurting you too much. Clasping your hands behind his head, you bring him down to your chest, pressing his forehead to your sternum. “Just a thought,” he murmurs. 

You don’t know what to think of it. Of both the fact that he wants kids and that he’s been thinking about having them. That this isn’t some whirl-of-the-whim fantasy of his that he’s created on the spot to get you talking. You wonder what else he’s thought about. Maybe. There’s never knowing what goes on in Marc Spector’s thoughts, but you feel like you’re qualified enough now to make semi-accurate guesses. 

A house in the suburbs. Baby names. Dog breeds. 

Diamond rings. 

You wonder what Steven has thought of it, if he was the one who had suggested these things into their mind in the first place. 

If, by some turn of fate, it did happen, Marc would truly have to quit smoking, Steven would need to start buying healthy things, fill the fridge with protein, the pantry with medications and gummy vitamins. The whole flat would need a good scrub down, the thousand and one sharp corners rounded out. Steven’s book collection would have to go into storage, if you were to stay in the city. Otherwise, there’d be no room for a crib. 

It’d be a lot of work, doubt and worry. And it seemed so far away from where you were with the both of them at the moment. Surreal. A future that could happen, but didn’t have a set timestamp. Like that one stack of mismatched books that will get cleaned up eventually, at least, that’s what you’ve been promising Steven for the past year. That you’ll get around to it, you’re just not sure when you’ll get the time to. And now that so much time has passed and there’s been yet another Ikea bookshelf filled to the brim, the when has turned into if you’ll get the time to. 

There was so much to consider, fertility, genetics, Steven and how on board he would be with the idea. God. You’d need to schedule an appointment with the doctor, the dentist, and a gynaecologist. You’d have to find that last one first. One that both Steven and Marc approved of, two people who’d quipped back and forth about pizza toppings for three hours once. 

“Hi, love.” 

Your eyes flit down to his head, and you let your hands go, “Hi, Steven.” Steven props the upper half of his body up, support coming from his elbows, his nose hovering a few inches away from yours. 

It had been too long. No response from you had left both you and Marc too long in your thoughts. Too long considering what ifs and and thens. A dangerous combination. And now, Steven was here to coax you out of it gently, with a wary hand, while Marc took a breather. 

Were you even on board for a baby? 

Steven’s voice calls you out of your head again, a lifeboat in the middle of the storm, “Don’t you mind Marc, alright? He just festers in his mind for so long that he can’t control a bloody thing that comes out his mouth.” He pushes up the sunglasses that Marc left on, to the top of his head. You comb one of his curls into his hair, heart delighting when it jumps back to where it started. 

“M’know.” 

Steven’s heart is tender in places where Marc’s has gone hard. He sees things that his alter can’t, knows what to do about them, how to make them better and when it’s time to let go, not push you on it when it’s still too soon. “I like the strawberry, really liked it. It left a splendid aftertaste in my mouth n’all.” 

You smile, cupping his face and closing the few breaths left between yours. “That’s good, m’happy ‘bout that baby. Know you don’t like it when Marc eats dark chocolate,” you kiss his pink mouth then. Gentle and mellow. Marc’ll probably have your head for that comment, probably claiming that, unlike the two of you, he’s trying not to dig himself an early grave, what with his alter’s insistence on consuming sugar with sugar, and the least you can do is help him with that. 

Pulling back moments later, you smile and tip the edge of your nose to brush against his. Being with Steven is like being wrapped up in cashmere blankets, fuzzy and cosy, the inside of your chest warming up to the point that it’s fit to burst. “Steven,” his eyes had wandered away, to the ocean, your dress. At the sound of your voice it falls back on you, and you pause for just a brief moment before murmuring, “I love you.” 

Marc’s sensitive about how often you tell him you love him, often sent spiralling as he tries to summon up the courage to repeat it back to you. It hurts him, you know it does, when you tell him so. Though you have no doubt about the sentiment being returned, you still want to tell him, no matter if he wants to say it back. 

Steven, on the other hand, loves it. Steven loves love, loves it more than you do. So, his eyes crinkle, and he repeats it back. “You know, love,” like Marc, his hand smooths down the side of your head. “I don’t think it’s bloody fair you two went and got ice cream without me.” 

You giggle at that, at the glare that’s settled in the back of his eyes, “And what do you want me to do about it, Steven?” 

“Apologise first of all,” he quips playfully, rolling onto his side and turning you with him. Eye contact is never broken. He sees you squint as the sun blares down into your eyes and he cups his hand beside your eye. You want to cry. But that would seem out of place right now, breaking down into tears over a seemingly inconspicuous conversation about nothing at all. What’s more, Steven will get worried, and you haven’t seen him this relaxed in months; the city seems to have gotten to the three of you bad. “And get me a cone all for my own, none of that cup business and certainly none of that sharing with Marc now, alright?” 

Sighing, you push his sunglasses down for him, tracing his hairline and the edge of his jaw as you smile, “Well, I’m sorry, for not letting you know, and-” your hand falls down to his shoulder and you squeeze affectionately “-I’d get you a cone right now, but I’m not on the best of terms with Marc at the moment, and he’s gonna have my head for sure.” 

With a groan and a grumble, Steven rips the sunglasses off, turning them around to face his reflection. His hand is gone from the side of your face, and your lungs constrict in the bad way. 

You turn on your stomach, to keep the sun out of your eyes. 

Steven calls out Marc’s name a few times, daring him to explain himself, but he gives up about a minute later with a tsk. 

“No luck?” 

“Sorry, love, none.” Your mood darkens before you have the chance to control it. Steven comes to mirror your position, propping his chin up on top of his stacked hands. His eyes fall on you, you can feel them, but you’re already wallowing in quite deep in your emotions, bubbling up from inside of you and you can’t bring yourself to look back at him. “You know, you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened, you weren’t supposed to find out like that.” 

You ask him what, and you hear a faint smile in his voice, “Marc and I have been thinking about it for a while, really we have. Ya know, it all started this one day where he was in the park with you, and you kept holding those babies.” You spare him a glance then, and his eyes are on your dress. You’d known Marc liked that dress, seen the way his eyes glowed the day in the park. You hadn’t known of the association he’d made with it, what it meant to him now. 

Things start to fall in place like puzzle pieces, why he’d asked last night for you to wear it today, his semi-confession today. You hope it was deliberate. That he was truly planning on revealing this to you, and not the other way around. That he’d seen the dress and hadn’t blurted out the first thing that had come to his mind. 

“He didn’t really tell me anything about it all either, the bastard,” he glances back to his reflection in the sunglasses. “But I picked up on it, ‘course I did.” 

You don’t know what to say to him, an overwhelming sense of homesickness washing over you as you yearn for your bed, for Marc and Steven in it. The safety of the shadows and rooms lit only by candles and laptop screens. The looming threat of the future gone, tucked safely away in a room, the door bolted and locked. 

A baby. 

A little human, half you, half them, and yet, entirely it’s own being, with a separate will, that will, hopefully, grow up to have hopes and dreams and goals, all on its own and nothing to do with its parents. 

You’re not sure you can take that, the going away, you, Marc and Steven left behind to grow old and frail, forgotten by the rest of the world. The passage of time. 

“What do you think about it then?” You turn your head to get a better view of his face, and he, like a sunflower to the sun, follows. 

“I think it’s lovely, always wanted kids, really,” he winks and smiles at you, taking one of your hands in his, kissing the back of it. Steven and Marc may be opposite sides of a coin, but they’re still the same coin. The love behind their actions is always the same, even if they are executed differently. “And there’s no doubt about who’ll be the favourite parent. You.” 

Even if you don’t want it to, heat rises to your face as you mull over the fact that Steven’s gone as far as to picture the life after the baby’s come, where the both of them are fathers, you a mother. It doesn’t bother you as much as you expect it to. 

“...so, of course, I’m on board for it all. Whatever you decide to do, of course,” his gaze flickers down quickly and up. “It’s your body, and you know, you���re doing all the hard work-” 

Fear clutches at your throat, “You’ll be there to help, though?” 

“Oh, lord, yes, yes, love!” Steven’s eyes are wide, shock evident in his features. Usually when he’s with you, he talks slower, takes his time in choosing his words and accommodates the silences in the conversations. Now, he races off, miles ahead of you “I-of course, we’ll be here through it all, if you decide that’s something you want. Oh, bollocks,” he smacks his forehead, and with a small whine, you stop him from doing it again, soothing over the spot immediately with your fingers. “‘Course I manage to make it all jumbled up, like I always do. I just meant, just meant that-” he stops and takes a breath “-just don’t want to pressure you. Ya know, there’s enough pressure from society n’all, don’t let Marc’s brooding get to your head alright? He cares about you more than he’ll ever admit, and you’re always more important to him than any other bloody baby.” 

His spiel ends, and his face cringes, words echoing back through his mind. The top corner of his upper lip curling he looks at you exasperatedly, “Don’t let me go on like that again, alright? I always manage to muck it up. Think I do more harm than good.” 

“You know you could never do that Steven. Never.” You wonder if Marc is listening and add on, “Not even Marc.” 

“Regardless,” he sees the way your eyes drop at the thought of him, and he tries to lighten the mood, nudging your side affectionately until you look at him again, really look at him, and smile, even if it is a little forced. “Doesn’t hurt to tell me to quit yacking all the time, give you a bit of a break every once in a while.” 

“I like your yacking,” you sit up and reach for your bag, pulling yourself out of your overthinking and determined to make the most of the rest of the day. There’s a bottle of sunscreen and it’s cooler to the touch. You also take out a thermos of water, condensation forming on its sides. “And it hurts me very much when you call it yacking.” 

“Then what should I call it, love? It’s not like it’s really very any good, now is it? Just noise,” his voice goes even more high pitched. “Squack, squack, all day long.”  

