#And part of him is just relishing in the feeling of that

[manmuncher777]

sneaking about with your best friends older brother…..

choso x reader

“Chooo, c’mon, Yuuji will be home soon” You whine, trying to stop the grinding of your hips, you couldn’t help it though. You were sat on top of Choso, facing him in his gaming chair.

Originally you just popped over to see him quick, climbing into his lap for a quick kiss, that was until his huge arms wrapped around you, locking you in place.

You didnt want too leave, not while he was looking so good, his tired eye staring at you with intent, his hair down brushing against his shoulders. God he looked so fucking sexy with his hair down.

Your quick kiss, soon turning into a make out session, then turning into dry humping him through his grey sweats.

He licked a stripe down your neck, kissing the skin sloppily. “Well I guess you’ll just have to be quiet then baby” he muttered into your ear, nibbling on the lobe gently.

“Besides, I don’t think my baby wants to leave.” He’s teasing you now, he knows your struggling to resist, after all his muscular arms are wrapped around your waist so snuck, you can already feel the outline of his cock through his sweats. And he just smells so fucking divine, you can help but bury your face in his neck, leaving kisses and relishing in his scent.

“I know your slutty little pussy doesn’t want you to go” he whispers, right next to your ear, and you can feel shivers shoot down your spine. You didn’t need to be looking at him to know he had a shit eating grin on his face, smug fucker. He had you right where he waned to, on of his hands sneaking around your front, making his way to you clothes cunt, rubbing you through the little shorts you were wearing.

Even though there was layers of clothes between you, his movements had you bucking your hips, chasing his hand. “fuck, chooo” you whine pathetically one more, you were such a slut for this guy.

Soon enough he had you thrown onto his bed, ripping those shorts off of you. He kissed his way up your legs, biting the sensitive part of your inner thigh that had your legs twitching, smirk on his face as he went. Soon reaching your clothed cunt, Kissing you so crudely over your panties.

the gentle sensation had you gasping for air, you knew you were dripping for him, you were soaked as soon as you set foot in his room.

growing tired of not being able to feel you, choso ripped your panties away, stuffing them into his back pocket for later.

He takes one last glance at you, hunger in his eyes, smirk dancing across his lips before he’s diving in; He starts off licking a fat stripe up your cunt, gathering your taste on his tongue. He lets out a moan at your sweetness. He unable to stop himself from grinding his throbbing cock into the bed, your taste always making him feral.

“Shit- Choso.” you hands fly to his black mop of hair, gripping onto whatever you can as he devours you like your hits last meal, the sounds echoing around the room - the slurping of your boyfriend and the wetness of you messy cunt. It’s like music to his ears

He moans into you pussy at the feeling of you tugging on his hair, pulling him deeper into your cunt.

His nose bumping your clit as he sucks at your hole, tongue diving in to gather up your slick. He never got tired of tasting you against his tongue. He was getting eager now, wanting to make you cum as soon as possible. He needed to have you gushing against him.

he licks became more aggressive as he ate you, sucking desperately at you cunt, eyes rolling into the back of his head when you tugged his hair particularly hard.

One of his hands slipping down to c=join his mouths attack on you, fingers diving deep into the welcoming walls of your slick pussy.

“Missed this pussy” he moaned into you

“You fucked-haah- you f-fucked me yesterday cho- OH fuck” His finger curled upwards into your cunt, bullying that soft spot inside of you.

“Can never get enough of this sweet little cunt baby” he released his mouth from you for just a second, chin covered in your juices. He watched your form quiver at his movements, he loved seeing you this way, all splayed out and perfect just for him, just the way he loved to see you.

He wasted not a second more, diving back into you cunt as he suckled your clit. You couldn’t even try to conceal your moans, there was no way you could with how he was making you feel.

He could tell you were about to come, he new exactly what made you tick. So when he felt you squeezing his fingers for dear life, your hips bucking against him erratically. He knew you were almost there.

“come on baby, I got you. Cum for me sweets”

Your eyes screwed shut from the pleasure, breath stuck in your throat as choked moans escaped from your tear stained face.

“Cho, baby oh my- oh my fucking god-“ rushed praise and strings of curses were all you could scream as your orgasm washed over you, your legs tightening up, shaking with pleasure as choso helped you ride out your high; his lips not leaving yours until you were quivering with overstimulation.

One you had finally calmed down, your heart still pounding in your chest, you glanced down at the man between your legs, proud smile on his face. Right as you were about to say something you were interrupted by a noise echoing from downstairs

“Brother? I’m home” Fuck, Yuuji was back.

A scared glance was shared between the both of you, you scrambled to grab your shorts, forgetting the panties choso had in his back pocket. As you both straightened up you couldnt help but share a giggle

you really needed to tell him soon

[anomaly-hivemind]

POOKIE PART TWO OF KEEP QUIET OF SAE ITHOSHI? SKDSJKDJD LOVE UR WORKS

OMG YESS POOKIE

Keep Quiet Part 2

Stay Hushed

Sae Itoshi x GN!

Tag: grinding, teasing, edging(a bit), body worship, praise, grinding, penetration…

You both decided that going to an open guest room was the best outcome to get your hands on each other as soon as possible. You both do a couple of hazy checks to see if you guys actually locked the door. Sae quickly works to free himself from the sensory nightmare his boxers had become from early. You watch him hungrily as his cock springs free, already active for more action. He moves over to you, pulling you into a kiss, his hands roaming around your body.

He moves you down to the bed, moving between your legs and rubbing his erection against your entrance. He was moving his length around your hole slowly causing you to shiver. You let out a soft moan that Sae was relishing in the sight and sound you produced. You look him up and down, taking in every detail that you can notice from him.

His body had slightly trembled as if he was trying to restrain himself just as much as he was trying to tease you. He rubs his cock against you, before pushing the tip of himself into you only to pull out before you can both start enjoying yourselves. He lets out a shaky breath as he feels up your body with a gentle and silent apparition. He pushes his hips flush against yours but makes sure not to slide himself into your hole. As he rubs his hands down your hot skin, you sit up and pull him into a kiss.

Your lips glide against one another in a heated motion as you both kiss each other like you are trying to become one with each other. Sae moves down to kiss your jaw and neck then nips his way down your collarbone. You had your grips in his reddish brown locks pulling him more against your skin.

“I can’t wait any longer… please.” You muttered with bated breath.

“Wait a little longer, I want to enjoy you” Sae pulls back as he gropes your sides. You shivered as his strong hands caressed your skin. He slowly dragged out leaving nothing but the tip inside before slowly thrusting back in.

Sae kisses you wherever he can reach while he is still seated inside of you. His movements are slow and deliberate when it comes to where he was feeling you up or marking your skin. He rubbed your skin until he was grabbing your hips, ground himself from getting lost in his own pleasure. He starts to actively move inside you, a pleased sound leaves your mouth as you finally get some of the friction that you wanted.

“Yess yes” You moan and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a heated kiss, to silence yourself from screaming out to him.

“You're making it hard for me to be easy and enjoy you,” Sae gives you an open mouth kiss and starts to pick up his pace.

You didn’t want him to go easy on you, at least not anymore. You rolled yourself against him, your body making it obvious that you wanted more. You find places to bite him, nipping at his skin and forming hickies along his exposed upper half. You wanted to hear more of his please, the slight groans he made as he tried to keep quiet when you were grinding on him before. Sae lets out a groan and his grip tightens around your hips and his movements take on a more uneven pace.

“You’re doing this on purpose” he let out a hiss, Sae’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slightly agape as he let out breathy pants.

You only manage a nod as you hold on to him, pulling at him so he is closer to you. So everything felt more intimate and in the moment. You tried to keep your voice down so that everyone outside couldn't hear the sound that you were making. Sae smirks at you while staying hushed by biting your lips out at him. He let out a chuckle and found an even pace if only for a moment so he could lean down and speak in your ear.

“Don’t hold yourself back.” He said as he started to move faster inside you.

“Sae!” you cry out this time, not coving up and letting the sound echo out into the air.

You hit your peak with the sound of his name leaving your lips, you back arches and you dig your nails into the back. You feel him move into you faster he pants and breathy moans. You both collapsed on the bed beside each other. Out of breath and glossed over in the land of bliss. You looked at each other, a happy expression on your face.

[cicobuffs]

preachers son! art who's very touchy...

i feel like when he was growing up, art didn't get a whole lot of physical affection from much of anyone, aside from his mom and the older women that would frequent his dad's sermons and mass. even then, those encounters were mainly just fleeting hugs before being sent off to school by his mother or an uncomfortable pinch on the cheek when the older ladies were on their way to exit the church. him and his family would always stand by the door: his father shaking the hand of each person leaving and saying things like "god bless you" or "you have a good one now,". and the whole premise of his dad even giving art the time of day for any of that "affection nonsense" is entirely out of the question. so at the end of the day by the time he had met you, art was teetering on the edge of being touch-starved.

i touched on this a bit with the whole hand kissing post but i cannot express enough how he just always has a hand on you. once you guys are together, there's a hand on your waist or the small of your back when you're walking side by side, if you're sitting next to one another he's the type to bring your legs over on top of his and run his hand from your knee to your calf. even before you guys got together, he would pull you into a hug whenever the two of you would see each other and it'd always be one of those hugs that lingered a bit longer: where he'd want it to last rather than being so brief.

art is the type of person to absolutely melt whenever you reciprocate in affection. he likes when you grab for one of his hands and trace the lines in his palms, brushing over small calluses from tennis or when you run a finger down his nose bridge when you guys are lying together in bed with your chin placed on top of his chest. whenever you kiss and you go from having your hands rest on his neck to then settling on just bringing yourself closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. you can swear you can feel him smile against your lips and his grip on your waist tighten a bit.

really he's obsessed with you and anything you do and can't help from reaching out for you. i think he really relishes in the feeling that you're actually there rather than being one of those aforementioned quick embrace or touch. definitely healing some parts of him that he kind of really buried deep down.

[yeomongi]

𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — ᡣ𐭩

genre: smut!! MDNI, 18+ content below cut

pairing: mingi x you

word count: ~2k

warnings: names (love, darling, good girl once..) unprotected sex(don’t), oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, TONS OF SPIT PLAY, spit kink, cumming inside, i think that’s all!! no proofread

synopsis: confessing to mingi that you have a spit kink led to him spitting on and all over you during your passionate encounter.

note: this was a request!! not sure how i feel about how it turned out, but hope everyone enjoys :) sorry if it’s not the best 😓reblogs and interactions appreciated! <3

you wake up one Saturday morning, the sun casting a warm glow across your shared bedroom. mingi's arm is slung over your waist as he sleeps soundly beside you. you feel his steady breathing against your neck, a comforting presence after the passionate night you two just shared.

your fingers idly trail down his strong back, a content smile playing on your lips as you relish the closeness. he stirs a bit, mumbling something in his sleep, and you can't help but giggle quietly.

mingi begins to wake, blinking his eyes open and squinting at the sunlight spilling onto the bed. when he sees you gazing at him, his face softens into a smile. "morning, love," he murmurs, leaning in for a tender kiss.

the kiss quickly grows more intense, hands roaming and tongues tangling. it doesn't take long before things start to heat up again. mingi's fingers find their way between your legs, stroking your sensitive folds and making you gasp against his mouth.

the passion between you builds, fueled by last night's unspoken desires waiting to ignite anew.

he pushes you back onto the pillow, hovering over you as your legs spread willingly for him. his hot breath fans over your flushed skin as his thumb circles your clit, sending shivers through you.

"you're already wet for me again," he purrs, his voice low and husky.

you nod, your heart pounding in your chest. words escape you in this moment, lost in the haze of desire for this man you love so deeply.

mingi gazes into your eyes, dark irises boring into yours. he leans closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, "tell me what you want, darling."

your breath hitches at the feel of his warm breath on your lobe, a thrill running down your spine. without thinking, the words tumble out:

"i... i want..." you pause, cheeks burning hotter than before.

"say it," mingi urges, his grip on you firm yet gentle. you know he won't judge, only love you more.

a surge of boldness courses through you. "i want..." you trail off, steeling yourself.

"say it, my love," he repeats, his voice so sweet yet commanding. his eyes bore into yours, encouraging you to let go.

"i... i want you to... to spit in my mouth..." you whisper, the confession tasting both exhilarating and taboo on your lips. you hold your breath, unsure how mingi will respond.

to your surprise, he chuckles softly. "is that all you wanted?" he teases, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. without warning, he spits into his palm and rubs it over your lips - a bold, yet tantalizing gesture.

your eyes widen, cheeks flushing crimson. the sensation sends a fresh jolt of excitement through you. you part your lips instinctively, craving more.

mingi seems taken aback for a moment, staring down at you with a mix of shock and fascination. he's never seen this side of you before. but before long, his expression shifts into one of darkened desire.

"you like that, don't you?" he growls, his own need palpable now. he watches you intently as he leans in, his hot, heavy breath washing over you. without hesitation, he spits directly onto your tongue. the salty fluid coats your senses, igniting a fire within you.

this unexpected revelation, this act... it's raw, primal. an unspoken connection between you both deepening further.

you nod frantically, the feeling overwhelming yet incredibly pleasurable. you suck in your bottom lip, tasting him still, wanting more. it seems to spark something primal within mingi as well.

"god, yes..." he groans, his fingers pressing harder against your slick folds as he gazes down at you with newfound fervor.

he pulls back just enough to speak again, voice hoarse. "is this what you needed?"

you manage a weak "yes," your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

mingi smiles, his own hunger reflected in his eyes. he gathers your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck as he spits again, this time onto your chest, dripping across your skin.

the coolness of his spittle contrasts with the heat building between you, sending shivers through your body once more. your hands reach out to pull him closer, desperate for more contact, more of his unique brand of affection.

"please..." you whisper, not even sure what you're begging for - relief, possession, simply to drown in the intensity.

mingi understands without words, his breath coming in ragged gasps. he lowers himself between your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes one last look. then, he opens his mouth and lets out a thick glob of saliva that glistens in the sunlight before landing squarely on your sensitive bud.

the sensation is electric, your back arching off the bed at the sudden contact. he watches you intently, his fingers tracing patterns up your inner thighs.