He’s relatively covered, shorts and a short sleeved button down on top of a cotton singlet. But his ears and neck, calves and forearms and face are exposed. Though he doesn’t burn, cancer is always a risk, and you try to keep yourself accountable and stay on top of sunscreen today. “Hold still, ok?” He nods and you get to work, rubbing in the lotion. 

There had been struggles, lots of them, that arose when you had started dating Marc, and subsequently, Steven. Difficult conversations, tears sometimes. But one of the only problems that never arose between the three of you, was the love for touch. To see that they both craved it as much as you did, that they didn’t mind the way you’d want to simply lie in bed and trace shapes on their chest, sometimes for hours on end, made the rest of it, the harder troubles, easier. Worth it. 

So, he doesn’t mind when you reach underneath his shirt and spend a few minutes working on his shoulders, always sore from the way the two of them hunch over all the time, tense and anxious. He thanks you multiple times, telling you to go to the left or right, harder or softer. His voice is going sleepy, almost foggy. 

As you start on his arms, he starts humming, murmuring lyrics underneath his breath. When it seems clear that he’s not going to sing louder, you ask him, “What are you squawking about now, you little bird?” 

“So give the stars to the lonely city, give the ocean to the country,” he sings louder, his accent always fading away when he sings to himself, instead mirroring the original recording. “Ain’t seen anything so pretty, than a girl who gives me all her lovin’.” 

The words are sweet, the crash of the waves, the seagulls matching well. You wonder if Marc will come back at all today, if he might take you in the water. You’re sure Steven would only go so far as to get his toes wet, averse to water like a cat. It’s been a point of contention a while with him. Since he has two fishes, you claim he should be nothing if not a water-lover. He only shudders at the thought of the ocean, the pool, the river, claiming he’d much rather stay dry. 

Besides, the water is always so bloody cold. 

Because of both Steven’s worries, and Marc’s protective nature, you’d rented out wetsuits for the day, and had bought the two of you swimming caps so your hair wouldn’t get wet. It doesn’t seem likely that you’ll use them, but you wanted to hold out a little hope. 

You wonder then that even if Marc fronts, if he will be in any mood to deal with you. Maybe he just wants the body, his will back in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t want to talk to you. There’s no way in knowing what he interpreted your initial silence to be, when he brought up the matter. 

The baby. 

You suppose you should get used to saying it. 

The thoughts aren’t settling well with you, and you focus back into Steven, the feel of his skin against yours. The coconut-scented sunscreen that you know Marc will grumble about, even if he loves the smell, “S’pretty. Where’s it from?” 

He doesn’t respond and he seems to have nodded off. Glad that he’s at least face down, that the sun can’t get to him that badly, you place a towel on his head, for a little shade, and finish up his legs, working the muscles with your knuckles and getting them to loosen. 

Content with your work you’re about to clean your hands and get your book, when Steven shifts around, his body suddenly is much more tense. He takes the towel off and you catch his eyes, your hands tangled in a cleaning wipe. 

Your heart knows that’s not Steven. But, for a few seconds, you don’t want to acknowledge Marc right now, at least explicitly. Want to keep living in this little bubble of coconut and sun, no hard conversations and babies to be had. 

“C’mere, I need to touch up your face.” You wonder when Marc had fronted, if he was there the moment Steven had gone silent. He moves silently, eyes downcast and only giving you brief, wary glances. Your eyes fall down, back to his pink mouth and reach for the wipe first, finding a clean corner and working at the ice cream stains. 

An hour or so ago he’d claimed that he didn’t mind, had laughed along with and encouraged your teasing, but you know it bothered him. Even if it didn’t, the sticky, sweet layer hanging on his skin couldn’t have been comfortable. 

The stains come off easily enough, “You’ll have to brush your teeth for it to go away completely, I think.” He nods, sitting up crossed legged in front of you. One of his hands goes forward, shaking almost imperceptibly, hovering above your knee. You nudge your knee forward, encouraging him. His palm falls down on your skin and you sigh audibly, the pit forming in the pool of your stomach melting away. 

You dab little streaks of sunscreen around his face. His forehead, his nose, cheekbones and his chin. The remaining you rub into the tender skin behind his ears. His eyes are on you now, his hand still on your knee. He’s looking as if he can see into the very recesses of your mind, see the thoughts in there that you don’t want to think about at the moment. You wonder what he makes of them, if there’s anything in there to offend him. 

For a breath you consider leaving the sunscreen where it is, giving him possibly the worst tan ever. 

It’s a petty, low thought, and you throw it away when it comes to mind. Instead, you focus on Marc, on massaging his face as the cream gets worked in, bringing him a little pleasure as he first goes slightly cross-eyed and then slowly closes his eyes. 

He picks up the melody from before, humming quietly. Your hands are on his neck now, applying another layer for good measure, and you can feel the vibrations of the song. It’s not the same as hearing him talk, one ear on his chest, so you can hear both his heartbeat and his muffled voice at the same time. 

It’s different. Another moment where you find something you like about him, like doing with him, and you fall in love with him even more. You’re done a few seconds later, and close the sunscreen, tucking it away and handing the water bottle over to Marc, his mouth always going dry after something sweet. 

He stops the song and murmurs his thanks, taking a break to drink probably half the water inside it. You take this time to lie down, on your back, closing your eyes so the sunlight hits your eyes and all you can see is red. 

“Ain’t seen anything so pretty,” Marc’s fingertips are cold from the bottle, as they trace down the bridge of your nose to your top lip. “As a girl who gives me all her lovin’.” The words are familiar from before and they make even more heat rush to your face. 

Steven’s called you pretty millions of times, Marc a million times on top of it, his eyes speaking for him when his words fail him. Still, it lights you up inside, to think about how Marc and Steven had listened to this song, cherry-picked lyrics that reminded them of you. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you’re on their mind, maybe not as much as they are on yours, but close.

The red passes away from your eyes, and you open them to see Marc leaning over you again, his face soft with worry. You’re both in the same position you were at the beginning, and yet, everything seems to have changed. 

“Been so since the beginning,” he tilts your chin up, making sure you’re truly looking at him. “She stopped my world from spinning.” 

You suppose there’ll never be a ‘good time’ to talk about this, if there ends up being something to talk about. Maybe he’ll just chalk it up to the sugar, to the cigarettes, to the dress or to a thousand and one other factors that could have led him to make a statement like that, with such a heavy implication behind it that still sent your mind reeling whenever you thought about the way his eyes had darkened at the thought. 

You wonder if Steven had forced Marc to front, that maybe he felt like you two needed to talk about this before anything else. Maybe Marc decided all on his own. 

“Marc,” the melody stops and he looks almost ashamed. You cup the side of his face in your hand, hoping he knows that you’re not mad, that doesn’t need to create a non-existent blame out of nowhere to only place it on his shoulders. “We need to talk about this.” 

“Is it too much to dream, that we can forever be-” 

“Marc.” Your voice is a little harder, a bit harsher than you want it to be. You’re wired and strung tight right now, and frankly, you’re not sure if you want to talk with Marc, or even Steven if they just don’t sit down and talk about the inner workings of their minds and hearts. 

“Rare hearts that never disagree.” 

Guilt wracks your soul in a heartbeat, a bucket of ice water poured on top of you. You’ve been too caught up in your own head, spiralling down your compulsive thoughts, to notice Marc, Steven, and the fear laced into their body. The fear, that in a second, you’d take off and flee away from them. 

Because dating Marc and Steven was alright. There was always an out for you, even if they were torn apart in the process. But giving them a baby, a years long commitment that required that, at the very least, you see them twice a week, if not anything else. Recitals, sports games and graduations aside. 

“Oh, Marc,” you sit up and push your forehead against his. Your eyes fall closed together. “Marc, we need to talk about this, I need to think about it a little more. But I still love you all the same, whatever happens.” 

“But you’ll think about it?” He’s not sure why that comforts him so much. To know that your initial reaction hadn’t been one of immediate rejection but shock. Steven had been swearing at him in his head when Marc revealed his little dream like that. Something along the lines of him not knowing how to break news to people that he was worse than a cold, emotionless slug. He wonders what you would say to Steven if you’d heard that, whether you would agree, or if it would make you laugh. He’d happily take the short end of the stick if it meant he could make you laugh. 

It doesn't cross his mind that you would defend him and claim that he was the sweetest man you'd ever meant, even though you'd warded off Steven's teasing multiple times before.

He must have fallen silent for too long, and at a crucial time, as you abruptly change the conversation topic again, “Remember our first date?” Sometimes it seems like you don’t know that he knows you do it on purpose. Sometimes, like now, there’s a level of understanding between you two as you accommodate him and his peculiar whims and needs beyond what he thinks is reasonable. 

Sushi. He’d taken you to a sushi place. Had bought you tulips beforehand because he wasn’t sure if roses would be too much for the restaurant you’d suggested. Marc had checked it out before the date, scoped out the kitchen for any severe health regulation violations, and was pleased when he saw each one was met. 

The food there was good, no doubt about it, but there were no white tablecloths and no dim, candle-lit nooks. 

It wasn’t exactly first date material. It was jostling, bustling with energy and life. It reminded him of you, though most things usually did. 

He felt himself anticipating the date, thinking and rethinking through his lines with Steven, what to say, how to say it, how to kiss your cheek at the end of it and what to say right afterwards, when a sudden stake of fear pierced through his heart, moments before he headed out the door for the flower shop. 

Maybe you weren’t being serious about this, were just trying to test the waters, maybe get a free dinner out of it, at the end of the night. The walls had shot up around his heart in minutes, and he stopped the florist from taking out a dozen long-stemmed roses, as he went for the safer option as well, the option that didn’t make him look like a fool at the end when you inevitably reached inside his chest and crushed his heart. Tulips. 

“Yeah,” a lot went down that night. For one, waves upon waves of guilt and shame as he got to know you better and realised that you were just as much falling for him as he was for you, and that he should have gone with the roses, just like Steven said. Then the panic, where he thought that you would think that he wasn’t serious about this, that he was just testing the waters and trying to get a lay at the end of the night. “What about it?” 

Which was why he got you the roses as well, and didn’t even kiss your cheek good night, barely touched you until five dates in. 

“You were so nervous,” there’s a smile in your voice, pained and nervous, but there. Marc doesn’t need to open his eyes to see it. Like that quote you were always mumbling to him. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. “I thought you’d gotten food poisoning or something.” 

That was probably why you kept asking him if he was ok, if he was feeling alright. For a brief moment, he ponders telling you the truth, and he does it. “I was nervous,” he swallows and breathes in and out once. “I…I thought you weren’t serious about me-” 

“Marc-” you sound shocked, as if three years hadn’t passed since that date, and you hadn’t proven to him, over and over again, that you were in it for the long haul. 

He shakes his head, still pressed against yours, “That’s why I got you tulips first, then roses. Wanted you to see. I was serious too. Still am.” You sigh and it sounds like what am I going to do with you Marc? He wants to tell you that all you have to do is keep him forever, that whatever way you want him, he’ll give himself over to you. Just as long as he was yours. 

On the way back from the restaurant, he hadn’t just bought you roses. There was an art fair set up shop a few streets away, and there he had bought you a poster and a CD too. The poster had caught your eye, the CD was one of Steven’s favourite bands that Marc had passed off as his own. He bought both for you. The poster still hangs on your room wall, and Steven has bought you the rest of the band's discography.

But the roses were from him. Truly from him. 

Truth be told, it’d been so long since Marc had listened to music that he wasn’t sure what it was he liked anymore. Even before the military, the majority of his childhood was spent in silence. Whispers and tiptoes around the house. He’s not sure if he can really enjoy music anymore, if his singing earlier had truly been singing or just off-key mumblings that you’d accommodated for his sake. 

He just knows that he hears things sometimes. Pretty sounds. On the radio, passing through stores, something that Steven had stuck in his head when he took the body. He hears lots of things, but it’s only the ones that remind him of you that stick with him. 

As if by magic, you can tell when he’s done thinking, if that was even possible for him. At the very least, you can distinguish between his trains of thought, when they change tracks and when they stop. Because you pull back and look into his eyes, “You want me to have your baby?” You stop him from getting lost in his own head. 

He loves you. That much he knows for sure. He also knows that, “Yes. I do want that.” Steven’s voice rings through his head, and he adds on, “Only if you want it too.” 

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards, a light is lit inside your eyes, “You want me to have your baby.” He likes it when you say it like that. Like it’s a fact just waiting to happen. 

In reality he’s not so sure about the waiting to happen part. But it doesn’t matter. All he wants at that moment is to record your voice and set it as his ringtone. To take your phone and call himself over and over again, just to hear those golden words repeated back to himself as much as he wanted, without seeming needy and having to ask you over and over again. 

“Yes,” his hand comes to rest on top of your stomach, the other at your lower back. “I do want it, if you want that too. Do you want it too?” He knows Steven must have talked to you about it as well. Must have told you that they were both on board with the idea, that Marc had been suffering from baby fever for more than a year. 

“We’re going to need a house,” you muse, twirling one of his curls in your finger and letting it go, letting it spring back to where it was. You move on to the next one. Marc has spent hours, with his head on your chest as you went through each and every one of his curls one-by-one. “Maybe we could go back to the States. Could get a transfer to our-” 

“No,” that part’s decided. He knows you think it is because of the past, the nightmares that still haunt him. It’s not. Marc knows that if were to go back, with you, with Steven and with a baby, he wouldn’t mind it in the least. But he’s read too many articles, looked at the statistics and mortality rates during childbirth to say, “No. They’ve got shit healthcare.” 

It’s said so morbidly that you can’t help but smile at him, the gruff tone of his voice. He knows you’re taking him seriously, that you agree with him as well, spending hours debating the matter with Steven, devouring sociology books about women’s rights alongside him. But he’s not sure you know just how serious he is about this. That he doesn’t need to read the books and watch the interviews. 

He wants to be in a country where your health isn’t compromised because of the expenses at the end. He’s already lost too many people to lose you to a fucked up system, a system that can be easily avoided. 

There were many reasons he decided to move to England. 

“How about the countryside then? Someplace up North?” 

“I’ll see if Steven knows any estate agents, we can let out the flat.” Steven cries out in protest, throwing another insult his way. Marc knows, however, that if it were you the one asking him to give up the flat (which frankly, is quite unlikely, given the way you are pouting at him right now), Steve would do it in a heartbeat. 

It’s a wonder the three of you manage to get anything done. 

Marc can’t stand another minute with you like this. With so little of your skin touching his, when you’re sitting there look as pretty as a picture, wearing the dress he wanted even when you should have done anything but. Softly, he takes you in his arms, folding your legs to your chest like a little ball and places you on his lap. His nose nudges the side of your temple and kisses the spot right afterwards. Nothing can compare to holding you like this. Nothing. 

Maybe holding you like this, in bed. Where he wouldn’t have to police his hands to keep them in public-appropriate places. 

Just as he’s about to suggest applying a layer of sunscreen on you, a guise for touching the non-public-appropriate curves of your body that he loves, a guise that you’ll see straight through let him do so regardless, you shift a little and look up at him. 

“I…Marc, I-maybe if we…” There's a crease forming between your eyebrows and Marc is quick to press it away with the pad of his thumb, sealing it with a kiss a few moments later. You start again, and it’s not much better than before, “I know that…Steven n’all and really, I-I don’t know.” 

He smooths his hand over the top of your head, letting it rest at the back. Your stuttering tone is all too familiar, the panic radiation off you hitting him straight in his chest, “What is it, baby? S’just me.” 

“Well that’s the problem now, innit?” you mumble, hiding your face in his chest, in what he supposes to be a poor rendition of Steven’s accent. His stomach drops. Maybe this is your subtle way of asking for Steven. He pushes the thought out of his mind, wraps his arm tighter around you, gently patting the back of your head and tucking it underneath his chin. 

He’ll let Steven front if that’s what you want, what you ask of him. But until then, he won’t ask for him to show up, will try to see if, like last night, he can handle things on his own. Not as well as Steven, but maybe like him. 

By now, Steven would have already gone off at a mile's worth of words a minute. Chattering and making you laugh, distracting you momentarily from the topic at hand until you were able to come back to it. Marc often did that with you. You often did that with Marc. 

But there are no jokes that can come to his mind, Steven gone quiet for the first time in decades. He can’t think of anything more important right now than the matter at hand, what it means to him, what it, potentially, might mean to you. 

So, he stays quiet. Kisses along your hairline and then the crown of your head, going back to humming his song. It’s a break, a pause in a game of jeopardy where the music plays and you’re given time to think of an answer.

Except this is different, so much more different than the game. If you wanted it, Marc would give you the whole day, months or years to think about your answer. There was no one watching at home, screaming out the correct answer for you. It was just you and him, you and Steven, Steven and Marc. Simple as that, and as complicated as that. Because having a baby wasn’t some random trivia fact about the 29th president. 

“I…” he looks down at you, but you’re struggling to look up at him so he looks away. Does what you do for him when his thoughts become too much. “There’s a lot to consider, we can’t jump into buying a house right away.” He murmurs his agreement, and runs his hands up and down your arms. “I need a gynaecologist, at the very least, before anything.” 

“You don’t have one?” Concern rips through his body at breakneck speed. 

He feels you shake your head against him, “No, never got around to it. Never thought it was necessary either.” He bites down the urge to scold and chastise you, demand why you hadn’t been sooner, why you hadn’t been keeping tabs on your health. “Also gotta see if I’m healthy enough, and then there’s the-” you pause and catch his eye “-Marc this…it’s a lot of work. From all of us.”

Nodding, he searches your face with his eyes and wonders if it’s possible to love someone as much as he does in that moment. “I know. Whatever you need, whatever you want. You tell me, ok? Steven and I’ll sort it out, arrange it for you. We’ll-” 

“Marc, I want to wait a little,” he sees you cringe, as your eyes fall back to your lap again and your muscles tense. As if he’d kick you out of his arms, and you’re getting ready before the demand. “I-” you run your hands down your face “-I need to think about this more, need to think about my job and fertility and we need genetic screenings and…I just don’t want you to be disappointed if this falls through.” 

It feels like, still, you haven’t answered his question. You’re talking about this like it’s something you want to give to him, like wearing a dress he likes, making him a cup of coffee. Pushing past the lump in his throat, he hopes that he makes this sound as genuine to his feelings as possible. “But, sweetheart, is this something you want?” You’re about to answer, before he hurriedly adds on, “Because if it’s not, even just a little, I don’t want it either, not even a little bit.” 

There are tears filling your eyes, and he’s already threatening Steven to show up before he never lets him take control again, when suddenly, all his thoughts come to a screeching stop like they always do when you smile at him like that. “You mean that? Really?” 

“Yes, yes,” he swallows, keeping your eyes on him. “I love you. And that’s enough for me.” 

“Oh, Marc,” your voice cracks and you lean up, hiding your face in his neck. Steven murmurs a Knew you had it in you in his ear. “Marc, I love you too. And, and-” you pull back, playing with his hair between your fingers, pushing it behind his ear “-I just need time, some more information.” 

“Take as long as you need,” he says it so simply because it’s the truth. It passes out his mouth like water. Essential and vital for you, for the love you share with him without qualms or conditions. A love he’s never truly had, “We’ll go to all the doctors’ offices in the country. If you change your mind,” he pauses, chooses his words carefully. He likes this feeling, of having so much to say, but trying to decide what to say, “I’ll still be here. I’ll never go, unless you want me to.” 