"like that, baby?" he purrs, voice low and taunting. he repeats the action again and again - spitting liberally over your quivering flesh until you're dripping wet with his essence.

your senses are alive, consumed by his overwhelming presence. he dips his head down, tongue lapping up some of his own spittle before settling between your folds. you feel the rough scrape of his tongue against you, the velvety softness as he gathers your slickness on it, then back to spitting again.

it's messy, it's primal, and it's the most exhilarating thing you've ever experienced together. your fingers twist and tug at the sheets in ecstasy, every nerve ending on fire.

mingi's eyes sparkle with delight at your reactions, egged on by your cries and movements. he seems to take pleasure in pushing these boundaries with you, discovering new depths of intimacy.

he lifts his gaze back up to meet yours, holding it steadfastly as he spits directly onto your hardened peak once more. his hot, wet breath fans out over your pulsing nerves before his lips close around you.

the sensation is divine, the musky taste of him mingling with the raw saltiness on your tongue. he sucks with purposeful intensity, laving and lapping while his fingers dance across your hips and thighs - all the while periodically interrupting with another spurt of his warm, viscous fluid.

your hips buck wildly beneath him, lost in the intoxicating rhythm he's set. you feel so alive, consumed by his relentless attentions.

he lifts his head briefly, a trail of his spit stretching from his mouth to you, before he gazes down with a wicked grin. he dips two fingers inside you, curving them to stroke that sweet spot deep within. your heart thuds in sync with the thrusts of his hand as he brings his mouth back down, this time spitting directly onto your clit again and again.

the building pressure within you threatens to overwhelm - the lewd sounds of his actions echoing in the room only heightening your senses. you feel stretched thin by the pleasure, every fiber of your being focused on the exquisite friction.

"mingi...please..." you plead, your voice hoarse, begging for release.

mingi seems determined to push you closer yet. he slips his fingers from you only to replace them with his tongue, lapping fervently while his hands grip your thighs firmly.

"you taste...so good...covered in my spit..." he groans against you, sending vibrations through your core.

the words drive you wild, your body shuddering uncontrollably beneath him. you know your climax is close now, every fiber of your being coiled tight like a wire ready to snap.

he brings his mouth back to your spit-soaked bud, sucking hard while simultaneously spitting once, twice more - the cooling sensation sending you hurtling over the edge.

waves of pure bliss crash through you, your back bowing off the mattress as you cry out his name. he holds you steady through every tremor, lapping up every drop of your essence mingled with his gifts.

when the aftershocks finally subside, you lie there gasping, spent and utterly satisfied. mingi crawls up next to you, kissing your temple tenderly.

"did you like that, my love?" he murmurs against your ear, his own breathing slowly returning to normal.

you nod, still floating in the hazy afterglow. this newfound connection between you has deepened the bond you share even further. you turn to face him, tracing the curve of his jawline with your fingertips.

“can i…” you start hesitantly, eyes locked on his.

mingi understands without words again, sensing your desire to reciprocate. he smiles, a soft yet confident look that makes your heart skip a beat.

"of course, darling..." he purrs, his hands guiding your head towards his lap.

your nerves flutter as you move into position, gazing up at him with a blend of excitement and anticipation. you feel his heartbeat pounding beneath you, a steady rhythm that pulses through his length.

he runs his hands through your hair, gently encouraging you onward. your tongue darts out, tasting the salt on his skin before you take him into your mouth.

it's different this way - bold and intimate. you swirl and explore every ridge and vein, feeling him grow even harder as you do. you crave more - more of him, more of what he's giving you.

your actions become bolder still; you look up defiantly as you take him deeper, the velvety heat of your mouth enveloping every inch. you grasp his thighs for stability, your own hips bucking slightly.

mingi gasps, body tensing under you, then he guides you back onto him with a hoarse whisper: "spit on me, just like that..."

you obey, withdrawing him from between your lips momentarily to spit directly on his tip. the droplets run down his shaft, slick and shining. taking him back into your mouth, you repeat the action again and again - a relentless rhythm interspersed with the hot, wet sounds of your affection.

mingi's fingers tighten in your hair as he watches you lose yourself in this newfound delight. he meets each plunge of your mouth with a roll of his hips, driving deeper but never forcing.

your cheeks hollow as you establish a steady pace that feels almost primal yet incredibly sweet. you relish the control you have over his pleasure, the power dynamics shifting yet complementary.

your own desire builds anew, the friction of your movements against him stoking the flames. hands roaming your back, mingi whispers words of praise that send shivers down your spine: "good girl...take it all..."

you feel his muscles tremble beneath you, the telltale signs he's close - closer than before. you double down on your efforts, wanting to push him over that edge.

you can taste the saltiness of his essence gathering on your tongue, thick and intoxicating. you know it won't be long now. your hands grip tighter, fingers digging into his thighs as you quicken your pace, spitting generously down on him.

mingi's breaths come in ragged gasps, his body taut as steel. suddenly he pulls you away from him with a groan, stopping your movements just as he reaches his peak.

"need...need to be inside you," he manages through gritted teeth, his voice strained yet commanding.

he positions you on your back once more, spreading your legs wide. gazing into your eyes, there's a hunger there that makes your heart thrill. but then he surprises you...

he spits squarely on your entrance, coating your tender flesh with that final, bold act. you feel the warmth seep into you, completing this deeply intimate exchange.

with a low growl, he presses into you in one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely as he begins to move. the sensation is electrifying, every part of you connected.

"yes..." he cries out, hands gripping your hips as he finds a rhythm that speaks of all he's feeling. the sound of his hips slamming against you echoes out the rhythm of your new dance.

the feeling of him claiming you this way - so raw, so intense - intensifies the high. every stroke brings fresh waves of pleasure, his spit acting as a slick, slippery barrier between you both.

your nails rake down his back, the pleasure-pain mingling deliciously. your own hips move in time with his, meeting each pounding snap with fervor.

"more..." you whisper, lost in ecstasy, craving deeper still.

mingi nods, reaching between you both to rub tight circles around your sensitive clit, his thumb slick with the remnants of his spit. the stimulation pushes you closer, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

"let it go, darling. with me," he pleads, voice low and insistent.

your body arches up off the sheets again, every fiber straining toward that precipice. you surrender to the tide crashing through you, the shared release of your essences mingling in the space between you.

it goes on, the aftershocks prolonged by the intensity of this new experience. finally spent, you lay intertwined, gasping and spent, your gazes locked, your breathing gradually returning to normal.

"I love you," mingi murmurs, brushing your cheek with a tender sweetness that balances the intensity of what just occurred.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Fourteen

Summary: Passions arrive before tasks of marriage come to the Domus of Geta and Caracalla

Notes/Warnings: 18 & up👆🏻, Very smutty…& squint some angst & fluff!! A handjob, mentions of climax (female & male!) fingering, squint its exhibition since it takes place on a throne. Old, retro mentions/beliefs of old god/goddesses. Retro views of women.

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback are always welcome!

“Geta.” His name was your breath as you exhaled with the pleasure his lips brought you.

He glanced at you from around your hand.

You reached and gently, nestled your fingers to his short curls. They were rebellious from the hood that had tried to stifle them. Continuing to hold your wrist, he held you close as he continued to kiss your forearm, occasionally you’d feel his teeth.

“Who knew, the sweetest blossom in Rome could make me feel good just with a mere touch.” His voice had deepened.

“Being astride you, Geta such as this and the feel of your lips makes me feel great pleasure as well.” You kept running your fingers through the fiery curls.

He pressed his lip against your wrist before placing your hand back to where it belonged in your lap. His face grew serious, he looked off to a distance you could not see.

“Geta?”

“Leading up to our ceremony. We will have to be reasonable, chaste even in our relations.”

You had heard what was expected. You had seen of the marriage of one of your brothers and a cousin, and yet all of this was never what would imagined. You were left wondering what now was meant for her or the two of them.

“I will follow and do as you wish.”

His eyes moved back and looked at you. A smile curled his lips. His hand cupped your cheek. “I chose so wisely with you.”

“Thank you.” There was something you were curious about but you knew better now than to question him.

“Speak, blossom.” A soft edge entered his voice making it echo in the small throne area.

You took a breath. “Promise to not take my head.”

You said the words lightly, but there was a small snare of worry.

He rose an eyebrow. “For the moment.” His smile returned.

Good spirits continued to fill him, you mused.

“You have led us down our path. Why can’t we carry on such as that?”

He nodded. “We are very much doing that. Though there are some things that bring us good tidings and blessings to our marriage.”

You brought a hand to his thigh.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together at your touch.

“Is there anything we should accomplish or relish in specifically?”

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks before he looked at you once more. “We do have some time before a new day dawns. Before we allow the world, the people of Rome are told of our betrothal.”

“Yes. That is true, Geta.”

Taking ahold of your hand he slipped it into the folds of the fabrics he wore. You gasped as he brought you to his arousal.

Your fingers wrapped around his length.

A soft sound came from Geta’s lips.

You looked at him concern filled you.

“That feels as it should. I will show you.”

His breathing deepened and shorten. His much larger hand enveloped and guided yours.

Pleasure began to fill you as you felt as he appeared to grow within your hand. Passion had filled his face, his eyes were aflame.

“Geta, shall I lay down for you?” Though, you truly did not want to lay on the cold stone, and be like a common dog or animal. For him, you did not truly mind. You would always follow his lead, wherever it may take you.

“No, we shall stay here.”

He swallowed, another soft moan poured from his lips.

“It will be our tribute to the gods and goddess as close as we can.”

Your heart squeezed. It made the pleasure you were already feeling twist in an unexpected, pleasurable manner. He was growing more breathless.

Glancing down, seeing his hardness as it slid and move between your fingers and a soft sound escaped from you. You could remember how it felt inside of you.

His hand slipped from yours as his lips twisted into a smirk briefly. “You relish the sight of your emperor, your future husband?”

“Yes.” You swallowed. “You made me feel so good.”

Your fingers tightened before loosing and continuing to move up and down his length.

“Your body welcomed me as it should.” A smile appeared on his face. “I need to look upon my blossom.”

His hands easily, opened your stola. Your breasts, your body was bared to the cool air. Some of your curves were still cloaked by the fabric.

“Does it miss me?”

How he looked at you, made you tremble. Once again your fingers tightened around him. The sound that poured from his lips caused, a pleasurable ache once again to grow in you. It was a pleasure he brought to you. You could never imagine not knowing this pleasure given to you from him and the heavens above.

“Yes, Geta.”

His hand was warm as it rested on your thigh. “Open yourself to me.”

As you opened your thighs, you felt as your cheeks warmed. His hand easily slipped between your thighs. A moan softly, came from deep within you as you felt his finger tips merely graze you. You trembled and shifted on his lap.

“That’s my blossom.” He trembled as you felt his body tightened once again.

When you had felt him like this before while you lying as one, you had felt something. His seed had filled. You wondered if you would feel it now.

“Yes. Relish the pleasure.” You shook as you felt his fingers tease your opening.

You remembered how he had quicken his pace when he was above you. So you moved your hand as such.

“That feels so…” His voice trailed off, his body shook before straining against you. A moan poured from his lips.

You gasped as his seed spurted from him. Several ropes erupted from him, as he moaned and shook under you. His body jolt with each spurt. The sounds that came from him gave uou that pleasurable ache once more. His head tilted back. He closed his eyes, his chest was heaving.

“Geta?”

*************

He licked his lips as his heart thudded hard.

“Geta?” Your soft voice reached his ears.

Opening his eyes, he was met with concern awash on your face. His lips twitched with a smirk as he took you in.

“Blossom. Look at you, I have filled you with my seed and now I have covered you.”

He tilted his head to one side taking in the sight before him.

“I’m yours.”

Eyeing a cloth, on side table he easily snatched it up. Easily, he moved quickly and tidied you up. He tossed away the now soiled cloth.

“You are that.”

He could feel a fresh knot of passion tighten in him. How was he to avoid, being close with you before the ceremony. Looking you over, he swallowed.

He drew close. “Shall I touch you here? As you have touched me?” He made a soft thoughtful sound. “Would it make me weak?”

He felt a slight tremble come over you as he spoke. As you caught his eye, he could see the passion that burned in them.

“Geta, you will never be weak.”

“I cannot allow myself to be ensnared by passions even if it is with a woman who shall be my wife.”

You let a seriousness fall over you. “You make men whither with fear.”

Your breath caught as he drew his hand between the softness of your thighs.

“The man who had the desire to snuff out the flame that burns within you, cowered with fear.”

“That is true.”

He moved his hand so he cupped you. “Your mound, is beautiful like the rest of you. A soft temple of love and passion all for me.”

“It’s yours.”

He enjoying seeing how breathless you grew because of his touch. Remembering how you moved, sounded so he touched your little bud once again.

“Oh Geta.”

He heard you manage to say before a moan poured from your lips.

“So my fingers can make you feel good too?” He slowed his touch.

You trembled under his touch. Licking your lips, you nodded and whimpered. “Please, please;” You begged. It made the knot in his stomach tighter. “Don’t stop it feels so good.”

“Since you begged me so nicely.”

He watched, as he touched you more firmly like he had before. Your cheeks had a rosy flush and in the flickering flames your eyes shone with your passion.

You trembled and called out, a moan that caused him to bit his bottom lip. It was delicious to his ears.

You were soft and wilted in his arms like flower petals. He watched as you regained your breath, your eyes fluttered open. That feeling, you had brought to him was back. It almost stole his breath. He let his fingers graze the line of your jaw.

“And now, we shall retire for the night.”

You easily got up from his lap.

He adored watching how you fretted over your dress. Standing himself, he said easily pulled you close.

“I am grateful the gods brought us together. May they continue to bless the two of us in our coming union.”

“Yes. The gods have been kind, I send them my gratitude.”

*******

Geta, stopped and went to where he knew some bread was kept. With it in hand, he went over to alter for Vesta. Gathering, his clothes he knelt before. He was pleased to see the candles were alit and flickering. He ripped the pieces of the bread. He laid them down with lowered eyes and murmuring his appreciation of her and what she had planned for him and you.

Not long after he was pleased to see his guards were alert and stood, very straight outside the door of his chambers.

“Gallus. Can you go in and make sure no one is lurking in the shadows.”

“Yes, sire.”

*******

Once back in your room, you went to the window and knelt. Peering up at the crescent moon, you whispered your prayers to the powerful Luna, to grant you fertility in the coming marriage of Geta. You truly hoped you could take his seed. You laid a hand on your belly. Your imagination grew before you. A baby boy of his would look so beautiful. He would have his father’s strength.