You shake your head fervently, “Never. Never. I’ll never want that.” 

The conversation has taken such a turn for the serious it feels wrong to have it here, on a beach full of people, the sun shining. So, he teases, lifting up a corner of his mouth, “Offer still stands though. You’re free to sack me whenever you want.” 

“Spector.” 

Your tone is reprimanding, laced with love, and back to the sarcastic quip he knows it to be. There’s much more to be talked about, he knows that if anything. Steven needs to sit down with you seriously as well. 

The house up North should be the last thing on his mind, but he hopes blindly that there’ll be a skylight, so you can see the rain falling at night, that there's a yard big enough for a puppy, an empty wall exactly the size of the fish tank.

But, for now, he’s promised his girl a day at the beach, and he’ll give it to her, if it’s the last thing he does.

So, he stands up with you, smothering sunscreen all over your face and helps you into the wetsuits and swimming caps. He’d seen the way you’d been eyeing the water, when Steven had been talking with you, he knew what was on your mind. 

Your hand in his is a familiar, comforting weight as the two of you run along towards the edge of the water, not stopping until you’re waist deep. 

There, breathless from the cold and the run, Marc turns to you and kisses you hard, the way you like it. Reminding you of his promise to fuck you good tonight, with a condom. 

“Is it too much to dream,” you sing softly, still breaths away from his mouth. “That we can forever be, rare hearts that never disagree.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, and he only kisses you again, hoping that you end up being so breathless that you can’t manage to say things that make his heart go haywire and all the blood in his body to rush to his face. 

But you do it again, when you pull back, and say, another wave threatening to tear the two of you apart, “Marc, Marc, you’re pretty. So pretty, it makes my heart hurt sometimes.” 

“Well,” a smirk forms and he cups the sides of your face. “How can I help with the pain?”

This time, you lean up and kiss him. You kiss him and you breathless. He’s happy to stay like this forever, even if his feet are already going numb from the cold water. 

He would have stayed like that, kissed you until the sun went down if Steven hadn’t interrupted. Marc frowns, grumbling something underneath his breath and subsequently rolling his eyes. A wave crashes into the two of you, but his grip on you is strong. 

“What is it?” you grin up at him. He looks good in the sun, droplets of water running down his nose and neck. “Steven jealous?” 

He shoots you a look that sends you into a fit of giggles, “Same shit, different day.” He thinks you’re glowing, he wants to cover up the sun because there’s too much light in the world, that people will surely get blinded. There’s nothing you can ask of him at that moment that he won’t tear apart the world to give to you. 

It scares him a little that you seem so oblivious to the fact, as if it were reversed. 

Marc can’t imagine asking anything of you. 

Just your love. 

You take his hand in yours and wade back to the shallower bits, where the water laps at your ankles, occasionally at your calves with a stronger wave. It’s obvious what you’re doing, what’s happening and Marc complies accordingly. He turns you around and presses your body into his, warmth radiating into you from both inside and out. 

“Hi again, love.” 

You smile and close your eyes. 

You’re not sure who kisses you. But you know things are going to be ok. 

And that you love them and their rare hearts.

Part 3 here!

Thanks so much for reading and a special thanks to everyone who interacted and commented on the original post. I saw each and every one of your comments and they warmed my heart!

If you liked this please consider leaving me some feedback, I obsess over it constantly!

Part Two Tags: @elliaze, @whats-belay

[syrupwit]

hi hi hi happy friday! Can I get "Neediness and feeling embarrassed about it" or "Everybody wants to know how we fucked on the bathroom sink" (which banger song!!!) for Anders/Fenris or Alistair/Zevran? Also throwing in that I've really been enjoying your fics 🥺

Hello, thank you! I considered mashing all these request components together into a Frankenfill, but, alas, it was not to be.

Under the cut, please find ~1700-1800ish words of neediness, and feeling embarrassed about it, for Anders/Fenris for @dadrunkwriting. This is a follow-up to this fill from last week. CW: sexual content.

ETA: I did not mean to post this so soon, I'm sorry! It was meant to go in the queue for this evening. /o\

-

Anders had learned a long time ago, longer than he preferred to admit, that it wasn’t safe to let anyone know he wanted something. They would take it, or use it against him, or parade it around in front of his face until he begged for it. Even kind people who treated others well did this. Even people who had professed to care for him. 

The safest thing was to pretend that he had no desires, or to lie and mask them with something adjacent—“I’m horny, not lonely; I drank to drink, not to weep”—that kind of silly, facile thing, or in recent years something more complicated. Occasionally he could succeed at hiding his desires perfectly behind another person’s, making them believe that he was just doing what they wanted, and how could they blame him for trying to please them? 

Unfortunately, that strategy didn’t always work. Especially with Fenris.

“We need to be on our way, mage.” Fenris’s voice, impatient but not yet flat with irritation, cut into Anders’ contemplation.

“Right, sure,” said Anders, and went back to packing up the campsite.

The journey so far had been long, and there was still much ground to cover before they met with Hawke. Anders dreaded it. A week ago, he would’ve said it was because he was afraid of himself; could not bear what he had done, despite or perhaps because of the fact that he believed it had been necessary; and no longer saw any reason to live.

Less weighty concerns preoccupied him now.

Fenris was busy with the tent, so Anders could stare at him. His hair had been growing. He was wearing it up and pulled back hard, in a way that looked painful and emphasized the sharpness of his thin face. If Anders ran a finger along the edge of that jaw, he was sure it would make him bleed.

He shook his head to disperse his thoughts. They had run across a lot of elfroot the other day, had managed to gather more of it than space was budgeted for, and the pack with healing supplies needed to be carefully organized if Anders was to carry it without tiring or losing anything.

He devoted himself to this task so thoroughly that he didn’t notice Fenris’s approach. Well, he noticed that Fenris was near, because he always did—the lyrium brands called to the spirit, or demon, inside him who had lain sleeping since their exit from Kirkwall, melodic and impossible to ignore—but it startled him when arms wrapped around him and a sharp-chinned face pressed to his back.

“You smell good,” said Fenris, sounding surprised. 

“I need a bath,” said Anders, because he did.

“Hah.” Fenris did something with his face that—yes, that was nuzzling. A week ago, Anders might’ve thought him incapable of even conceiving of such an action. “You do.”

Anders held his breath. He didn’t shrink or make himself stiff, as that might make Fenris pull away, but he didn’t do what he wanted either, which was to lean back against Fenris and bring his arms around him tighter. Then start begging. 

“Is it that I smell like elfroot?” he said.

“No, you smell like human.”

“No need to sound so disgusted, elf.” 

“If you disgusted me, I would not be touching you. We will bathe tonight,” Fenris announced, and released him. “At the inn.”

“The inn?” said Anders. No inn had been mentioned to him before. They hadn’t slept under a roof in weeks, unless caves counted, and to Anders they didn’t.

“There is a certain spring, supposedly not far from here, where an inn serves those desiring to take the waters. Hawke has a contact there.”

“Well, I can’t say a bed won’t be a welcome change of pace,” said Anders. “But…”

“You can work through your doubts on the road,” said Fenris. “Now, finish your task.”

“You were the one who interrupted me!” Anders protested, and went back to arranging the healing supplies. He could still feel the warmth of Fenris’s body, and it made his chest ache. His mind turned, as it had many times in the past week, to thoughts and urges he’d hoped he would never have again.

-

There was an inn. Just as Fenris had said, Hawke had a contact there: the owner, a very small, very bright-eyed old Fereldan woman who retained her hulking nephew as the sole employee. The inn didn’t get many visitors this time of year, so they were free to take their pick of the rooms.

It had been a long day. After they ate and drank, the nephew brought up water for the bath. Anders bathed first, as he suspected Fenris would goad him into it otherwise. 

Fenris occupied himself with laying out clothes for the morning, his back to Anders. Anders dampened a rag and wiped off the worst of the grime on him before getting into the bath. Soaking in the water made him feel loose and tired, and soothed cramps and pains he hadn’t realized he had. 

When he was done, the water was cold, so he heated it. He didn’t realize what he’d done—he was too focused, perhaps, on trying not to look at Fenris, or see if Fenris was looking at him—until they switched places and he heard Fenris exclaim.

Surreal, Anders thought. A week ago, would he have cared if Fenris drowned? (Answer: Yes, he would have, but that care would’ve had nowhere to go.) Now here he was, leaping across the room like an anxious young mother to make sure the water wasn’t too hot.

“That was careless of you,” said Fenris. His face was flushed, hair a little wavy with steam. Anders couldn’t bear to regard him for long, but instead chose to aim his attention slightly off, so he got blurry flashes of elf out of the side of his vision. “Someone could have noticed the use of magic.”

“The innkeeper’s nephew carried my staff upstairs.”

“He might have really thought it was a walking stick,” Fenris grumbled.

“It’ll be fine,” said Anders. “It’s Hawke’s contact.” He turned away, but a wet hand caught his wrist. He glanced at Fenris in fear, finding a grim look in his eyes. Then another hand grabbed the front of his nightshirt—rude!—and pulled him down into a hot, damp kiss.

“You have a water thing,” he accused breathlessly, when he was let up.

Fenris’s brow wrinkled. As he remembered what Anders was referring to, he smirked. “This is coincidence.”

“If it happens a third time, you have to admit that I’m right.”

“I have to admit nothing.” He pulled Anders down again. There was sweat involved at this point, and tongue. A lot of water got on Anders’ nightshirt.

Anders tore himself away, and Fenris didn’t pursue him. “I have to wear this to bed,” he complained, trying to wring out the nightshirt.

“Not necessarily.”

“Well, aren’t you smooth,” said Anders, but panic was coiling inside him. If what was between them was only flirtation, and Fenris tired of him after one try, or if Fenris discovered how much he wanted and was threatened or repulsed by it… “Some other time, maybe. I’m tired.”