Pleased with your prayers, you finally removed the pins and ribbons that held your hair in place. You placed them on the small table that also held your brush and strigil. In a transparent shift, you sighed as relaxation finally came over you. Going over to your bed, you pressed a kiss to the ring on your finger before crawling into the bed.

Moving till comfort finally found you, you let yourself melt into the blanket and pillow. Moments from the day shifted before you; the carriage ride to Dondas coming over to you and those last moments with Geta lingered. You could still feel his touch. With memory of him still fresh; sleep finally came over you.

******

Geta, glanced into his room as Gallus, walked in wide strides around the room. With a sharp turn, he came back to him.

“There is no one. May sleep bring the peace and rest that is needed.”

He nodded. “When the sky turns purple, please take some food and rest. I will want you near, later after the second meal.”

Gallus, clapped his chest and nodded. “Advised, sire.”

Once the door was closed, Geta relaxed. He stripper the last of his clothes. The cool air felt good on hid body. Walking to his balcony he looked out at the expanse of Rome, his Rome. He felt fantastic. Just as he was about to turn and retire to his bed. A flurry of feathers, black in nature settle near him. After some shaking and appearing to settle itself, he saw that it was a crow that had indeed decided to pay him a visit.

“Hello, mighty crow.” He tilted his head and looked at it. It did the same to him. He smiled and the crowd let out a loud cry.

“Thank you for your visit.” He paused, taking in the crow’s beauty. “I will show my gratitude and thankfulness at my alter.”

He glanced over at where he saw the crow, wanting to see it a final time and he did. He smiled. Shortly, afterward the crow shook its feathers and then easily took off into the night that was black as him. The moon barely gave any light tonight.

His excitement had calmed despite you so easily reigniting his passions. Lying down, echos of your pleasure echoed in his heart. You, were lovely and pleasing. You would give him the future of Rome that none other can give.

*******

You do not think there will ever be a day that passes, where you accustomed to life in the Domus of Geta and Caracalla. The bathing was just that more special with the oils that were so pleasing you felt as if you had become a flower yourself or how the ribbons, and curls were twined and twisted in your hair.

You paused by one of the larger columns, to take it all in. The sky was clear, sun’s warmth drifted in and the flowers that drew were flush with their freshness. Their scent making the air delightful. From where you hid, you watched people you had never even see before.

Taking a breath, you gathering yourself. Today was a new day, back in Rome. You could already feel how different it was from the country side.

Today, was your first day as the emperor’s betrothed. You had to take Aelia’s reassuring words given while she looped and twined your hair into a new look. You still did wonder where she had run off in such haste. Life was already so much busier here in Rome than in the country side.

Though, as you reflected back onto your betrothal with Geta, and your spirits already began to loft. It made any of your other thoughts of unease float away.

Feeling as a hand gave you the extra guidance you needed, you made your way to the Triclinium.

“My Blossom.” Geta stood from the sofa he had been reclining on, as you entered. A smile spread across his face.

He ushered you to the sofa beside him. “Plans are already being set in place.” He said once you sat down.

“Wonderful.”

A figure came in with a shadow shortly after you. You looked in the direction. It was Tertia, you had finally remembered her name. Your stomach knotted at the memory. Seeing her once again, did not bring you contentment.

Reaching, you grabbed a plush, and pleasing looking strawberry.

“Is there anything you wish to drink?” Her voice, intruded in your thoughts as you watched as she gave Geta his glass before turning her attention to you.

You were about to reply when Aelia, arrived. She looked flustered

“Yes, Aelia.” Geta took a sip from his glass. “Do you have news from any of the dispatches?”

“We have heard from your mother.” She turned and looked at you. You paused and didn’t take a second bite from strawberry you held. “Yes, we have heard from the village you were born in.”

Your heart quickened its pace.

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[simplysinning]

Unexpectedly Tender

A night of pleasure where Astarion is the only focus for once.

Astarion X Reader (18+ themes) cw: Astarion with afab anatomy, Cazador mentions, sexual content MDNI, oral (astar!receiving), use of 'cunt', fingering, hungry yearning even though you’re already together, and slight religious imagery? (I want to worship him, respectfully.) No other description other than you being taller and a drow.

7.2k words

Drows aren't particularly known for being the nicest of races, especially those sworn to the spider goddess with an odd sense of humor, yet the vampire spawn can use himself to prove that people can change, if not for the better. Of course, that's to insinuate this drow in particular was never anything but agreeable since the moment they met each other, even after the rogue pointed a knife at you for some answers fresh from the naultaloid.

That's not to say astarion liked you from the start, no there was an underlying bitterness on the spawn's part from your weirdly infuriating need to play savior wherever you went. The needy didn't stay the needy for long, and something so simple as retrieving a stolen pouch turned into a full-on family rescue mission. The whole heroic, spring-into-action type was someone that tended to get on Astarion's nerves, though he used to see himself the type to once marry someone like that.

Well, when he was about…13.

Regardless, you can only imagine how stupid Astarion felt when he realized that he liked your inherently nice nature, a major contradictory personality to his, and eventually came to terms that those feelings were a given.

Naturally, there were some chaotic times courtesy of Astarion's occasional goading to make a decision for the group's entertainment betterment, but you always took the change of plans in stride. Never angry, perhaps disappointed (expectedly), but forever the friendly hunk of underdark you were.

So, Astarion had to catch his neck from whipping off its swivel the moment your voice dipped off into a low growl at the woman in front of them, your eyes narrowed in irritation.

It would have been easy for Astarion, with the woman's (slightly creepy) persistence even after his third refusal, to simply allow you to give the alright to bite her should you ask. After all, what was one little bite in comparison to a rare, powerful potion? It would have been fine.

…Right?

'Just a small moment of disgust to get myself through,' but, surprisingly, you just stopped the spawn's half step forward and snapped, "he said no."

The tick in your jaw, the way your voice held no room for the usual patience and kindness, and lastly, the way your eyes darted to Astarion's in a flash of concern. You spoke with the authority of someone seasoned, as if your little group of lost souls have always been together, every one of your words carrying a stern weight and finality.

"Where are you?" You murmur, your words gentle and cutting through his mind like a knife through butter. There’s a small, nearly chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, and it nearly startles him.

The hands which were once gripping the spawn's supple backside above the fabric of his pants are now resting against the small of his back, gentle and not pressing, just below his ritual scars.

Astarion, coming back to his mind with you in your shared inn room, relishes in how the arms encircling him hold kindly, unburdened by the tension of restraint should he not want to continue, and he eases a quiet sigh.

'You'll never be like the others…'

"I'm right here, my love," he responds, his voice light and airy, bare from the false seduction dripping from the tips of his fangs.

You plant a kiss to the other's neck, careful to avoid the jagged skin that had healed two centuries ago, and Astarion closes his eyes when he notices that too.

"Are you sure? Because we can stop. I'm fine with just talking, or something."

The spawn slides his hand up your back and it comes to a stop on the back of your head, his slender fingers toying with the shorter hairs. You pull your head back in response to look at the vampire, and Astarion uses the leverage to pull you down toward him. If the awkward angle for your taller frame is uncomfortable, you don't say and only allow Astarion to do as he pleases.

"Or," Astarion exhales, his red eyes darting to your lips, "something," and then he's pulling them to his. Your lips slot together, moving a little out of sync only because of the temporarily different level of desire.

Astarion has always been hungry and hasty when kissing, all tongue and teeth and starving of the safety and affection he so desperately craved for the last two hundred years, like it would be snatched away from him. And, with Cazador around the corner, it could all very well be. The mere idea of it, never being able to see you again, seeing your smile as you walk the familiar path to his tent in the morning to ask him how slept, is detrimental to Astarion's psyche that had only just begun to snap its scattered pieces back into place.

You like to take your time, give slow and tender pecks that gradually press firmer and open wider when you pick up on the vampire's need for more, but there's always a subtle hesitation; a looming question you're unable to truly verbalize.

'Is this really what you want?'

Astarion is aware of this, of your innate sense of overprotection for him, of his trauma from being an alluring plaything for Cazador. He would never forget the look on your face the moment he told you a fraction of the hell he had to endure, all flared nostrils and pupils constricted in anger, and he would never forget the way he felt a subtle throb in between his legs. That called a different problem into question, however.

There was a conversation you had before about Astarion's reluctance for sexual intimacy, and you made sure he knew that you understood and was indeed obeying Astarion's request of going as slow as he needed you to.

The spawn remembers how nervous he was when he told you that he didn't think he was ready to be intimate yet, bated breath between his teeth though the vampire had no need to breathe. Being used for his body for so many centuries essentially defiled Astarion's views on sex, and he severely hoped you would understand his hesitance.

He couldn't deny that everything stirred at certain things you did, the ways in which you looked at him, how quick you moved to protect him whether physically or other, but he (with your steady guidance) grew self-aware. Realizing that, after discovering his decimated self-respect and self-worth, he wasn't ready, and he had the option to say...no.

And he wanted you to know that he came to that conclusion, deciding it would only be fair since you bestowed him the grace for self-discovery.

"Even though I know things between us are different," Astarion provided a forced giggle, his lips wobbling in the corners, the facade beginning to melt away into something unfamiliarly vulnerable, "being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don't know how else to be with someone. No matter how I'd like to." You hadn't said anything for a minute or so, and Astarion still mildly adherent to his ways of self-deprecation had assumed you began to doubt whether or not to continue pursuing...whatever you were moving towards, especially being so soon after your previous conversation of Astarion's 'affection' being self-serving and under a completely false pretense at first, but before he could voice, 'It's fine if you think twice about us', you spoke.

"Astarion," your cadence was deliberate and measured, choosing your words carefully, "I'm not going after you for sex, and if I gave you that impression, I'm sorry. I'm ready when you're ready, I mean it. We can be together without having sex at all, if that would make you happy."

Astarion breathed a laugh, astonished yet still a bit half-hearted. "Now, now," he chided playfully, his voice smooth, effortlessly persuasive, "that almost sounds like a challenge."

But he wanted to believe that. He did.

He does.

But, even Astarion has a breaking point.

It took a while, fuck, there was no doubt about it. Several nights of seduction falling away to mentally drifting off at the beginning and apologizing profusely afterwards when Astarion began to feel uncomfortable and backtracked, but those moments of retraction didn't matter. You never showed signs of annoyance or frustration, as if you knew that was his way of pacing himself-his starting and stopping-and it would ease the tension weighing the vampire's shoulders when he saw you were only ever concerned. Your face would always be calm, sometimes peaceful, but your hands would hover in the space between your bodies, indecisive and unsure if the man wanted your touch in those moments or not. At times he welcomed it, releasing a little sigh when your warm palms caressed his undead skin, and other times, he needed a bit of space. You never showed disapproval, if you harbored some, whenever he would push away and leave a gap between you. You only waited for him. You always moved to the rhythm he set; stopping when he told you to stop, going when he told you to go, and Astarion was sure if he asked you to give him your heart, you would carve it out with your bare hands and hold it out to him with a smile on your face. It would surely keep beating in his hands, the love you so clearly shelter for him taking root within your arteries and replacing your frivolous need for blood.

It was an odd thing, foreign, being in control of a situation after centuries of enslavement.

However, Astarion feels a shiver travel up his spine as he drinks in the groan you release into his mouth, not unwelcome.

Without breaking your kiss, the vampire walks forward, pushing you back with a hand on your chest, and you simply follow, allowing Astarion to push and push until your back collides with the cushions of the room's bed. The plain brown blankets ruffle softly, a pillow falls to the ground with a gentle thud, the mattress sinks underneath your weight as your elbows move behind you to prop your upper body, and then there's a moment of pause. Astarion's lips leave yours with a wet smack, a thin string of saliva curving in the very, very small space created by the separation, but Astarion watches you take one, two, two-and-a-half breaths before he reconnects them with a muffled moan. It's not necessary for him to breathe and he hasn't for the past two centuries, but he tries to be considerate of you.

You, content, take whatever the vampire gives you, filling and all-consuming and your lungs burning in your chest from the lack of oxygen, but you easily conclude that you would happily die here before moving away from him.

Your mind momentarily calls to the revive scroll resting in your pack, and there's a fleeting thought it might certainly come in handy tonight. Hands fumble for clothing, and when it all comes off, Astarion isn't sure where his body heat ends and where yours begin.

Everything is burning, throbbing, aching, and there's a steady pulse between the vampire's legs he can no longer ignore.

His head almost fights the motion to pull away, as if the mere notion is blasphemous, but nevertheless, Astarion pulls back and slowly opens his eyes. Your face beneath him is mildly obscured by a stray, silver curl, illuminated a pale yellow from the candlelight, but Astarion's vision clears the moment your hand delicately pins it behind his ear. Your fingers barely brush the elongated skin, but the vampire figures if his heart was still working, the action would have sent a considerable amount of blood to his cheeks.

"…You're so beautiful," your lips twitch upwards in the corners.

Astarion can't fight the urge to smile back, fangs and all, and his eyes, reminiscent of polished rubies and piercing, sparkle in adoration unbeknownst to him, darting back and forth from one of your eyes to the other. Though there's evident lust present, it becomes overshadowed by an unsure tenderness, your desires restrained in the taut of your neck, and the tips of your splayed fingers flex along the back of Astarion's knees. It's clear you're holding back, anxious to go any further despite Astarion's clear want, and the man knows that if he wanted to stop here even after going so far to be completely bare, you would let him and do so without complaint.

The vampire's thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly, and your hands are on his chest, tenderly caressing the small indentations as if second nature.

"…So are you, darling,” the vampire kisses the tip of your nose.

The air is soft, your touches kind, and your breaths fan across the other's mouth acting as a heated, wine-scented aphrodisiac. But, as much as you soothe and woo him with cordial romanticism, you seriously need to get on with it.

So, leaning into the shell of your ear, Astarion gives you a nudge to do so. The pulsating is beginning to hurt at this point.

"Touch me," he sighs, and is able to feel the surprisingly violent shudder that racks through your body beneath him. "Please, my love," he adds. You hum. "…I am," you respond before pressing a wet, open-mouth kiss to the vampire's shoulder. "I will, fuck," you exhale, "I will."

The kisses start to travel the expanse of his skin, hot and occasionally pausing to suck and bite, up and down and wherever they can touch, trying to gauge his egregious zones, trying to see what's a yes or a no for him.

Pleasure blooms just below his stomach even though you had barely touched him yet, your fingers lightly tracing along the milky skin of his thighs spread across your lap. The pressure of your fingers gradually presses further but never restricting, never painful, only using Astarion's body as a grounding measure against your own raging urge to simply ravish the man on top of you.