He wasn’t lying. He managed to fall asleep before Fenris could join him in the bed. 

-

Anders awoke mid-scream from a nightmare about the Mother. Hadn’t had one of those in a while. He gulped in air, trying to stagger his breaths enough to slow his racing heart.

“Mage? Are you yourself?” Fenris stood on the other side of the bed. His markings gleamed in the darkness, not lit but singing with potential, and he held his hands up in a defensive posture. 

Anders realized that he had been glowing. As soon as he noticed, the glow faded out.

“Uh,” he said. “I think so.”

He felt Fenris watching him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.

The elf’s weight hit the bed. “Anders,” he said, and Anders felt him crawl tentatively towards him.

“I had a nightmare,” he explained. “It’s just one of those Grey Warden things. You must have heard me having one before.”

“Not so loudly before.” Fenris moved closer. His bare knee brushed Anders’ leg.

“Did you sleep naked?” said Anders, cracking an eye.

“Yes,” said Fenris, unnecessarily, with what sounded like a deliberate lack of embarrassment. “I… had hopes for the morning. But you need not concern yourself with that.”

“Ah.”

“You would prefer that I were dressed.”

“No, I,” Anders took in a breath. “Can you hold me? Just hold me. You don’t have to do anything else.” He turned on his side so that he didn’t have to see Fenris’s expression, as little as could be made out in the darkness. 

There was a moment of silence from Fenris, during which Anders resigned himself to the literal or figurative tearing out of his heart; and then a strong, wiry body was carefully pressed to his back.

“Like this?” said Fenris, draping an arm over his waist.

“Fuck,” said Anders, and made himself relax.

He had wanted to keep it at that, but his body was restless and greedy, made bold by the press of skin and the tangling of bare legs. His nightshirt was cool with sweat and Fenris felt so warm.

He shifted and felt Fenris harden, cock just grazing his ass.

Anders rolled his hips back.

Fenris froze. Anders pushed back against him, harder.

"Changed my mind," he said. Before he could think twice, he took hold of Fenris's hand and moved it under the hem of his nightshirt.

Fenris sucked in a breath. He ran his hand over Anders' torso, up over his chest, and then down to his stomach, hips, thighs. His fingers curled around Anders and stroked, the friction already eased by his arousal.

"You want me." Fenris sounded uncertain and a little confused.

Anders squeezed his eyes shut. "I do."

He reached behind himself, awkwardly, and found Fenris's other hand. Lips were pressed to his shoulder through the nightshirt; he would have preferred to feel them on bare skin, but didn't want to push it. Then Fenris tugged the collar of the nightshirt aside to bite him, and his surprised gasp quickly became a moan.

There was clearly more to be said. Anders decided to put it off for as long as he could manage, as Fenris pressed against him and continued to touch him, giving him, for the moment at least, anything he might think to ask for.

[roguelioness]

(your mouth is poison) your mouth is wine

Fandom: Wayfarer Pairing: (implied) Zayah Medrash/Aeran Kellis Rating: T (angst) Words: 1555 (read on AO3)

It is either very late, or very early. The Dareia is silent, save for those chosen few who are vital to its running. Zayah tosses and turns in her cot, shifting to face the wall, then the door, then gives up and sprawls onto her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The soft whisper of breath coming from the hammock tells her that Aeran is asleep. She glances in his direction, observing his face. Elf eyes are useful, especially when she has to make do with the little light that drifts in through the window.

His face is relaxed, no stress on his mouth, no clench to his jaw. His forehead is smooth and unwrinkled, and he looks so peaceful it pulls a pang to her heart. It will not always be this way, she knows - soon the sun will rise and he will leave whatever dream has him so at ease.

And then they will dance whatever strange dance they’ve been doing since she first woke aboard the ship, disoriented and dazed, and goaded the confession from him.

She sighs softly, feeling that ribbon of… something… twist unpleasantly in her stomach. Her gaze darts to him again, lingering on the slight part to his lips, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Everything had shifted that day, changed in a way she can’t figure out; their comfortable, easy camaraderie has given way to…

Whatever this is.

And she hates it.

But she loves him.

(does he love her?)

Gods, she’s such a mess.

Stifling the hysterical chuckle before it can form, she quietly slides her feet over the cot’s edge onto the floor. The wood is smooth and cool beneath her soles. Pulling her messy waves into a haphazard bun, she softly tiptoes out of the room, making sure to close the door with as little noise as she can manage.

The deck is abandoned, a small mercy. The last thing she wants is other people intruding on her misery. The brisk sea air plays with the loose tendrils that have slipped their enclosure like cats with a string of yarn, batting it this way and that. The tang of salt is heavy; usually that familiar scent would lift her mood, but at the moment it adds to her melancholy. Gripping the railing, she stares out into the vast expanse of ink. It’s so dark with the moon hidden away she cannot make out the horizon; the only distinction between sea and sky is the generous pinpricks of light sprinkled above her head. The various scattered thoughts she releases to the tide; the bigger ones she resolutely sets aside until she finds some means to deal with them. There’s certainly no point in worrying about Velantis while they’re floating in the middle of the ocean.

Finally, the source of her insomnia worms its way to the forefront of her thoughts. What is broken in you, it croons to her in a voice that comes from the void, that you can only be loved in secret? 

Zayah’s grip tightens, her knuckles protesting with the strain, and is reminded of her mother. How much Tanithe had laughed with Hyrum and Adonyah; how freely, how generously, how openly she’d loved them. She remembers Hyrum playing with their mother on the beach, Baltsar taking Adonyah to the fair, all while she watched from the window of her room. Can’t I come, little Zayah had asked, I promise I’ll be good.

I promise I’ll be good.

I’ll be good, I promise.

It didn’t matter how many times she said it. How many ways she said it.  

It was never enough.

She was never enough.

She stares unseeingly at the bejewelled sky as her mind takes her back to the day she’d left with Cenric. Don’t send me away, mama. Please! I’ll do better. Even now, she can still feel the silk of her mother’s dress on her palm, smell the rose of her perfume. Let go of me, Zayah, Tanithe would disentangle herself from her needy, greedy (but was it so wrong to want affection?) child, removing the desperate hold one chubby finger at a time. You’re hurting me. 

(didn’t her mother see she was hurting too? or did she just not care?)

I’m sorry, mama. I love you.

Her mother had been silent. 

They had an audience, after all.

You are a dirty little secret, the voice mocks. Deserving only to be hidden away.

The chuckle that had started to form earlier now comes out, loud and bitter, and the coil of barbed self-doubt roiling within her chest also pushes angry tears to her eyes.

Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe that’s why Aeran…

For over a decade she’d tamped down her feelings for him, shoved them ruthlessly into a box and hid it away in that small piece of her heart that still held hope. Years of moving from village to village, through seas and cities, finding the exact shade of his hair in ripe wheat fields and his eyes in the cloudless skies. Nights spend under threadbare sheets in a cot that barely fit her and yet felt too big, too wrong. Minutes upon hours of the past two years convincing herself that there could be nothing more between them than the friendship forged as children.

And then.

I was thinking I didn’t want the person I’m in love with to die!

She swipes angrily at her cheeks with the back of her hand, incensed at the stray tear that had escaped. For that half a minute, everything had been beautifully, brilliantly bright, and then–

Nothing. He acts as though it had never happened. Pretends as though the words had never left his lips.

Is he ashamed of me, she wonders. Whispers her worries to the wind. Is he embarrassed of his feelings for me? Am I so terrible that he despises himself for loving me?

What did I do to deserve this?

How do I fix it?

“Zee?” Aeran’s voice, low and concerned, drifts towards her. She turns her head to find him standing by the stairs that lead to the lower decks. She says nothing, only stares at him. His curly tresses are sleep-tousled, and the breeze keeps pushing a stray lock into his eyes. He brushes it away impatiently, his eyes never leaving hers. The worry on his face is unbearable; it scalds her, sears her – it slowly strips at the armor of her composure until she fears she will be laid bare beneath that cobalt gaze.

She's not going to cry. She's not going to make a fool of herself in front of him. Zayah exhales and returns her focus to the water. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she murmurs. 

“You didn’t.” It’s a testament to how well she knows him that she can hear the sound of his unshod feet over the sussurration of the wind and the sloshing of water against the ship. He comes to stand next to her, the few scant inches between them not enough to dissipate the heat of his body before it touches her skin. “I thought I heard someone talking…” he trails off, then clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

She draws in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “Yeah,” she lies.

Aeran drapes his forearms over the railing, and follows her line of sight. “It’s a pretty night,” he offers, and it comes out as awkwardly as every other thing he’s said over the past week.

“Yeah.”

He lapses into silence again. The air between them fills with bulky, unwieldy tension, unspoken thoughts and unexpressed emotions filling the crevices of the contained expanse between their bodies.

Finally, Aeran sighs and places a hand over hers. His palm and fingers are calloused, his skin so warm, and when she splays her fingers his slot neatly in the gaps.

As though they belong there. 

His lips part, as though he’s going to say something; instead, he presses them together tightly and shakes his head before flashing her a wan, abstract smile “Come on Zee,” he urges quietly. “Let’s go back to bed.”

It’s embarrassing the way her heart flips over at that. 

Her fingers tighten around his for the briefest of moments - she doesn’t want to let go. She wants to stay here and hold his hand and demand the answers she’s due. When she turns to face him, it’s at the tip of her tongue: do you really love me or was that just a lie?

Blue eyes blink at her, their edges creased. His forehead wears furrows. Something uncertain and hesitant and fearful lurks in his gaze.

Her demand dies a quick, painless death.

What if he says he does not love you, that voice taunts, what if he leaves you because you pushed him too much? Your bones are not hollow enough to bear the weight of his absence.

Her fingers twitch against his before she draws her hand back to herself. “Yeah,” she says. Her smile fits strangely on her mouth. There’s something corroding her ribs. “Let’s go.” 

So what if her heart is breaking? At least she has him by her side. It's enough for her. 

It is.

It is.

The lie stings her flesh as she makes her way back to their cabin.

[writingforfun0714]

I just finished binge-watching The Dragon Prince S4 and I thought I’d share my thoughts as a show-only fan.

Warnings—spoilers for TDP S4, long post

*I��VE NEVER READ ANY OTHER MATERIAL

**I remember hearing from Wonderstorm (the animation studio) that it wasn’t necessary to read TTM (Through the Moon) to understand the story, so I never bothered with it—but boy I’m assuming it’d be helpful

Out of every season, I thought it was ok, however, definitely the weakest of the seasons so far. I’ve seen people make excuses, the most popular one is that ‘it’s just setting up the arc, it’s not supposed to wrap everything up’. To those that use the ‘it’s not finished’ excuse, may I point to you S1??? The first season of any show is hard to pull off b/c of world building and introducing the story. I’d say that TDP’s 1st season is much better than season 4. Yes S1 had wonky animation, but the story was great! It kept me engaged and that’s the goal of every story: to be interesting.

So here’s what I liked/enjoyed:

By S4, the animation has improved and looks amazing. The music is also not bad. S1 I thought did just a bit better with the music (ep3!), but definitely still good. There’s a 2yr timeskip so Callum is about 17 and Ezran is 11-12. Loved everyone’s new look (though Ez’s voice threw me but I understand a lot of boys don’t start puberty until about 13–my 12yr old brother is just starting/and the VA is female so dunno if they’d just pitch her down or what).

I know a lot of you didn’t like that the pastry chef guy was made like an official member of the royal council or whatever, but I actually loved it. It’s a refreshing take compared to having solely important people on the council. Adding people who seem like ‘normal/everyday’ kind of people to a high position (yes, it’s cooking/food, but he can be in charge of feeding the needy in Katolis or something) isn’t something that’s normally seen in fantasy stories imo.

Also know that some of you didn’t like that Igneous Rex was swayed by a pastry. His explanation though really made sense. He wanted to try something new (think Isabella from Encanto). It made total sense and I loved it. Also immediately knew it was chocolate. Never once did I think it was like cinnamon or something. Chef man is gonna bring world peace w/ chocolate calling it now.

The bond between Zym/Ezran reminds me of Eragon (especially w/ Ez being able to see through Zym’s eyes) and I’m absolutely living for that.

The new characters introduced are ok. Definitely love Terry. Honestly, I was wondering why he wasn’t freaking out when Claudia would do dark magic (since he’s an elf), but after thinking on it, I realized Terry’s probably never seen anything bad happen for using dark magic. For being so smitten w/ Claudia, I assume they’ve known each other for maybe a year or so. Enough time to get to know her but to not know everything about her. And even though Claudia is clearly traumatized by what she had to do to bring Viren back, she brought someone back from the dead. That’s gotta be amazing from a bystander POV.

I also loved Viren’s brutal talk with him and how Terry chooses not to follow that advice. I hope their relationship grows. I wonder if he’ll start to see Terry in a different light. Assuming it’s just been Soren, Claudia and Viren for years, having a stranger come in and say that he loves Claudia has got to be weird/foreign for Viren. Speaking of…I loved how Viren and Claudia’s relationship now has pretty much flipped, with her being the one in control and he just kinda has to do what she says. Really mirrors their S1 relationship. I’m sure she wasn’t forced, but I’m sure Viren’s words sway her to do what he wants. I hope that Viren and Claudia’s relationship is explored more cuz when she was forcing him up the spire, she really didn’t seem to see anything was wrong (that he was freaking out).

I also kind of like the fact that I can’t really tell if Claudia is really having feelings for Terry or not. He clearly loves her no question, but we haven’t really heard Claudia talk about Terry in the way he does about her. I’m worried that she’s using him in some way/will betray/leave him (especially considering that speech she gave Soren when they reunited. Like ??? Girl, you’re dating an elf??)

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THAT FIGHT SCENE BETWEEN IBIS AND CLAUDIA with Ez’s speech narrating over it. From what I remember, I don’t think we’ve seen a mage vs mage (magic v magic) fight before. It’s interesting because a lot of the sword fighting shown isn’t really dangerous or anything because anytime someone loses their sword, it’s considered that they lost. I think how sword fighting is typically portrayed though there are exceptions, but especially within children shows (obviously). The fight starts out with magic until they both disarm each other and it switches to a free-for-all, doing anything they can to get the upper hand. This is truly a fight for their lives. Ibis manages to stab Claudia’s leg and she kills him, leaving him on top of the spire. More fights like this please!!

I love how we were all expecting Aaravos with beautiful wings or something to come out of the cocoon and we get Gollum with wings that Claudia names sir sparkle puff. Perfection. They made the ‘winter is coming’ joke in S1 for GoT, is this their version of Gollum for Lord of the Rings? Also loved the callbacks to Avatar the Last Airbender (Soren saying yip yip and the shot of Igneous Rex’s treasure hoard that has Aang’s glider and Sokka’s boomerang).

I liked that Aaravos has targeted Callum and while possessing him, calls out everyone’s ‘flaws’/insecurities. I haven’t really seen anyone mention this but while Aaravos basically confirmed that he targets mages, I believe Callum won’t be like any other mage Aaravos encountered because Callum is the only human known to use magic w/o help. He uses the primal stone at first, but he quickly starts using magic all by himself, simply recalling spells he’s seen/heard. I always thought that was weird and hopefully will be explained in future seasons, but I definitely think that will play a role with the whole Callum/Aaravos relationship.

The last thing I enjoyed was Janai and Amaya’s relationship (but thought the story there was a little underwhelming/predictable).

Now that I’ve gone over things that I enjoyed out of this season, here are things I didn’t quite enjoy personally:

I think the most obvious and one that I’ve seen most people talk about so far is Callum/Rayla’s relationship. As stated before, if you haven’t read Through the Moon, like me, S4 is super confusing for their relationship. I did like that Callum didn’t forgive Rayla immediately and was pretty icy towards her. He’s been hurting immensely since she left, which I think is part of why he asked her to kill him if he became Aaravos’ pawn. She’s hurt him before, she can do it again, at least in Callum’s mind. What bugs me is that even though Rayla said she was so focused on getting revenge for what happened, she just..gives up? After 2 years? She left Callum, obviously knowing how deeply it’d hurt him, and didn’t see it through to the end (something her character arc wrapped up in S3 becoming a dragon guard). In S1, she didn’t finish killing the Katolis guard, putting her friends in danger. S2, she didn’t finish finding her identity/who she wants to be (the pirate ep and the ep where she chooses to save the dragon). S3 finally wrapped her character arc up by her choosing to pick up where her parents left off, in becoming the last dragon guard.

Now w/ S4 out we find out Rayla has given up her search for Viren after only 2yrs. And the worst part? She doesn’t even seem to realize what she did was hurtful to Callum. Rayla expects to pick things up right where they left off when Callum is still clearly hurting. Neither of them are the same after the 2yrs but she expects things to go back to ‘normal’ when that can never be the case. Causing that kind of emotional pain can’t be repaired with just time, or even with apologies. It’s frustrating that Rayla doesn’t acknowledge that she hurt Callum or even apologized. Callum clearly has some choice words for her and he’s just…deflecting and rejecting her any time they see each other because he doesn’t wanna talk about it. I get it, Big Feelings, I know, but this talk clearly needs to happen.

Honestly I could go on about their relationship, but I don’t want this post to get too long.

Next, I really didn’t care for the humor/jokes. Honestly even in S2 and 3, the humor seemed to be dipping/going down hill. The cringe-iest one was obviously the fart joke. Like…really?? It seems like kid shows have been putting those in more (even in Legend of Korra-Meelo). AtLA had 0 fart jokes. Humor can be more than fart jokes in kid shows! The other really cringey joke was Soren’s pajamas and stinky feet waking Rayla up. I know a lot of you guys also think this too so I’m glad I’m not alone.

Also I felt that adding ‘Stella’ the purple cuddle monkey thing Rayla has as a companion was too much. We already have Bait and Zym, this is just too much. Also the portal thing Stella can do is too OP for an animal imho. Like it’s cool for animals to do stuff that’s helpful (Bait glows, Zym fights), but this just felt…tacky/too unreal? Yes dragons are a thing and yes it’s a fantasy show, but Stella doing the portal thing seemed really out of place for me. Stella really just felt like a ‘marketable creature’ inserted to make money as toys. Also she interrupted Callum!!! HE WAS GONNA TALK UNTIL SHE SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA HIM AND HE CLOSED BACK UP!!!!

If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t really like Ezran’s development (or lack of) this season either. He’s always portrayed as the innocent/naive kid and even though he’s king now, he’s still the same (despite everything he’s gone through). He’s the pure character for the sake of being pure and is incorruptible. His whole deal of trying to get the humans and dragons to get along was ok, it made sense for this animal-loving boy king, but we’re in the 4th season, over the half-way point. Ezran has to have more to his character by now. I wanna see him struggle like Dany in GoT when that guy brought his daughter’s burnt corpse to her and she had to lock up her dragons. Let’s see Ez wrestle with a horrible accident caused by Zym or another dragon.

Also didn’t really like that they sidelined Soren and Viren. There’s so much trauma to explore there and I’m surprised we haven’t seen anything from Soren’s POV like a nightmare of him killing Viren or something.

And as I said earlier, the whole Janai struggling w/ ruling her people and the whole humans vs elves thing was a little…basic. And Janai’s brother Karim was so predictable. I knew he wasn’t gonna win that fight. I did like that he didn’t try and break up Janai and Amaya cuz of their species and instead wanted for them to live a humble, peaceful life somewhere else and he would rule instead. I think it would’ve been better writing, story-wise, had Janai listened to Karim, given up her crown, then regretted that decision, and have to fight Karim to get it back as the rightful ruler.