'Not too fast,' you remind yourself, tilting your head backwards to reattach your lips to your lover's in a sloppy kiss Astarion happily accepts. 'Not too fast. Slow down, slow...'

You know Astarion can feel your arousal against the back of his thighs, but you stop yourself from grinding up into him, because this is all about him.

Astarion was sure he had never been this wet in his life, the nearly foreign sensation of tackiness between his thighs a bit of a sensational nightmare, and the need for release is essentially screeching in his brain, bouncing around his skull with unrestrained vigor, "touch me, touch me, fucking touch me!"

It's bordering on overwhelming and somehow feels under-stimulating at the same time. Foreplay was never a grace bestowed to Astarion while he entertained Cazador's newest sacrificial rat, them usually opting to put their own pleasure first above all else, so he wasn't entirely sure if the new experience is something he likes or hates. It feels like teasing, in a way, he supposes. Touching everywhere but where he so desperately needs, the pure torture of it all, yet it somehow makes everything better, more.

The buildup isn't bad, it's the waiting after that messes with his head.

You pull back, your half-lidded eyes staring up at Astarion, intense and almost predatory, and tug the spawn's hips forward an inch in a way that causes Astarion's heat to graze the warm skin of your lower stomach. The slight friction calls for a small gasp, a bout of pleasure flashing down the base of his spine, but things still.

"Can I...?" The question hangs off in the air, your hand, palm facing the ceiling, rests below Astarion's belly button and stops.

"Please," the spawn's eyebrows come together, now unafraid to display his frustration, and he begs, his voice tilting into a feral grumble. "Do something."

Astarion, even in the state he's in, doesn't miss the look that settles over your face the longer you stare up at him, your eyes narrow. It's shadowed, dark and hungry and wanting and in over two hundred years of being him, he finds himself unafraid to be at the receiving end of that familiar gaze. So many others sneered at him, licked their lips at the thought of mounting him as if he were nothing but this curly-haired elven beauty to be conquered, and he would let them, for Cazador. Some he would sleep with to possibly gain a sense of satisfaction, a small act of defiance to show that he could still enjoy sex on his own, but it usually ended up with this crushing ton of self-loathing on his sore back.

But, this time, it's different.

The look you're giving him sets him on fire, more scorching than the blistering flare of the goddamn sun, and his bottom lip slots between the front of his teeth in a last dash attempt to smother this pitiful thing of a choke gurgling atop the base of his tongue. He needs you; your touch, your fingers, your mouth, anything and everything he's been deprived of throughout all of this time. He's ready. Gods, he's ready.

And he commends you for your self-control, because Astarion is sure that he can't stop himself from having you now, not when you look at him like that-like you just want to fucking devour him down to the last strand of silver curl.

So, when your hand finally slips between his thighs and presses against his sweltering mound, your fingers gliding along his cunt with careful but firm precision, Astarion’s eyes nearly live up to his namesake. His back arches, his torso pressing into you so much your hand is almost squashed between the both of you, but you manage to keep the pace. There’s a silent determination ruminating from you, your motions; a promise to let him experience every gratification you have to offer and it’s clear that you’re not disappointing him. Your lover’s face falls slack, his mouth parting into a sharp ‘o’, and you resist the urge to lick at the tip of his fangs that peak under the edge of his kiss-bruised lips.

You concede, your eyes fervently follow a bead of sweat floating down the line of Astarion’s pallid neck, that no painting, nor sculpture, nor Gods can compare to your lover’s beauty. It could be a harrowing notion to others, some devout worshipers would probably sputter in indignation if you were to say that outloud, (Gale certainly would be up in arms to defend Mystra) but it remains an undeniable fact to you. His moans, uninhibited by rehearsed parade and uncomfortable deceit, spread across your face reminiscent of a sweetened vineyard swaying in the breeze that you can taste on your back molars. 

You decide, right here and now, that you worship only one man, and his name is brighter than any cosmic piece of heaven.

“I,” Astarion suddenly stutters, cutting through your glorifying thoughts, and you only now notice he’s begun to roll his hips against your hand, creating a quicker friction. “Oh, plea...” His plea dies.

“Tell me,” your head lolls to the side to catch Astarion’s eyes, but he’s too lost in chasing whatever he needs to feel, “tell me what you need so I can give it to you.” 

Unintentionally, your tone dips off as you get dragged further into the growing rigidity of your lover’s spine, the last part of your sentence dripping with desperate authority, and Astarion whines at the command in your voice that’s always so recognizable, but has him clenching around nothing in this context. This is better than he could have ever imagined, and his past sexual encounters, he gathers, don’t hold a fireball to you. There’s a volcanic simmer beneath his skin, a faint buzzing behind his eyes and the tips of his toes that leaves him both wanting to pull away and longing for more, and it's delicious.  

“What do you want, my love? You want me to go faster?”

You gauge his face, searching for any signs of discomfort or dissociation since you both hadn’t truly gotten this far without some form of regression, but you realize, with a swell of pride warming your chest, Astarion is completely enjoying himself. 

The vampire’s hips stall for a beat, the candlelight catching the jut of his hip, before he’s nodding, frantically, a few curls falling into his face from their usual sweep. They’re too pretty and frame his angular cheeks too well to brush away, so you leave them be, and instead choose to absorb this rare picture; an unpoised Astarion. 

Your wrist pangs, a cramp begins to form along your flexing tendons, but you’ll be damned if you don’t listen to his request and you speed up your fingers, the sound of sloshing wetness ringing beautifully in the middle of your ear like church bells.

You noticed when first getting to know the spawn that he carried this innate air of grace, from his years as an elven magistrate, you assumed, and even when he found himself flustered, there was always something graceful about it. So seeing him like this, keening for your touch and working himself along your fingers to clumsily chase a high he rarely got acquainted to, uncaring about how disheveled he looks…

“Yes,” he whines, “yes, I can,” he moans, “I can feel it..”

You let him do what he wants, what he needs, only keeping the pace of your fingers in their same, quick succession, lest Astarion say otherwise. The buildup is evident in the slow tremble of his thighs, in the hand he uses to instinctively reach out for you as he feels his orgasm steadily approaching, seeking a sense of ground amongst the unfamiliarity, and you promptly lean forward to allow it to snake around the line of your shoulders. Astarion’s head falls to your collarbone and his straight nose is tucking into the junction of skin beneath your earlobe, his other hand settling by his thigh and curling into a fist around the blanket.

Your eyes almost roll into your skull when his pants of ecstasy float into your ear; they’re so much closer, much more clear, and now you can hear a faint crackle, his voice rasping the longer he moans out into the dim room. 

“Gods, yes,” your lover whimpers, the sound going straight to your own arousal, “yes, yes!”

Astarion stills and it takes no magic tower mage to know the vampire’s orgasm crashed down unto him, if the sudden creamy texture pearling the tips of your fingers wasn’t indicative enough. His head tosses back, his back curving into a perfect concave ‘c’, and you lean forward to pepper the expanse of his neck with light pecks, your fingers slowing down to a lazy roll as an aid in helping the spawn on the come down. The sides of your thighs pick up the motion of curling toes and twitching kneecaps that are forced to keep themselves open on your naked hips, and a small smile stretches across your face.

Astarion’s chest is still, his vampiric attributes unable to provide him the need to take deep breaths, but his eyes are hazed, trained onto a piece of random ceiling tile. You sit against each other silently, holding him by the waist when his hips eventually stop twitching, and slowly pull your hand back, your wrist screaming in relief from being released of its awkward position. Your lover’s arm spasms, a false release of air hitching when you graze his sensitive clit.

“You okay?” You murmur, keeping your voice low to help Astarion pleasantly adjust. 

It seems to help, and your smile widens a bit when the man’s head lowers and his eyes meet yours, red irises little by little clearing from their orgasmic fog to focus on your face. It takes a minute, perhaps two-it could have been an hour for all he knows-but he eventually gets there, and his tongue darts from his mouth to salivate his lips before he simpers, knowing he probably looks extremely satisfied. You certainly notice it.

It’s an expression you’ve seldom seen on Astarion’s face save for when he finishes feeding from a particularly big bear, or you when you eventually gave him permission for your blood.

“I’m,” he pauses, “I’m wonderful, my love. That was…”

Your gaze falls to your hand, Astarion’s juices coating your fingers in a shine bordering hypnotic, and you nod. 

Astarion, now able to think in coherent lines of consciousness, is able to get a good look at you. He watches you, notices how your eyelids droop, your facial expression mirroring what he can only describe as melted adoration when your gaze languidly trails over his body before they flick up to his face. He’s seen that look so many times; admiration, but it’s never felt genuine before. There’s a warmth he receives from yours, one that washes over him and melts into his bones, forming his skin and shaping the very flutter of his lashes when you call him beautiful. The gentle touch on his waist pulls him back.

Your lips brush his, “my love,” and then they’re slotting back together. 

The kisses start lazy, relaxed and unhurried to simply have his mouth on yours, tongues dancing along each other in an easy rhythm even without music, but then Astarion feels your legs shift beneath him. He’s hiked further in your lap, but he simply lets it happen, assuming you need to adjust to get comfortable. Though, he comes to find that he’s sorely mistaken when you suddenly lean back, subsequently taking him with you. You both fall onto the bed, Astarion letting out an adorable, “umph.”

Neither one of you says anything, but you do lean forward to place a kiss to Astarion’s cheek, just below his faint beauty mark before you pepper his entire face. Your lips touch the bridge of his nose, his chin, above his smoothing eyebrows, essentially anywhere you could reach, and the domesticity of it leaves him speechless for once.

“My sweet,” you whisper, pausing in between every few pecks to speak, “can you do something for me?”

Astarion hums, his eyes closing when your lips find his neck, and you take that as a sign to continue.

"Can you get on top?" 

"I already am, my dear-"

"-I mean," you licks your lips, "on top…of my face."

"…Oh."

There's a high-pitched giggle that bubbles in the base Astarion’s  throat, involuntary but fleeting.

'Well,' Astarion thinks, his eyes widening, 'this is…also new.'

You, seeing how he pauses at the suggestion, move your finger in small circles on his hip in reassurance, and your eyes soften. "You don't have to, I just thought you might enjoy it."

"I," Astarion clicks his tongue, "I've just…never done that before."

A beat. "…No one has asked you to sit on their face before?" It's your turn to appear so incredulous, finding something like that so…so disrespectful. "Never?"

Astarion shakes his head, now beginning to shrink a little under your sudden bemused stare. He knows you aren’t mad at him, you’re never mad at him (which is why he tends to get away with minimal consequence), but he sees that your upset is genuine. And you are upset, because how can anyone deny this epitome of stunning, masculine monarchy, his ivory throne, adorned with anything less than the most lustrous jewels? What absolute madman, blind and deaf, surely, would give Astarion anything but which he truly deserves? Gold, silver, should fall between his slender fingers, molten and only his, the rarest silks and velvets hanging from his pallid limbs not unlike the knots lining a hangman tree; gorgeously morbid as he.

It makes you mad all over again, picturing those rabid animals all over Astarion, taking and mindlessly ravaging with no incentive to offer a modicum of benevolence. Hounds, the lot of them, soulless and only living to harshly breed the unwilling. How, your chest tightens as your anger makes way for a pang of sorrow, how much Astarion has suffered. You don’t want his torment to loom over him any longer, so you’ll just have to remind him; you are his, in his control. His to love, to break, to leave if he wishes it so. If he is to love you for the remainder of your long lifespans together, or if he is to simply use you to remember that he is more than the body that’s grown so foreign to him, so be it.

Your very soul clutches his, fist trembling, taut, and knuckles deathly white like a frightened babe clinging to their mother’s skirt; craving, clenching to prevent the scattered pieces of Astarion from slipping through your fingers. You’ll hold him forever, if he’ll have you. 

You will provide all you can, and accept all he’s willing to give in return, if anything. You can only hope that he receives you well and chooses you like you chose him.

Pushing those feelings down, you kiss your teeth before pulling the vampire's hips forward even more until he is basically sitting on your chest, the unexpected drag shooting a shudder of pleasure up his spine, and you smirk. Your strength often comes in handy at times. "We need to fix that. Now."

Astarion tries to hover at first, a bit too hesitant to allow his full weight to rest on your face even if his fear was a bit irrational; he’s seen you fight for Gods’ sake. And you aren’t having it. The grip on his hips grows unyielding as if they leave no room for further argument, and his puffy, flushed cunt is slowly lowering, taking its rightful place, against your open mouth. A stolen heir reunited with his true birthright, you surmise.

The pleasure that consumes you is almost too powerful, his taste flooding your senses and clouding your mind in an impenetrable smog of bliss, and you instinctively curse, your lips curling around the letters into his slick folds. Astarion releases a low whine, his head already falling towards the ceiling as if the fictional crown upon his head is too substantial, and he bucks his hips, relishing how your nose drags along his swelling bud. Your tongue explores at first, adagio to measure just where he might need you to be, but you find yourself indulging your thirst too quickly. It’s necessary, requisite, to feel his juices bead the tip of your tongue, his orgasm pooling down your throat essential for you to feel any sense of satisfaction for yourself, slurping and drinking and gulping like a man deprived for too long. Astarion’s body responds in kind; his hands reaching for you in the fray and tangling within your roots unceremoniously. It produces a moan from beneath him, the vibration against him causing a sound so ruined, it reminds you of a wounded sprite, but Astarion has never felt so safe. Even if your jaw practically aches as you attempt to inhale him (you’ll unhinge the damn thing if you have to), the man’s growing sounds spur you further, and Astarion briefly wonders if you’re truly trying to fucking eat him.

“Fuck,” he gasps, one of his hands releasing your hair to hold your forearm as it loops behind him to grip his waist.

Your hold is grounding, scalding, keeping him from getting too lost in himself, and he’s all the more thankful for it the moment your tongue slips further down his wetness to breach his hole, your nose nudging and grinding against his clit. He almost flinches away from the unexpectedness of it, but he gathers, that is what your arm around him is for.

“Fuck!”

Perhaps, Astarion’s eyes roll into his skull, this is the profound ascension Cazador is looking for; this feeling of your tongue splitting him open, lapping him along your tastebuds akin to a thirsting sinner kneeling in front of heaven’s locked gates. To him, this certainly feels no different than ascending to a higher power, and he swears he’s died-again-the moment your hand shifts to use the pad of your thumb to encircle his clit. His hips move on their own, burning from the strain but it feels so good, and rock back and forth, grinding.

You weren’t sure if you'd taken a single breath since he sat down, his thighs tightening on the sides of your face in a vice-like grip, non-verbally screeching at you to move ‘not a goddamn muscle’, not that it matters. Your view from between your lover’s legs, where you conclude your life was always meant to lead you, makes it easy to ignore the still of your chest, a dull scorch fixing around your stuttering heart as it struggles to handle the lack of oxygen. Astarion’s body glistens delectably, shiny from his sweat and arousal, and your eyes study the muscles in his stomach as they tense and twist and jump along with his keens and hisses of pleasure. Your lover’s movements titter the edge of desperate and feral, his hips rocketing along your face as if you were nothing more than an object to bring him to orgasm at this point.  ‘I’m not complaining,’ your eyes flutter closed. ‘Gods, I’m not.’

Astarion chases, following the catalytic pressure building in his stomach, tears forming behind his closed eyelids, and it goes up and up and up and-

His eyes fly open at a finger slipping past his entrance, nimble and thrusting and loudly coated in the slick of him. It’s deafening, how wet he is; it’s rich, nasty, and utterly debauched, but neither of you care. The air around you smells like sex and love and animalistic necessity, and the bed frame meets the wall in response to all of the movement.  “My darling,” Astarion cries, his voice wholly spent, raspy and sobbing. “My love, my sweet,” and he’s babbling. “Don’t stop, don’t-”

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

“Don’t-”

Astarion, with his vast vocabulary and overall knowledge from both his time as a spawn and original profession as a magistrate, finds himself unable to describe the sensations running through him. Everything is burning, his hips sting from their motions, his stomach feels tight, but there’s also something else; something deeper. It’s ardent, starting from the bottom of his feet and ending in his chest, and it makes him feel like something is going to happen, something powerful. It buzzes, pulsates, makes his body feel heavy, the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach like a spring ready to snap. It’s new and a bit scary, but he knows you’ll be here, knows you’ll protect him, so he lets himself fall.

Your lover goes rigid, silent, a moment passing where every muscle and flex of his limbs comes to a complete halt, before he’s moaning, drawn out and in higher pitch. Your eyebrows draw together in concentration, eyes crossing behind your lids as your own pleasure rains down on you, and the lower half of your face is drenched in your lover’s gushing climax. He’s squirting, and by the grace of the Gods is it succulent. It comes in waves, Astarion’s hips thrusting in time with each flood of his orgasm, and your mouth remains wide open to catch it all, guzzling, taking to him like a kitten to milk.

Astarion convulses atop of your face while you work him through, globs of tears sliding down his cheek, glowing under the slowly dying candlelight, and there’s a ringing in his elongated ears. He can feel his mouth moving, words rolling his tongue and testing syllables on his teeth, but his brain can’t quite register what he’s saying.  

You certainly don’t understand him.

It takes a while for him to settle, the swirls and drags of your tongue now pulling the spawn into painful territory, and when Astarion full-on dry sobs at the feeling of your mouth, you pull away from him.

Your inhales are hefty, gasping and panting beneath him to regulate the breathing you so kindly cut off for him, your heart working overtime to accommodate, and your eyes open. Astarion’s body rises and falls with your deep lungfuls of air, his head angled down toward you in the perfect picture of ecstasy; a transcendental creature of delight and satisfaction. His eyes are misty, his waterline flushed a pretty pink beneath a new surge of unshed tears, but there’s a watery smile hanging from his lips; dopey and pointed. For a while, you don’t move, only massaging Astarion’s waist to ease his occasional spasm, and he’s thankful for it. Astarion has never felt anything so intense, so vigorous and…good.

He didn’t understand you at first, couldn't deduce why on earth you wanted to get to know him beyond the scope of bodily exploration, but at least then you could grant him the protection he needed, however confusing on his part. His mind, still deep within Cazador’s deeply inflicted hell of torture and transactional sex, had made him approach you in the first place, recognizing you as the impromptu leader of your ragtag group of weirdos, with all of his true weaknesses hidden behind a steel wall of falsehoods perfected after two centuries.  

“It was natural. Instinctive.”

But, in this moment with you, as you sit up to carefully lay his body down beside you like he’ll splinter and burst, his arousal gleaming on the lower portion of your face, he infers that he, perhaps, wasn’t meant to understand you. He was only meant to feel, let you chip through his walls with your patience, let you blanket him with your understanding serenity, to separate him from Cazador’s self flagellating sack of exhausted bones, and merely be. 

Be with you.

“Are you alright, Astarion?” You hum, observing his face, watching him for any signs of being off in any way.

Finally, the heavy weight on his tongue lifts, and he releases a low scoff, free of malice, “Simply amazing.” 

His voice is on par with stone gravel, scratchy and sore, and it makes you reach across him, heedful of jostling him too much, to grab a cup of water off the nightstand. It’s lukewarm when you tilt it against Astarion’s lips, but it helps soothe him immensely, and he clears his throat. 

“Do you,” he begins, but there’s something nervous, timidly resigned, about his tone that you instantly pick up on, “do you…want me to-”

Your lips find his, and his question trails off into the roof of your mouth, Astarion moaning softly at the taste of himself on your tongue. His shoulders ease, unaware they drew forward in rigidity to begin with. The air around you starts to clear, calm affection radiating from your heated skin and seeping into Astarion’s dead heart, and he swears upon every God he had no luxury to believe that your love may have the power to revive it. 

“No,” your lips part with a wet, muted smack. “No, I don’t want you to.”

“But,” Astarion’s words stumble, finding it hard to gather himself when your lips find his jawline, “you didn’t get to-”

“I did,” you cut him off again, smooching the side of his neck and tucking a damp curl behind his ear, “because you did.” And it’s true, “You feeling good makes me feel good, my love. Don’t worry about me.”

The vampire makes a face.

How can Astarion not when you always put him first?

His safety, his hunger, and now his pleasure, you always make sure he’s attended to first, placing yourself on the backburner more often than not, and while it’s beyond sweet, he’s starting to feel a bit guilty; guilty that he’s not giving you more than you deserve. Admittedly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to have a real relationship far beyond sexual exchange, and it shows. 

But, he’s learning, and you never rush him. 

Astarion holds one of your hands in his, fingers intertwining around the other’s like straw woven through a basket, a perfect interlace of devotion and comfort; destined.

“I want,” the man’s eyes find yours, his words catching the base of his throat at the warm sentiment on your face whenever you look at him, “you to be happy…with me, with us.” 

Your palm raises to cup his cheek, the vampire nuzzling into it almost instantly with a quiet sigh, and brings your forehead to press against his, the smile on your lips wobbling in affection. The man in front of you, scarlet eyes exhausted and abused but so in love and willing to trust you, allowing you to douse the flames of his own personal hell and pull him up and out means more to you than Astarion will ever understand. 

Or, Astarion’s lips curl into a sheepish grin, his eyes wrinkling in the corners, maybe he does understand you. In his own way.

He’ll never forget the moment he first felt the sun after escaping the naultaloid, the feeling forgotten after having spent so many decades in the dark, traversing the shadows and hugging close to walls like diseased vermin, and how warm it was, almost as if the beams burned brighter just for him to ease the undead chill rooted within his bones; a reunion gift.

He supposes that being with you feels the same way; the sun embracing his skin to drive away the cold, constant and unfaltering. Just…you, your love that leaves him comfortable and unsuspecting, and Astarion half expects to wake up; to find himself still stuck in Cazador’s dungeon so broken he resorted to hallucinations for some semblance of comfort. But the pair of eyes in front of him, twinkling in passion as they surveyed him, are too expressive to be an illusion. Everything feels too real, too raw, to be a dream.

“You have no idea how happy you make me, Astarion,” and your declaration is conclusive, spoken as if the only truth you know.  

For once, he completely believes you. 

His psych doesn’t wrestle with his irrational belief that you’re being untrue, that he isn’t enough for you, because you choose him. Even after he deceived you, even after all of the emotional back and forth because he is so fearful, so damaged, you still choose him despite his faults and imperfections. He sees you when he closes his eyes, you worry his days when you’re away from him, and sometimes he just wants to crack open his ribcage to make space for you. There’s no need for his heart; it doesn't fucking work, blood no longer flows through his veins yet it’s the very thing he depends on to satiate this damned bestial hunger, so it has no place inside of him where you should be.

But, you’re here. Holding him, loving him and offering your devotion as it thrums between your fingers, sculpting the shape of your lungs around the phonetics of his name like you need him to live, and it makes Astarion want to cry.

So, he does.

Your face doesn’t show panic, but you do bring him closer, cradling the back of his head as he snuggles into your neck and allows his tears to fall. His back is being rubbed in soothing circles, your touch gentle but solid, and Astarion thinks that right here and right now…

Everything will be okay.

[graementality]

behold?? my full interpretation on all of the main factors of CCCC!! I don't know what compelled me to write all this but here we are. (whoops this got LONGG)

enjoy!

[disclaimer that this is my own interpretation and, while I take alot from canon, some of it will be closer to the fanon side of things. ]

[disclaimer 2 that I get all writery in certain parts and essentially write "from the characters' perspective" so those bits aren't MY OWN opinions, it's what I think they would feel about certain things C:]

[disclaimer 3 that alot of this is me stating the obvious, aswell as making them out to seem quite horrible, I promise I love them all and while they do have many flaws, they have good moments too </3 uhh ok yeah don't kill me with rocks pls]

Heart

• first of all: Heart has a huge victim complex. whether intentionally or not, he will always play the victim- he can get quite emotionally manipulative in this sense too. It can never be his fault- "he was provoked" "the other deserved it" "the other started it" "I'm innocent I'm innocent I'm innocent."

• he *can be* immature. now this word gets thrown around alot by Mind but i think he's 'immature' not in the sense that he throws tantrums and can't be trusted and has nothing of importance to say like Mind thinks. he is in the way that he refuses to listen to others, refuses to take the blame, and can also be quite petty and has a tendency to blow up (sound familiar? yeah. Minds immature too, we love Heart Mind parallels).

• he is spiteful and impulsive, but can you blame him? he's constantly being belittled and fought against; of course he's gonna take any chance he can to get back at Mind- to show him how it feels- to make him finally *listen*.

• Heart constantly feels like no one listens to him, that he is the disregarded part bcus he's "uncontrollable and unruly". this obviously forms alot of built up resentment because no one is taking him seriously. I think he can switch alot between "I need to prove that I'm just as good as Mind, I'll show them." and "they're right, I'm violent and impulsive and I'm ruining our chances of becoming Whole.". as you'd expect- his mood swings are wild.

• he is Inherently violent and impulsive. nothing is premeditated- if he's angry, he'll act on it. he'll say and do whatever he thinks will get him out of a situation or will make the other person listen.

• just the same as Mind- he is under the full impression that his opinions on how Whole should be are correct. And of course there is truth in that, emotions are a necessary part of existence, but just like Mind, he doesn't understand the need for his other half's part aswell.

• I think he very much wallows in his depression. he finds it difficult not to, but when he's bad- he's bad. he takes after Whole in that sense. he will be selfish and cruel and will isolate. he will spend all his time in his room and will be significantly more vile to Mind. he gets very caught up in his own emotions and depression, which just enhances it. (that is until things start being better and they're on their way to concord ofc, they all start helping eachother and themselves again) (this sounds mean I promise I love him, sadly I love projecting onto him more)

• there's alot of negatives here for him being my favourite character but trust me he can be good too. He's excellent at comfort, he knows just how to make someone feel better when they need it. He's empathetic, he can read people's emotions with ease and because of this-is able to understand them. Every fight with Mind- he feels his anger and frustration just as much as his own, he knows Mind gets just as riled up as him when tipped over the edge. The same goes with Soul, he can feel Soul's anger like a looming threat when their fights escalate too far. He can feel Soul's guilt and and how he relishes in the control despite it. That is to say- Heart can be kind and caring too, when it counts. he's the love AND the hate; it just so happens that he's got ALOTT of things to be mad about in his life </3

Mind

• Mind is astronomically emotionally repressed, it is a problem. he views emotions as something that holds him and everyone back from rational thinking and being at their optimal performance levels. he doesn't allow himself to get caught up in emotions (this of course is a lie, and excludes his petty outbursts at Heart, those don't count).

• ^ so much to the point that he 'removes himself of everything humane and emotional' by replacing himself with mechanical parts. no I don't think that's canon but I love this headcanon and I will die on this hill.

• though he would deny it: he is very petty, and does enjoy provoking Heart whenever given the chance. (which of course Heart does aswell)

• he is a 'control freak' to his core. though it comes off as tyrannical, he truly does think he knows what's best for the Whole, and that's why he's so adamant on being the ruler. logic is straightforward, logic can be easily worked through and used to make optimal decisions, thinking clearly avoids all possible bad situations. logic is his mainstay, his rock. (If he were to let in the flood of repressed emotion, he wouldn't be able to handle it all, and would lose hold of his mainstay whilst desperately trying to stay grasped onto it. he would be scared and lost in it all without a way back up.)

• he hides behind his apathetic facade but he *does* feel and he *does* get angry and upset and scared- and he hates himself for it. he can't be seen as vulnerable, as weak. I don't think he even knows *how* to deal with emotions either. he's spent so much time shoving them down that when they finally all come back up, he genuinly doesn't know what to do, he panics, unable to use logic in a situation like this.

• he is stubborn as all hell.

• he is Whole's ego. he doesn't think he's ever good enough and yet pretends he's the best; he believes he's the best too- contradictory I know, they're all hypocrites /lh.

• despite all these sympathisable things, he *is* cold and he *is* cruel at times. just like Heart, he has his reasons, but that doesn't make his actions justified. (make up already you guys suck!!!!)

Soul

• sigghhh identity issues x1000; he doesn't know who he is or what he's meant to be. he isn't a real person, and what's worse, he isn't *Whole*.

• I think so much of his character is based around Whole rather than him being much of his own person. his identity is a mimicry of Whole, botched together to make the imperfect Self, always wrong, never perfect enough. he has spent his whole existence working towards becoming someone else that he's never once thought to make an identity of his own- it's all for Whole, he would be nothing without him.