The only thing that I can take or leave is Claudia and Viren’s redemption. At this point, I see Viren folding/wavering slightly, especially when he talked about just living out the time he has left with Claudia, despite that ending of him transforming back with the all black eyes/gray skin. If done well, I’d like to see both of them being redeemed, though at this point, the way Claudia describes bringing back Viren, I’m not sure if redemption is possible for her (though Terry seemed to really get through to her w/the coins and Rayla, so maybe Terry can help). Either way, I think their relationship/story is the most interesting at this point (especially since Claudia has the power now in their relationship).

I haven’t seen anyone mention this but I hope Sir Sparklepuff isn’t killed when Aaravos finally does arrive. He’s been somewhat helpful so far and I wonder if, being related/conjured/created by Aaravos, Sir Sparklepuff would be able to find/make the key (the star diamond things). Something is definitely gonna happen to that map Terry made out of the goop stuff, I can feel it.

Well I think that pretty much all my thoughts on Dragon Prince season 4. After watching, I definitely would recommend reading Through the Moon to understand Callum/Rayla’s relationship cuz I was confused af (even though Wonderstorm said ‘don’t worry about it’/not needed). I definitely think it’s the weakest season so far, but the animation is gorgeous and everything with Aaravos is just interesting enough to keep me engaged. S1 arguably had a harder time to find its footing with the story, but I think it did a better job than S4. We essentially start of with a rocky relationship between humans/dragons and humans/elves, and we are still there by the end of S4. I would think, being past the half way point, at least one of those would have been resolved by now (considering how built up of a villain Aaravos is—I would assume everyone-humans, dragons and elves would need to pitch in).

Big thanks to all of you that made it through this whole post. Can’t wait to see what happens next. Lemme know what you thought of The Dragon Prince’s S4.

❤️

PS—I know I keep saying this, but I promise I’ll be back with a fic/chapter soon. I’m currently trying to write Chapter 4 of Older Sister, a Bad Batch fic and am writing 2 different versions before deciding which one I like (I made a post about this here so if you have a preference lemme know).

[noteguk]

hiii, I'm not sure if you have any rules for requests, but could you do a Yoongi pwp with choking kink? Thank you in advance💗

— contents and warnings; pwp, boyfriend!yoongi x reader, established relationship, unprotected sex, choking, dirty talk, kind of rough sex, slight praise, overstimulation, mention of a terrible attempt at christmas seduction that obviously worked out, yoongi being lowkey whipped 

— words; 1.6k

I powered through this during the last minutes of Christmas just because I wanted to have a themed fic... and nothing says ‘happy holidays’ like choking an elf. 

~

Yoongi took it as a personal offense when he saw you waltzing out of his living room bathroom dressed in that skimpy Santa’s Elf costume, like you were an actual demon daring to step inside a church. As much as you swore, batting your eyelashes and smirking innocently, that you were just trying to get into the Christmas spirit, it was very obvious that you were just trying to get into something else. You knew very well what you were doing — and he knew it too — so it wasn’t a surprise when you two ended up where you did, with Yoongi on top of you, fucking the shit out of you on his pristine white couch. 

“Look at me.”

His voice was so serious that you instantly complied, your eyes fluttering open as you met his own, hooded ones. Yoongi looked like a gorgeous mess above you, his hair sweaty and disheveled, cheeks painted by faint crimson hue. A beautiful frown of concentration decorated his features, his eyebrows coming down as he continued to thrust inside you — slowly, because he was feeling particularly wicked that night. 

Yoongi allowed himself to smirk in satisfaction when you met his gaze, your eyes so disoriented and unfocused beneath him. If his gaze trailed further down, he would see the beautiful curvature of your breasts beneath your tight green crop top, bouncing up and down as he continued to piston his hips against yours. He was a man of clear, objective needs: he wanted to fuck you, and he wouldn’t waste any time with some bothersome removal of your clothes when he could just pull your panties to the side and go to town. 

Besides, that hot little top and skirt you were wearing — combined with the red and white stripped thigh high socks that were making him lose his mind — were the instigators of that Fucking Session in the first place. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to take them off. Yet. 

“I wish you could see how pretty you look when I fuck you… such pretty lips,” he told you in a breathless whisper, lowering his body so he could place a messy kiss against your mouth. You gasped his name when he pulled away, but Yoongi remained unfazed by your reaction. “Pretty hair.” His hand pulled on it slightly, making a needy whimper leave your throat. He smirked a bit at that, but quickly grew serious once more. He didn’t know if he wanted to make love to you, or if he wanted to fuck you so hard that you wouldn’t walk for the rest of the holidays. Probably both. “Pretty neck…”

Yoongi leaned in and attacked your neck for the second time that night, loving the way that your skin was already marked by his previous actions. His tongue came out between his lips, licking the bruises and tracing patterns on your skin, making you moan out as your nails scratched down his back. You two hadn’t opened presents yet, but, if that was his, he was beyond satisfied. 

“Y-Yoongi, you feel so good in me,” you cried out. The sensation of his cock pumping inside you was intoxicating, your eyes rolling back as he placed his hands beneath your thighs and angled your hips upwards, mouth never leaving your neck. The new position got the tip of his cock ramming against your sweet spot, legs starting to tremble as your pleasure increased exponentially. “God, right there, Yoongi, don’t stop—” 

“You’re getting so fucking tight around my cock,” he breathed out, nails digging against your skin. Finally, Yoongi found the force within him to move away from your neck, staring at the beautiful art he had imprinted on your flesh — shades of purple and red blooming on your skin — and then meeting your gaze once more. There, he saw the sparkles of desperation and desire that he loved so much; a small tear at the corner of one of them. 

You were the most stunning thing he had ever seen. 

All of you signaled him that you were close: the blush on your cheeks, the loudness of your whimpers, the vague roll of your eyes and perking of your hips every time he slammed back against your throbbing core. Yoongi wished that he could have this image forever, the perfection of your features making his heart melt inside his chest. He loved you so much that it was almost painful. 

One of his hands left your thighs, brushing up your exposed midriff and grabbing your breast before, at last, finding its way around your beautiful neck. Your eyes widened at the hidden meaning of his action, your tongue coming out to lick your lips in anticipation. “Do you want your present, baby?” 

You couldn’t nod fast enough, your orgasm loudly creeping up on your spine. The sounds of your wetness were filling the living room air, almost winning against the stupid, off-tune karaoke version of “Last Christmas” that you convinced your boyfriend to play. “Please,” you gasped. 

If Yoongi felt the way you clenched around him, he didn’t show it. “Please what, baby?” He teased, just slightly pressing on the sides of your neck before letting it go. “Use your words so I know what you want.” 

“Please, Yoongi, choke me.” You bit your lip, fighting against the guttural moan that almost escaped you. You were so, so on edge. It felt like your entire body was in overdrive; sweat accumulating between your breasts, on your nape; your heartbeat echoing inside your ears and lungs unable to expand fast enough. You just needed a bit more to tilt you over. “Please, please, I’m so close.” 

Because it was Christmas and Yoongi wasn’t feeling like a grinch, he didn’t push you any more than that. Delicately, his fingers started pressing down on the sides of your neck, slowly cutting your circulation; his stare glued to the beautiful pleasure that melted on your face. He knew the signs very well — in fact, he knew your entire body very well, especially after years of being by your side — and so he took the front seat to watch as ecstasy was building up inside you. Yoongi followed it as it grew larger, more overbearing, until you were gasping out his name like a prayer and your cunt was pulsating around him; timid gasps of air leaving your lips. 

Then, he let go. 

Your orgasm overtook you at the same time that the circulation returned to your brain, the sensation becoming one of sheer, unabashed euphoria. With a muffled sob, you came hard around Yoongi, trembling in his hold as he continued to move in and out of you, whispering how good you were for him, how well you took him. It wasn’t long before the pleasure was morphing into discomfort, but you swallowed your complaints. Yoongi had already given your gift, and now you had to give him his.  

Regardless of how your mind saw the situation, your body still betrayed you and your legs flinched at the new wave of sensitivity, making your skirt move upwards. With a foggy vision, you watched as Yoongi’s eyes fell in the space between your thighs, widening slightly as he followed the way his cock pounded inside your wet pussy. That seemed to be the last push he needed to fucking lose it, because, within a second, he was fucking you harder than ever before. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You yelped, head rolling back against the cushions as he pistoned inside you. You didn’t want him to stop, as much as it was starting to hurt, you wanted him to cum inside you. 

“Almost there, baby, fuck,” he cursed, his voice a cloud of heat against your ear. Yoongi was moaning and groaning, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy, and you knew he was serious. You could get lost in that moment, just following his desperation as he lost himself inside you, worshipping you like you were made of gold. “God, you feel like heaven, baby. I’m— I’m gonna cum.”

With a few more thrusts and sweet words directed at you, Yoongi spilled himself inside your pussy, grunting through his orgasm before, at last, he crashed against your chest with a deep, satisfied sigh. 

A tender smirk curled up on your lips, one hand on his shoulder and the other one playing with his dark hair. “Thanks for that,” you said playfully. 

“You’re such a little demon,” he mumbled against your breasts, but his voice was devoid of any actual roughness. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Changing into this stupid sexy elf costume. Making me say the words ‘sexy elf’ as if that’s not a sin on itself.” 

You giggled at that, and Yoongi thought that was the most beautiful sound that had ever graced his ears. He almost forgave you for the Christmas karaoke playlist that you had chosen for the night. “Perhaps,” you told him. He wasn’t looking at you, but he could hear the smile in your voice. “And you fell right into my trap.” 

Yoongi grunted. “I hate this outfit, by the way.” He tugged at the hem of your skirt. “You should wear it more often.” 