• he does not want to have to hurt the other two but in the end, that's all they'll listen to. he mimics power and control. he doesn't want to hurt them- but what else does he have if not power over these two? he has no control over the loops, no power against Whole, he can't do anything to stop this in the grand scheme, so he exerts control in the only way he can. he (tries to) keeps them in line. there is a large amount of guilt around that though.

• he's actually a very guilty person in general, his existence is merely the happenstance of dissonance; he and the others are born from it. he is the hubris of his Whole's misery- how could he not feel guilty about his every motion and thought, his existence itself is made from anguish {his Whole's anguish}.

• he yearns for non-existence and existence simultaneously; he contradicts himself. he wants to be Whole, but at the same time he wants to co-exist with him, happily.

• overall he is tired, he is very very tired. he doesn't have much left in him and he'll do whatever is necessary to just make it *stop* at this point. I think even after cacophony ends and the fighting finally stops, he's still on edge. he flinches at every little sound and raised voice. he wakes up in the middle of the night thinking he heard the other two arguing again, he has nightmares. he's very paranoid at all times.

• during cacophony I feel like Heart and Mind are defintely dehumanised by him. whether subconsciously or not. they become the ids, rather than his fellow thirds. they're a problem he needs to fix, parasites he needs to be rid of. he wants to get along and trust them, truly, but he never can.

• touch starved. this needs no elaboration.

• he worships Whole, devotes himself to him. he thinks of him like a god, something holy and perfect and completely out of his reach. his whole identity and existence is built around becoming him, this places Whole as the epitome of perfection. he wishes he was able to be close to Whole, to know him- but that's impossible, and he thinks if he ever even got the chance to brush their hands together his body would explode at the heat of his divine touch. yeah listen to this freak, please be normal for once in your life Soul.

Whole

(disclaimer: this is the character Whole and is in no way how I view CJ!! they are completely seperate thank yew) -

• my entire perception of Whole is mismatched ideas I've collected from mutuals but a large portion of his personality is from 'live the dream'. so, just picture that version of Whole mixed in with the weird codependent god relationship with Soul and that's my Whole 👍

• he is selfish and hypocritical at his core, he's almost as guilt-ridden as his Soul.

• he knows he does bad things, to himself and others. he hates it, he regrets it, he feels guilty for it- but he will always come back and do it again.

• he lacks barely any form of self love- of course this is going to make it difficult for him to sympathise and love his little blots- *parts of himself*.

• he is (of course) suicidal, alot of his (self proclaimed) 'selfishness' stems from this; he can't help it but its true. he's spent so long only looking out for himself, in isolation, believing that everything he does is pointless- his actions are gonna be selfish, whether he likes it or not. hence- the loop; he continues to repeat it.

• he is a chronic liar, he lies to himself, he lies to HMS, he lies to his friends. sometimes harmlessly, sometimes Very Much Not. there are times he's sworn he won't restart the loop and believed it, but of course that never lasted very long.

• he's not good at maintaining relationships- with anyone. this is why he struggles so much with Soul's unwavering devotion to him. not only does he feel like he's not putting into their relationship as much as Soul is, but he also lives in constant fear that *it will end eventually*. Soul will realise what a bad person he is and abandon him, or he'll fuck something up on his own.

• Whole has religious trauma (two wuv), and because of this he is very uncomfortable with Soul's worshipping of him.

• despite this, he still leans into it; no one's ever adored him this fervently, without hesitation, he can't help but enjoy it at least a little. both him and Soul are touch starved as hell so, it's *alot*. It's easier when they're in the loops, when he's separated from them all, from their resentment and their love. he doesn't think he deserves anything but what he thinks of himself. so Soul's unwavering love and devotion throws him off, but who would he be to refuse such a scarce thing in his life?

The Juno Incident

• ok!! I like lot's of different interpretations of the Juno incident honestly, though the ones that align best with what I think happened are these:

• Heart missed, literally. his bullet did not hit Mind. I believe he had low vision (just like me fr!!) before being blinded fully after TJI and this of course made aiming difficult.

• ALTERNATIVELY, he *did* shoot Mind, and the bullet *did* hit. Whether that was in the throat or some other place idrk, it fluctuates.

• In both instances, I think it went like this: after Heart's shot, Mind was shocked, he was scared, ESPECIALLY if the bullet did actually hit. I think in that moment, he did not have his logic to rely on, emotion- shock, fear, betrayal, anger- all of it, took over. he probably couldn't move for a few *very long, agonising* minutes, he was shaking, he was trying to organise his thoughts to best approach the situation and *couldn't*. his smug demeanour was finally broken down and in that moment he was truly *weak* (which he resents both himself and Heart for every day).

• meanwhile Heart very quickly flips from seething hatred and anger to regret, he's a sobbing mess. he's also scared- partly for Mind (if the bullet hit), but mainly for himself, mainly of *Soul* and what the consequences will be. he starts hysterically apologising, not to anyone in particular, just whoever will listen. he immediately goes into defence mode- victim mode.

• when Soul gets to the scene it's a mix of emotions. he's mad, mostly, but also feels betrayed- this is going to impact Whole, this is a setback we can't come back from, how could they do this? but of course the first thing he has to do is help, mediate, punish- as always.

• when it comes to whether or not Soul blinded Heart, I'm not sure. I enjoy the interpretations where he does, but also the ones that don't. but I firmly believe that it was majorly Heart's doing (self inflicted whilst in Apathy which I'll elaborate more on soon).

• Soul still punishes Heart obviously. after realising that Heart isn't the one that's been hurt here, and is crying crocodile tears, he quickly makes his way to Mind, who is still trying to regain his composure. Heart is obviously still screaming and wailing, and Soul now has the full picture of what happened, he tears into Heart. he yells at him about how he's betrayed them, betrayed Whole, how he's broken everything. Heart just defends and defends, cries and cries, he doesn't want to face the consequences. Soul eventually sends him to Apathy, where he can't wreck anything else (except himself). This was maybe the first time they were all equally afraid of eachother. (It will happen again, and again, of course)

• after dealing with Heart, Soul tends to Mind, who is *very* averse to being looked after (he doesn't need his pity). But he is obviously Very Fucked Up and accepts the care anyway. cue weeks of recovery and PTSD.

Apathy

• Apathy is somewhere in headspace that no one knows how to get to, they just end up there when that is where they need to go. It's a long walk, or a short one; no one really knows when you end up underground, you just do.

• I picture it as something of a cave system but instead of rocks, it's made up of decay. It smells like dirt and rotting flesh, the walls squirm as if they were alive, the floors are covered in rotting vine-like things that crawl around you and pull you deeper into the pit. Its dark and agonising.

• Heart relies heavily on sound and touch, this place is a sensory nightmare for him to say the least. he can barely see, Apathy is unable to harbour sound, and everything around him makes him want to throw up.

• eventually his own actions, with the additional side effects of being somewhere so horrific all alone for so long- causes Heart to scratch out his eyes. I hc him as someone very prone to scratching and skin picking- it got a bit much here to say the least and that got taken out on his eyes.

• I imagine he was down there for at least a few weeks. at the max a little over a month. Soul is the one to come get him, Mind does not want to face him.

The Loop

• Whole purposefully restarts the loop. for quite awhile I stuck with the idea that the loop restarts itself, like when they start fighting again- as the cycle of depression does. and while I still believe that- I like Whole restarting it on purpose more :]. It gives not only the plot, but all of the characters so much more depth in my opinion. there's resentment, there's guilt, there's it's effects on relationships and relationships with oneself. It's just overall so horribly good.

• I mainly like the way things happen in 'live the dream'. as in: Whole gets tired of Being A Person, he doesn't want to exist anymore- so he sits down at his piano and begins his song to restart the loop; the loop that brings him to the peaceful realm of unconsciousness whilst his thirds go through hell once again. and when they finally reach concord, he's brought back to reality. and it repeats itself.

• regarding memories: Soul remembers the most, which isn't saying much but yk. his memories of the loop mainly consist of the main events (split, fighting, Juno incident, any other significant things). his memories aren't clear enough to ever prevent any of this though, he just has to live with the fact that he knows something bad is going to happen, and he can't do anything to stop it. even if he did manage to, the loop would find a way to make it happen anyway. (for example: he calms Heart down before he manages to shoot Mind. Soul thinks all is well but later that night he hears muffled yelling from one of the blots' rooms, he's annoyed for a moment- just another fight- until he hears a gunshot. It happened anyway, his efforts were fruitless.)

• Soul is aware they've been through many many loops. he doesn't know how many, but he knows they've been here for A Very Long Time. he's tired.

• Heart and Mind are..somewhat aware of the loop? I think during calamity and closer to concord they're able to remember better, but in the midst of cacophony, they might as well know nothing. the battle for control and constant warring prevents them from remembering they've been here before- and will be once more. It all feels familiar, they write it off as deja vu. alot of things happen because of their 'instincts', for example: Heart's first thought during The Fight with Mind is to grab the gun; he's never shot anyone before, so why'd the thought come up? well it's obviously the most efficient choice of action- it'll certainly get Mind to shut up and listen to you. <- and so the cycle repeats itself.

• on how many loops there have been. I think it comes and goes like the cycle of depression (obviously). I think they each last for a few months up to a year at a time, and concord lasts for roughly a few months aswell. however many of those fit into the time that Whole has been alive and struggling with depression is how many loops there have been.

done!! holy shit that's alot, over 3k to be exact. these ideas will probably change and fluctuate over time but it was nice to get it all down for now :] feel free to send me asks about my headcanons of these weird little bugs, I love them :33 !!!

[buckets-and-trees]

Sleeplessly Embracing You

Characters/Pairings: Curtis Everett x curvy Millennial female!Reader Word Count: 2.4k Summary: You don't get a lot of sleep with your tattoo artist men, but it happens on occasion. Some of the nights are spent with both of them, other times it's just Curtis or Ari. Tonight, it's Curtis. CURTIS POV

Content/Warnings: previously negotiated free use, somnophilia, explicit smut: vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, insemination, spitting; dirty talk; light degradation; use of pet name: sugar; some feels

Notes: Some of the pieces of the Obsidian Stain & Sin Series can stand alone - THIS ONE DOES NOT. Also, this is the FINAL offering for my Birthday Jubilee!

Previous Installment | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You remain blissfully asleep in Curtis’s bed when he has to get up to piss in the middle of the night one night in January.

When he pads silently back into the bedroom, he looks at your naked form all tangled up in his sheets, half sprawled, half curled up, sinful skin and curves that tempt him constantly, and he’s not tired anymore.

He moves closer, his steps silent on the plush carpet. As he reaches the side of the bed, he can see the rise and fall of your chest with each slow, deep breath. Your lips are slightly parted, soft puffs of air escaping as you slumber peacefully.

Curtis's fingers twitch at his sides, itching to touch you. He knows he should let you sleep, but the sight of you sprawled out so invitingly in his bed is too tempting to resist. Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself onto the mattress beside you.

His hand hovers over your body, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. He loves to play this game with your unconscious, sleeping form, to see how much he can tease, please, elicit responses from your body in your most vulnerable state. It’s intoxicating and fascinating to him. He loves to see the responses he knows and explore touches and places and techniques while you’re unaware so he can apply them again to you later when you are awake.

He starts at your shoulder, ghosting his fingertips down your arm in a feather-light touch. Your skin is warm and soft under his calloused hand, and he relishes the contrast.

His touch drifts lower, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on your hip. He pauses there, his thumb rubbing small circles on your skin as he watches your face for any sign of waking. Your expression remains peaceful, undisturbed by his gentle exploration.

Emboldened and sure he has his sleeping plaything, Curtis lets his hand wander further. He skims over the swell of your ass, squeezing gently before continuing down your thigh. As he reaches your knee, he changes direction, his fingers trailing up the inside of your leg.

Your legs part slightly in your sleep, exposing your pussy to his hungry gaze, as if inviting his touch.

Begging for it, really.

In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, he can see the glistening of your folds. Even in sleep, your body responds to his touch, a slight sheen of arousal coating your intimate areas. Curtis licks his lips, his mouth watering at the sight.

With exquisite care, he traces a single finger along your slit, barely grazing your sensitive flesh. Your body responds instinctively, your hips shifting slightly towards his touch. A soft sigh escapes your lips, but you remain asleep.

Curtis repeats the motion, applying slightly more pressure this time. He feels your wetness coating his finger as he explores your folds. His cock twitches with interest, hardening as he continues his gentle ministrations.

He circles your clit with feather-light touches, watching intently as your breathing quickens slightly. Your brow furrows, and you make a small noise in your throat, but you don't wake. Curtis smirks, pleased with your unconscious responses.

Slowly, carefully, he slips a finger inside you, groaning softly at how wet and warm you are. He slips it back out and in, out and in, and your inner muscles clench around the intrusion even as you remain asleep. He bites his lip to stifle a groan, not wanting to wake you yet.

With practiced skill, he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your pussy at a languid pace. His thumb brushes over your clit with each inward thrust, applying just enough pressure to stimulate without overwhelming. Your breathing grows slightly heavier, soft sighs escaping your parted lips.

Encouraged by your unconscious responses, Curtis adds a second finger. He spreads them slightly as he pushes in, stretching you gently. Your hips shift, pressing down against his hand as if seeking more. A small whimper escapes you, but your eyes remain closed.

Curtis leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "That's it, sugar. Let me make you feel good."

Curtis continues his ministrations, his fingers moving with practiced skill inside you. He curls them slightly, seeking out that sensitive spot that he knows drives you wild. When he finds it, he applies gentle pressure, rubbing in slow circles.

Your body responds beautifully, even in sleep. Your back arches slightly, pressing your breasts up towards him. A soft moan escapes your lips, barely more than an exhale. Curtis feels your inner walls fluttering around his fingers, a telltale sign that you're close to climax.

He increases his pace slightly, his thumb circling your clit with more purpose. Your breathing grows heavier, small whimpers punctuating each exhale.

But then, a mumbled whine of, “Ari,” falls from your lips, and Curtis stops abruptly.

He and Ari have shared you so easily for months now, no strings or labels or competing, but you’ve never said the other man’s name in your sleep, and the ferocious beast that leaps to life in his chest is so unexpected, that he can’t stifle it and springs into action.

Roughly, he rolls you fully onto your back and yanks your legs open, his earlier gentleness replaced by urgent need. He positions himself between your spread legs, his thick cock fully hard and ready. Without preamble, he thrusts into you in one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

The sudden intrusion jolts you from sleep, your eyes flying open as a gasp escapes your lips. Before you can fully process what's happening, Curtis is already moving, setting a punishing pace as he pounds into you.