[fanfics4all]

Just One Hug

Request: Yes / No  can u do a draco x fem!reader smut pls.. literally anything idc Anon

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 2085

Warnings: Smut!

Y/N: Your Name 

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Draco has been acting so odd lately. He’s been glaring at me the whole train ride home, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why! Normally he would glare at me because he was jealous of someone I was with or some other stupid reason, but I was currently just sitting with Pansy. 

“Pansy, do you have any idea what’s up with Draco?” I whispered. She looked over and shrugged. 

“I have no bloody idea. Maybe it’s because you hugged Harry goodbye?” She suggested and I shook my head. 

“There is no bloody way he’s jealous over a hug! Even if it is Harry.” I said as I thought back to a few hours ago. 

“Harry’s hands were pretty low.” Pansy said and I furrowed my brow. 

“Were they?” I asked and she nodded. 

“I swear I thought he was going to grab your bum.” She said with a laugh. 

“Are you being serious?” I asked shocked. 

“How the hell did you not feel it?” She asked and I shrugged. 

“Suppose I wasn’t paying attention.” I said and she shook her head. 

“You’re a bloody idiot Y/N.” She laughed and I sighed. 

“So Draco is jealous of a damn hug.” I shook my head. 

“A very steamy looking hug.” She said and I glared at her. 

“Oh Merlin, I’m going to have a lot to deal with this vacation.” I sighed and she smirked. 

“Maybe it’ll work out in your favor.” She wiggled her brows and I shoved her. 

“Pansy!” I shrieked and she laughed. 

When the train finally stopped Draco grabbed my hand and pulled me along with him. We silently walked through the crowd and were met by one of his house elves. 

“Master Draco, your parents are on a short trip and sent me to receive you and Miss Y/L/N.” He said. 

“Take us home, now.” He ordered and the House elf obayed. We were instantly transported to Malfoy Manor and Draco wasted no time taking me to his room. 

“Sit.” He ordered and I sat down on his bed. He walked into his bathroom without another word and I didn’t dare move. I could tell where this was going. Draco returned after a few moments completely naked, I simply looked up at him. 

“Are you ready to be a good girl?” He asked brazenly. 

“Yes Sir.” I answered softly. 

“Are you going to be my slut and let me use you however I’d like?” He asked and I had to bite back my smile, he always no matter what, asked for consent before any play time. 

“Yes Sir.” I answered. 

“Are you going to do everything I command?” He asked. 

“Yes Sir.” I answered. 

“Who owns you?” He asked, his voice getting deeper. 

“You, Sir.” I answered and he smirked. 

“Take off your top.” He ordered. His eyes never left mine as I removed my shirt. 

“And now your bra.” He ordered. I reached behind me to unclasp my bra and it dropped down my arms onto my lap. Involuntarily I crossed my arms over my now naked breasts. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you are, whore.” He said, now completely in character. 

“Put your arms down.” He ordered, the last words sounded a little deeper in his throat. 

“Yes Sir.” I said and dropped my arms. 

“Stand up.” He ordered and I did as I was told. 

“Take off your skirt.” He said. I unzipped my skirt and bent down to push it down, but his hand grasped my hair, making me gasp. 

“Oh your knees.” He growled. I was forced down, his erect cock in front of my face. 

“Suck it like you need it.” He said. I lean forward, my tongue slipping past my lips. He pulled me back by my hair causing me to whine. 

“You suck it, lick it, and want it, whore or there’s a punishment waiting for you. Do you understand?” He asked. 

“Yes Sir.” I answered breathlessly. My head is forced down onto his cock this time. His size fills my mouth and the tip touches the back of my throat. I moaned as I gagged and choked on him. 

“Like that, or I’ll do it for you.” He said huskily as he released my hair. I nodded and moved to take him fully into my throat. I alternated between sucking and licking, sometimes taking him fully into my mouth so I could choke on him. It was just what he liked. His hand reached down and held my head, pushing me further. Tears began falling down my face as my breath escaped me, but I still moaned. 

“You really love my cock in your mouth, don’t you? You just love sucking my dick. What a cum slut you are.” He said with a smirk. I felt like I couldn’t take anymore, but luckily his hand wrapped in my hair and pulled me until I was standing. 

“Look at what a mess you are. Do you enjoy being a mess?” He asked. I nodded, feeling his strong hand starting to grip my throat. After a moment his hand left my throat and moved to my breasts, grabbing them roughly. I gasped at his touch. His hands grabbed them and twisted my nipples, making me moan. The pain is intense and runs through my body, making me gasp in pleasure. 

“You like being used by me, don’t you?” He asked, calmly. 

“Yes Sir.” I answered, just barely managing to get the words out. 

“You like being my whore, don’t you?” He asked, his voice getting deeper. 

“Yes Sir.” I whined as he pulled me towards him by grabbing my ass, still in my panties. He moved his mouth towards my breast. He started biting, sucking, leaving his mark on my breasts. I moaned loudly and arched my back. My pussy was wet and my hips reached for his body. I wanted him no, needed him. I needed him inside me.

“Turn around, slut.” He whispered as he grabbed my breasts roughly and spun me around. His arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms to my body as his other hand reached into my panties. I felt his fingers slide into my wetness. I moaned and moved back against his hard cock. 

“You’ll cum when I tell you you can, and not until I say you can. Understand?” He said huskily into my ear. I moaned deeply. 

“Yes Sir.” I whisper. His fingers continue their exploration inside me, circling my clit and pinching it. I started losing all  my thoughts except the one command he gave me. No cumming. My body was in agony as his fingers continued grabbing my clit and sliding into my soaking wet pussy. After what felt like a lifetime, he pulled away and let go of me. I felt him pull my hands behind my back, then muttering a spell. Ropes circled my wrists, binding them tightly. He grabbed me by the throat from behind and I felt his cock pressing against me. 

“No cumming until I allow it.” He reminded me. I nodded slightly, his strong fingers still around my windpipe. 

“Get on the bed.” He said letting go of me. I kneeled forward and clumsily kneeled on the bed. He grabbed my arms and laid me on my side. 

“Look at you with your sluttiest panties on.” His voice was deep with desire and slight mocking. He muttered another spell and suddenly my panties were off. 

“Look at me.” He ordered. I turned my head towards him and found him watching me with one hand holding my ass and the other held my panties. 

“Open your mouth.” He said. I opened without a word and he shoved them into my mouth, enough to muffle my moans. 

“Are you going to take it like the good little slut you are?” He asked, his hand roughly spreading my legs. He moved one under him and pushed the other towards my chest, exposing my wet pussy to him. He looked at me and reached over, grabbing my hair roughly. 

“Yes Sir.” He said, moving my head up and down. I moaned loudly as he started to slowly slide into me. He pulled back and I looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“No cumming. Only I decide when you can cum.” He growled and I tried to show him how much I needed it. He slid into me again, I moaned and squirmed. I shoved my face into his blanket, fighting against my need for release. He smiled as he pounded into me hard. He pulled out until only his tip was teasing the inside of me. I moaned loudly, a desperate attempt to show him how badly I needed to cum. 

“Is this what you like, slut?” He asked, the tip of his cock just barely stroking the inside of me. 

“Please!” I moaned, but it was muffled by my panties. He pushed deeply inside me for two strokes and then teased my pussy with the tip again. Two more times and I’m completely needy. My muscles tensed as I tried desperately to push myself onto his cock. My pleas grew louder and I thrashed my head widely, fighting for release. He pushed deep inside me and I cried out in pleasure. With every stroke he reminded me that I can’t cum. 

“Please, please, please, please!” I begged with tears streaming down my face. 

“You’re such a good little whore.” He said with a smirk in his voice. 

“Tell me who you belong to.” He growled as he started fucking me harder and harder. 

“You! I belong to you Draco!” I nearly screamed, well as much as I could gagged. 

“You may cum now.” He said as his hands grabbed my ass and pulled me roughly to him with every stroke. I cried out as I came and my body loosened as I felt the waves of relief wash over my body. It took no time for my pussy to tighten around him as I came hard on his cock. He continued riding me hard as I came. Once I was finished I felt him pull out. He pulled me up by my hair, my body shaking from the intense orgasm. He pulled the panties from my mouth and replaced them with his cock. He moved my head rhythmically on his cock. I slurped and slid over his wet dick. He moves my head as he needs to and I felt his body tighten as his cum fills my mouth. His cum slides down my throat as his cock throbs against my swollen lips. I swallow every drop with a content sigh. He released my hair and I looked up at him. He bends down and captures my lips in a deep kiss. He mumbled a spell and the ropes disappeared from my wrists. 

“Stay here.” He said softly. I watched him walk into his bathroom and heard his shower starting. He walked back into the room and took me by the hand, leading me into the hot shower. The warm water feels so good on my tired and sore body. Once I finished I got out and changed into the nightgown Draco left me. I walked into the room to find him reading and smiled. He looked over at me with a smile and opened his arms. I gladly crawled into bed and cuddled into him. His arms wrapped around me and I sighed happily as I laid on his chest. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked and I shook my head. 

“My wrists and head are a little sore, but nothing horrible.” I answered with a smile. He kissed my head and held me a little tighter. 

“I’m sorry love, but I honestly can’t stand seeing Potter putting his hands anywhere near you.” He growled and I rolled my eyes. 

“So Pansy was right.” I said and he looked at me confused. 

“She said you were jealous because apparently Harry was pretty much grabbing my bum.” I said and he started at me shocked. 

“Apparently? He was a hundred percent grabbing your arse!” He said and I sighed. 

“I think you two are exaggerating.” I said and he shook his head. 

“Are you trying to be punished again?” He asked, but with a playful tone. 

“Possibly.” I smirked playfully back at him. 

“It’s going to be a long week for you Y/N.” He smirked and I pecked his lips.

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