"Curtis," you moan, your voice thick with sleep and confusion. "What-"

"Look at me," he growls, one hand gripping your chin and forcing your gaze to his. "Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you."

Your mind still foggy with sleep, you struggle to focus on his face, but he’s determined. His powerful body looms over you, muscles flexing with each thrust.

"Who's fucking you right now?" Curtis demands, his voice a low growl. "Whose cock is buried inside you?"

"You," you gasp, your body rocking with the force of his thrusts. "You, Curtis."

He grunts in approval, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. One of his hands slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist to change the angle. He knows he hits the spot that makes you see stars with the head of his cock when you cry out in a gasping moan.

"That's right," he growls.

Curtis's hand slides up from your thigh to grip your chin firmly, his ice-blue eyes blazing with possessive fire. "Open your mouth," he commands, his voice low and gravelly.

Still dazed from sleep and the sudden onslaught of pleasure, you comply without hesitation. Your lips part, tongue lolling slightly as you gaze up at him with wide eyes, blinking up at him through your lashes.

His hips never stop their relentless rhythm, and he wants to groan with each thrust as he feels the way your cunt still has to stretch to accommodate him, squeezing him better than anyone he’s been with before. But a shiver runs down his spine at the way you look up at him.

Curtis's thumb traces your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to open your mouth wider.

He leans in closer, his face hovering just inches above yours. His eyes never leave yours as he gathers saliva in his mouth, then spits into your mouth. You flinch at the action, but not away from him, just at the sensation, and you keep your eyes locked on his.

And that makes him groan. “Swallow me down like your greedy little cunt is about to swallow my cum, Sugar.”

You swallow obediently, your throat working as you take down Curtis's saliva. Your eyes stay locked on his, wide and trusting despite the rough treatment. His thumb traces your bottom lip again, smearing the remnants of his saliva.

"Good girl," Curtis growls, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. "Such a perfect little slut for me."

His hand slides from your chin to your throat, applying gentle pressure. Not enough to cut off your air supply, but enough to remind you of his control. Your pulse races beneath his palm as he continues to pound into you.

“Rub your clit, Sugar, it’s time for you to come for me.”

Sleepy though you might still be, you obey Curtis's command without hesitation, your hand snaking between your bodies to find your clit. Your fingers circle the sensitive bud, matching the rhythm of Curtis's powerful thrusts.

"That's it," he growls, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "Show me how good I make you feel. Come on my cock, Sugar."

Curtis's eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and possessive. He loves that you instinctively know he demands that eye contact in this moment. It makes it all so much more intense. It’s too intimate to keep any of yourself from him.

"Curtis," you moan, your voice breathy and desperate. "Please, I'm so close."

He squeezes your throat, applying more pressure for just a few more seconds, and then when he releases, your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Your back arches off the bed, pressing your breasts against Curtis's chest as your body convulses with ecstasy. Your inner walls clench rhythmically around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust into you.

"That's it, Sugar," Curtis growls, his voice strained as he fights his own release. "Let me feel every bit of that sweet pussy squeezing my cock."

Your eyes stay locked on his, even as they glaze over with pleasure. Soft cries and moans fall from your lips as your orgasm continues to roll through you, your body trembling beneath him.

Curtis's thrusts become more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own climax. His fingers tighten on your throat once more, not enough to choke you but a clear reminder of his dominance.

"Gonna fill you up," he grunts, his voice strained. "Gonna pump you with my cum. Want you dripping me between your thighs.”

With a final, powerful thrust, Curtis buries himself to the hilt inside you. His cock pulses, flooding your inner walls with his hot release. He groans deeply, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against yours. His hips continue to move in small, involuntary jerks as he empties himself completely into you, and your walls squeeze him deliciously milking every last drop.

Curtis's hips continue to move in small, involuntary jerks as he rides out the waves of his climax. His breathing is ragged, hot puffs of air fanning across your face as he hovers above you.

As the last pulses of his orgasm fade, Curtis slowly withdraws from you. You whimper softly at the loss, and he looks down in time to see a trickle of his cum drip out - a sight he never gets tired of.

He reaches down to push it back inside your pussy, and you moan and shift, overstimulated and sore, but still weak for his touch there.

Curtis leans down, his arms caging you in on either side, and captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you - always eager to have more of you.

His kiss is demanding, almost bruising in its intensity. Curtis breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along the column of your throat and down to your chest. Your fingers thread into his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your sensitive skin. Curtis nips and sucks at the swell of your breasts, leaving small marks he knows will bloom into bruises by morning. A possessive thrill runs through him at the thought.

Curtis takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently. You arch into his touch, still sensitive from your intense orgasm.

"Curtis," you breathe, your voice a mix of pleasure and exhaustion. "That was... intense."

He hums against your skin, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, feeling a tinge of concern despite the possessive fire still burning in his chest.

You shake your head, offering him a sleepy smile. "No, just... surprised me. It was good, though. Really good."

The beast in his chest relaxes slightly, but there’s still an edge of something prowling - something possessive and primal. He runs a hand down your side, his touch gentler now.

Your hands move from his hair to cup his face and bring his eyes back to yours. “You good?” you ask.

He shifts up to kiss you again briefly. Of course you would think to ask about him. Too fucking sweet after all is said and done no matter how debauched you get with him and Ari.

“I’m good, Sugar. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

You cock your head and he laughs.

“Fine,” he admits, “I didn’t originally mean to wake you up. Was gonna play with your pretty pussy while you were dead asleep.”

You shake your head, but he sees the heat in your eyes at his words. “You’re always trouble.”

“And yet you can’t stay away.”

“No, never.”

Curtis softens at your words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. The gentleness is a stark contrast to his earlier intensity, but he feels how it’s become just as much a part of him as his rougher side.

He shifts to lie beside you, pulling you into his arms. You curl into his warmth, your head resting on his chest. His fingers trail lazily up and down your spine, soothing you back towards sleep.

As your breathing starts to even out, Curtis's mind wanders. He thinks about the possessiveness that gripped him earlier, the unexpected surge of jealousy at hearing Ari's name on your lips. It's going to keep him up for the remaining hours before the sun rises - something he'll be thinking about for a long time.

....ooooooooh!

👀

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library ✨ Fairy Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

✨ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved {E, 228k}

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

Or. A Fantasy AU loosely inspired by Merlin BBC where one relationship has the power to define the destiny of the whole land.

✨ Collision by itjustkindahappened / @tequiladimples {E, 226k}

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

✨ Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule {T, 93k}

“Thank you,” Geoff says, taking a sip of his tea. “What did you tell him?”

Louis has a sip as well, lets the tea burn down his throat too quickly, too hot, and he feels it all the way down to his stomach. “The truth. Essentially,” he replies after a moment, licking his lips, relishing the slightly bitter taste of the brew that’s never quite strong enough for Louis’ liking. At least it’s not decaf. “That my dog scented it. That I didn’t touch the body. That I came here first thing.”

Geoff nods pensively. “Did he believe you?”

“Probably not. There’s only so many people who can drown on dry land before it gets fishy.”

or: Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

✨ fae (series) by whoknows / @crazyupsetter {E, 46k}

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

✨ through walls of trees by @ineverateakiwi {T, 41k}

Elesdon is a country divided into five kingdoms and had long been considered peaceful. After a coup in the heart of the country, Lady Sulia ascended to the throne and imprisoned the four courts, stripping them of their powers. With the exception of King Louis Tomlinson, who submitted to her favors.

But something is changing on the horizon. Magic no longer obeys her, and scarcity threatens her reign. Desperate to stay on top, she brings Harry and Liam back into play, entrusting them to her most loyal warriors.

The beginning of a series of mistakes that may give them the opportunity they needed to defeat her.

✨ Gently As She Goes by graceling_in_a_suit {T, 33k}

Louis had been Harry’s best friend for as long as she could remember. She was a shoulder to cry on, a head of hair to practice braiding on, a mind as mischievous as Harry’s to scheme up antics and pranks with, someone to fall asleep next to when the nights were cold or when they both got lonely. Someone to dance with, to learn with, to laugh with.

They were girls together.

Then Louis left.

A modern fairytale (literally!) featuring a quest to bring a lost girl home, celtic goddesses, braiding, friendship, true love, and magic.

✨ I Want To Be With You Everywhere by @haztobegood {E, 30k}

A Seed from the Cherished Tree A Cloud from the Mighty Summit A Flower from the Perpetual Volcano A Pearl from the Perceptive Lake A Love across the Faery Realms

Fae Proposals were a rare and ancient ritual. The presentation of the four Tokens to one’s mate would initiate a lifelong, inter-realm bond between their souls. But the Tokens could only be gathered if the lover could overcome the elements of all four Faery Realm Trials.

The Trials were dangerous, deadly even. But for Harry, Louis would risk it all.

✨ Years of Blood and Magic 

by cherrylarry / @beelou , devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain, foreverfanficaddict / @chaotic-bells , idolizingthelightt / @idolizingthelight , @justalarryblog, 

Outofroad / @out-of-road, @perfectdagger {T, 30k}

Harry goes along willingly, but frowns, intrigued by who else is helping Liam on the case. “You have another… like me? In there?” “Hm, not like you. I mean, like you in the supernatural sense? Yes. But I hope you don’t mind, take offence or even feel threatened by him. I was desperate, and he’s been surprisingly helpful behind the scenes like you a few times." “May I know who it is?” Harry stops dead in his tracks right in the doorway just as he sees Louis turning to face him. The spell is broken once Louis opens his mouth and rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Payne, it had to be him?” --- When Detective Payne calls Harry to help him catch the murderer that is killing children and vampires in their city, Harry and Louis must set their differences aside to fight against the biggest threat they have ever faced.

✨ Delight in Masques by kassio / @fakedeepplantjerker {T, 27k}

Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way.

When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is.

(An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

✨ all their words for glory always sounded empty by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou {NR, 26k}

Due to his overprotective father, Prince Louis of the fairies has never left Faefield. When he finally gets the chance to go out into the world, he must keep his identity a secret, which shouldn’t be a problem.

That is, until he meets his roommate Harry.

✨ Away With The Fairies by @snowy38 {E, 22k}

Harry liked pretty things.

Mostly the ornate flowers that grew around him, the trees majestically climbing towards the sky, sometimes the little colourful birds that flitted around in the branches of those trees.

Harry's wings themselves were considered beautiful, big butterfly-like shaped things glistening pink in the light but white underneath, almost translucent.

He fluttered them behind him, feeling the breeze brushing off them. He was high up where he could see the most, studiously watching the human life on the ground below.

He shouldn't be here of course, he was beyond the borders of the part of the forest where his kind lived, but he couldn't help it.

Because Harry had found the prettiest thing of all.

✨ Flowers of Tomorrow, Seeds of Today by @haztobegood {G, 7k}

Louis grows up in a little cottage. Harry grows up inside the Forest. A dandelion grows at the Edge of the Forest. A wish on its seeds brings Louis and Harry together.

Or, Louis is a changeling and Harry is a human and their fates are more connected than they know.

✨ All This Time (I was Waiting for You) by @ohharold {E, 4k}

Harry and Louis have always been destined for each other. Some time apart has Harry reminiscent of their first meeting.

✨ Wonderland by orphan_account {G, 4k}

For the prompt: Harry the fairy takes up residence in Louis’ attic to hibernate through the cold months, but Louis ends up finding him whilst putting up the Christmas decorations. Queue grumpy Harry being woken up, but he can't go back to sleep once he's tried to hibernate, so he starts following Louis around, full of excitement and questions about his first Christmas.

✨ Carry These Feelings by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 3k}

Harry is one of the fae, and has to return to Court once a year to please the Queen.

He makes a detour on his way home to Louis.

Two weeks and I'll be home.

✨ glow. by dontletmedown / @princessyles {M, 3k}

All Louis wanted was to escape the city and find inner peace. He didn't know he would also meet a beautiful fairy that would be part of his meaningful destiny he never knew he had.

The destiny to save.

✨ the most fantastic things by bluegreenish / @greenblueish {G, 2k}

When he reads a fairy tale today, and it’s one about love, Harry will find himself in it. Because in all the fairy tales about love that exist in the world, he knows that a little part of Louis and him is written in between the letters, hidden between every page that curious fingers turn.

or, Harry's version of the fairy tale Thumbelina, minus marrying toads or moles, plus waxing poetic about Louis.

✨ If You're Hoping for a Harbour by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 2k}

Harry finds a ring.

✨ Curiosity by @hellolovers13 {G, 1k}

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him.

Human Louis is intrigued.

[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Fifteen

Fenrys x f!Reader

Summary- Y/n isn’t taking any of these males shit

Warnings- fighting, angst

Series Masterlist

Part Fifteen

   Fenrys is ready to kill the male on the other side of the door. 

   First, he breaks Y/n’s heart and then he interrupts them right before Fenrys can fully ravish her. The only thing stopping him from throwing that door open and driving a sword through the male’s gut, is Y/n lying beneath him, covered only by the blanket he’d thrown over her. The overwhelming territorial instinct in him wants to keep her hidden, no one else would see her like this, a voice in his head screaming mine, mine, mine.

   Y/n moves, as if to get up and go to the door in nothing but the sheet and Fenrys glares down at her, “Don’t you dare.”

   He’s up before she can hiss at him, she’ll have to save all that hissing for later once Fenrys dealt with her prick of a brother. She can yell at him all she wants but he’ll have her moaning his name again in no time. 

   Not bothering with a shirt, Fenrys stalks across the room and throws the door open. No sooner than the door revealing the hall is he met with a fist flying into his face, catching him across the jaw. His head whips to the side and he just barely keeps his balance, despite the room shifting on its axis in his vision. 

   “Vaughan!”

   Fenrys wipes the small trickle of blood from his mouth on the back of his hand and bares his teeth in a mocking grin, “Is that all you got? Your sister hits harder than that.”

   Vaughan is an imposing male, almost as tall and dark as Lorcan, no doubt he could’ve killed Fenrys the moment he’d opened the door, but he’d held back. Whether it be for his sake or for his sister’s, Fenrys didn’t really care. 

   Fenrys launches himself at Vaughan, throwing his fist into the male’s face similarly to how he’d done to Fenrys. And suddenly they are a storm of fists and snarls, no better than wild beasts. Each hit Fenrys lands, Vaughan returns, earning both of them bruises and bloody noses and split knuckles. 

   His side sings in pain as Vaughan lands a strike to his ribs, stealing the air out of his lungs. Fenrys kicks out, catching Vaughan’s and sending the male careening to the ground. He doesn’t hesitate to rain down his fist into Vaughan’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone. 

   “Fenrys stop,” Y/n orders and he makes the mistake of looking back at her.

   Vaughan shoots up and tackles Fenrys to the ground, sending him sprawling backwards into the room. The male lands two hits to either side of his face before Fenrys can throw Vaughan to the side, shattering the washbasin and soaking them both in water from the pitcher. Fenrys climbs onto the male, getting one satisfying punch to his mouth. He doesn’t have time to relish the feeling before Vaughan flies forward, his head catching Fenrys so hard on his chin that his canine rips clean through his lip. His weight shifts backwards, and Vaughan is throwing him off, Fenrys feels his head connect with the edge of the wooden frame of the bed, the splitting pain nearly debilitating. 

   Vaughan is up, rushing for him and before the male can pin him down, Fenrys kicks him back, his heel driving into Vaughan’s gut, sending him sprawling back. Fenrys had always been quicker than the male, he uses that to his advantage as he leaps to his feet, throwing another harsh kick to Vaughan’s side before he pins the male down, hitting the male again and again and again letting his rage and pent up emotion drive the power in each hit. When he rears back for another, his wrist is caught, nails digging into his skin hard enough to bleed. 

   “That’s enough.”

   Her voice is so lethally calm, so powerful, with that air of dominance, that Fenrys freezes, Vaughan beneath him doing the same. Fenrys dares a glance back at her, noting the impromptu dress she’d made of the sheet covering her, and then he sees her face and Fenrys has the urge to lower his gaze. 

   The picture of rage, her eyes are narrowed to slits, and she looks like a predator ready to kill. He’d never felt more like prey under that stare, her keen eyes are now lethal weapons and she looks more animal than fae, one wrong move and she would strike. 

   Fenrys slowly pushes to his feet, wincing slightly when she lets go of his wrist and the cold air stings the small wounds in his skin. She looks at him like she is holding him at the tip of a sword, ready to run him through. 

   “Y/n,” he says softly. 

   “Out,” she hisses, glaring at him then down at her brother, “Both of you, now.”

   Fenrys doesn’t hesitate to do as he’s told, helplessly heeding her commands. He doesn’t wait to see if Vaughan will follow the order or not, if the male is smart he will. He turns when he’s just outside the door, Vaughan stepping out beside him. A wad of cloth hits Fenrys in the chest, a shirt, and then the door slams shut hard enough to shake the stone beneath his feet. 

   They stand there in silence for a moment, as if their minds were still trying to catch up to what had just happened. And once his mind does just that, Fenrys curses. They’d fucked up, bad. 

   “I need a drink,” Vaughan sighs, looking at that door like it had mortally wounded him, and then he turns, stalking down the hall, “Put your fucking shirt on.”

   Fenrys glares at the male’s back but slides the shirt over his head. With one last look at the door to his room, their room, he swears he can feel her piercing glare through the door, Fenrys follows Vaughan silently. 

   Despite the late hour, the hearth still blazes with heat, the very few riders still awake feeding the fire. Fenrys sits close to the edge, letting the heat dry off his clothes, letting it warm the chill that had set into his bones the further he walked away from her. 

   Vaughan sat a few feet away from him and Fenrys is more than a little pleased to see the bruises and blood on the male’s face. No doubt he looks nearly identical, he can feel the ache in his jaw and in his ribs, hopefully nothing broken, but given the sharp pain with each breath, he doesn’t think he’ll be that lucky. 

   “Keep your eyes to yourself, Moonbeam,” Vaughan snaps, turning his glaring eyes from the fire. 

   Fenrys simply grins back at him, “You know you love the attention.”

   Vaughan scoffs and he turns back to the fire, always a male of few words, and a male who loathed attention. Fenrys knew more about him now from the month of traveling with Y/n than he’d learned in the century of fighting beside the male. And still, he feels like he barely knows Vaughan at all. 

   “Where were you going?” Fenrys asks. 

   It’s a simple question, but Vaughan is silent for a long time as if there was far more to it than a simple answer. Fenrys lets him stew in it, trying to keep back the words that he wants to scream at the male, why wouldn’t you go back for her? 

   “I don’t know,” Vaughan finally says, “I was just flying. Anywhere, everywhere.”

   “Except home,” Fenrys says shortly. 

   He sees the wince, the hurt, and Fenrys is satisfied knowing that it wounded him. He deserves it, Fenrys tells himself, even if small part of him feels bad for his friend. There is still a larger part of him that seethes at the male for the hurt he’d caused Y/n, and for the rude interruption. 

   “I wasn’t sure I had a home to go back to,” Vaughan says after a moment. 

   Fenrys doesn’t say anything, only because he feels her approach long before he sees her. As much as he wants to dig into the male, it wasn’t his place, and Y/n is more than capable of fighting her own battles. 

   “Bullshit.”

   Fenrys look up at her as she moves into the space between him and her brother. She’s dressed in the warm thick clothes he’d stripped off of her less than an hour ago. Fenrys fights off the rising heat in his blood at the memory of her, bare and writhing beneath him, the memory of her taste on his tongue. 

   “Y/n,” Vaughan tries to placate her, but she’s having none of it. 

   “You never even tried,” she snaps, her arms crossed over her chest as if she was trying to shield her heart and hold herself together, “For twenty years, you left and you never even tried to come back.”

   “I did,” Vaughan snaps.

   Fenrys watches the air punch from Y/n’s lungs, “What?”

   Fenrys feels like he shouldn’t be there for this conversation, but he couldn’t get up and make himself leave. It felt like there was this little thread holding him in place, and on the other side of it was Y/n and all of her rage and fear and sadness. 

   “I checked on you,” Vaughan explains, “Every few years, and every time I saw you through the window. I saw our mother’s face, dead because I brought a monster back home with me.”

   The rage on her face shatters, “Vaughan.”

   “She almost caught me,” he says, “When I came back that last time, it wrecked me to leave you there, knowing you hated me, and Maeve had sensed it.”

   Fenrys feels cold despite the roaring fire in front of him. And by the way she is trembling, Fenrys knows Y/n feels that chill in her own bones. He reaches for her, taking that shaking hand in his own and she sinks into the seat beside him, holding onto him like a lifeline. Vaughan glances between them, his brow furrowed like he was trying to decipher something. And then there’s a look of surprise and resignation in his eyes that Fenrys doesn’t have the time to figure out.

   “She was watching me,” Vaughan says after a moment, “For years trying to figure out where I’d been, who had caused my heart break. I was only able to get away a few times to check on you, only when she was distracted.”

   Vaughan gives Fenrys a sad look, and he knows exactly what the male means. When Fenrys had been called to her room, hours turning into days, into weeks. Despite the horror of it, Fenrys is glad Vaughan had used that time to check of the female beside him. Even if he hadn’t known her yet, the cruel strings of fate had helped him protect her, that was worth his suffering. 

  “I stayed away because I wanted to keep you safe from her,” Vaughan says, “And then she was gone, and it had been twenty years since you’d told me to leave and never come back, I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

   “I didn’t mean it,” Y/n whispers, and Fenrys can hear the tears in her voice, “I’ve missed you every day, every minute since you left.”

   “I know,” Vaughan sighs, “I think a part of me already knew that. But she was gone, I felt it the very moment she’d been slain, the blood oath untethering me, releasing me, and for the first time in nearly four hundred years, I was free.”

   The way he says it, almost like Vaughan still couldn’t believe it. Fenrys knows exactly how the male feels, because he felt the exact same way, even as he watched the valg queen burn. 

   “My whole life I have been chained,” Vaughan says, “Shackled to my father’s will, to Maeve’s. And suddenly, nothing, my wings could take me anywhere and everywhere because I willed it, no one else.”

   A look of understanding flits across Y/n’s face, right beside the sadness and despair, “You weren’t shackled to me anymore, either.”

   Vaughan shakes his head, “I never was, you were the one thing I chose. Protecting you, loving you, being your brother was my choice, my duty above all else and I failed you, and for that I am so sorry.”

   She shakes her head, “No-“

   “Yes,” Vaughan says quickly, “I did, and I know there is nothing I can say, or do to fix that, I can only beg for your forgiveness.”

   Fenrys releases her a second before she moves, crashing into her brother with her arms thrown around him. Vaughan instantly holds her against his chest, his arms cradling her, shielding her from the world. 

   There’s a warmth in his chest at the sight, and for a split second, pain. What he wouldn’t give to beg for Connall’s forgiveness, to hold his brother one more time. Like she can feel it, like she knows his mind has drifted back to that throne room, his brother’s eyes blankly staring at him, Y/n pulls away from her brother. Her eyes, keen and knowing, find his, and Fenrys gives her non-convincing smile. 

   He wouldn’t ruin this for her, not when she actually has the chance to fix what has been broken with her brother. So, Fenrys stands, taking a single step closer to her, and because he is a selfish male, he leans down to press a soft kiss against her lips. 

   “I’ll be in our room,” he whispers against her mouth, “Take your time.”

   He notes the way Vaughan’s hands are clenched into fists, the male showing considerable restraint, no doubt imagining throwing Fenrys into the fire to get him away from his sister. 

   “I’ll be waiting,” he says lowly, kissing Y/n once more before he pulls away. 

   And because he is completely unreasonable and still pissed at the male for earlier, Fenrys grins at Vaughan and winks before he turns and walks away. He laughs at the low growl and answering hiss behind him.

   It’s hard not to watch him as he walks away, noting the slight limp in his step. There had been a moment during their fight that she was sure one of them wouldn’t come out alive, he was injured, probably more than he’d be willing to admit. She wants to follow him, to heal those wounds, her magic itching to help, to soothe. 

   “How did that happen?”

   She tears her eyes away from the now empty spot Fenrys had last been, to find her brother watching her with knowing eyes. Part of her wants to hide from that look, Vaughan always saw to much, knew everything before she did, even when it was her own mind he had figured out.

   “What?”

   “You and him,” Vaughan says simply.

   There’s more to it than those three words, she just didn’t know what exactly he was holding back.

   “I found him after you’d left for Antica,” she explains.

   It feels like she was transported back to that little human town, watching the male strike out with every vendor in the market. She’d heard the wolf was home and she tracked him down, part of her thought maybe Vaughan would have been with him, but then she’d seen Fenrys in the market, asking the same questions she’d been asking for months. So she watched him, keeping her distance, taking a step closer each day until she’d been right beside him. And then she’d heard of the ship leaving for Antica, the whispers of strangers on the passing wind, a gift from the Wyrd.

   “I saw an opportunity,” she continues, “With my limited experience of the world, I had no idea how to get across the ocean to find you. And he was hitting a dead end. We struck a deal.”

   Vaughan is quiet for a moment, “When did you start loving him?”

   Her heart stops dead in her chest and she isn’t sure she’d heard him right, not until her gives her that smile that said he knew everything already, just wanted her to confirm it. Loving Fenrys? The idea is so ludicrous that she almost laughs, but then her heart starts thundering beneath her ribs and her breath feels caught in her chest.

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stutters, “I don’t.”

   Vaughan laughs and the sound holds little joy, “You do.”

   There’s no room for argument, as if her heart belonging to the golden male in her room was a simple fact that was unavoidable. And Vaughan seems to be resigning himself to it, forcing back the urge to be her vengeful big brother that would kill any male who looked at her. 

   “Of all the bastards in the world, you had to pick that one.” Her shoulders tense and he shifts his weight, nudging her with his own, “Relax, I’m only teasing.”

   When he sits back in his seat, she sees him wince and she remembers that unforgiving kick Fenrys had landed to her brother’s side. She lifts her hand, letting that warm ball of power fill her palm as she rests it on his arm. It feels like her magic seeks out each wound, knitting together broken bones and bleeding skin. Vaughan takes a deep breath as his broken rib settles back into place, and he smiles softly at her.

   “I’d forgotten how that felt,” he says, his face falling, “I’m sorry, Y/n, for all of it.”

   “I understand,” she says, pulling away her hand once she feels no more wounds to mend.

   “Only because you are to forgiving,” he laughs mirthlessly, “You have every right to hate me.”

   “Trust me,” she says, “I am still furious with you, and I wish more than anything you would have just come home to tell me all of this without me sailing across the world to find you.”

   He winces, “I am so sorry.”

   She continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “I am furious, but I understand, and I will understand if you want to keep flying wherever your wings may take you. I just hope those wings will bring you home someday.”

   There is this intense relief on his face when he says, “They will, I swear it.”

   Y/n holds out her hand, “And I will be waiting for you there”

   He doesn’t take her hand, and she frowns.

   “No,” Vaughan shakes his head and he glances behind her, “I expect your home is somewhere else now.”

Tag list -

@emma-andrea1 @mgchaser @anxious-study @lees-chaotic-brain @girl-math-aint-mathing @mali22 @nikt-wazny-y @theworthlessqueen @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lethargicluv @hannzoaks @batboygirlie @foxysouls @kiarathace @jesskidding3 @raginghellfire, @answer-the-sirens

[queenbeewrites]

my doctor is a pervert 🩺part 1.

gentle femdom smut

After noticing him stalking her for a while, she finally faces him with ruthlessness and questions his intentions. And during playing and dominating his body, finds out that the doctor truly likes her.

Female’s P.O.V~

“Why are you following me?” I boomed, staring right into his astounded and fearful eyes, pinning his hands against the wall in an empty hospital room.

Tall, masculine, and fierce in features, he was the doctor in charge of my friend, admitted for an injury caused by an accident.

From the way he talked, walked, and carried himself, he always seemed very proud, confident, and dutiful to me.

But instead of my friend, an injured patient, he was stalking me every time I visited my friend, keeping his eyes on him, and allowing me a deeper view of his personality.

He was so much more than he showcased to the world, and I wondered what layers he was hiding behind that strong veil.

That is why I did not mind his obsession with me until he started crossing the lines.

He was doing the same thing that day as well; he was stalking me when I yanked him into that empty room and pinned his hands against the wall, even though he was taller than me.

The quiet boomed in the room after I questioned his behavior, his calm eyes turning restless, like his body, before he answered, stuttering, “No -- no, I’m not!”

I was right about him. He did behold something interesting about him. The thought of it churned my stomach.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” I questioned again, squeezing his wrists tight on the wall, and added, “I’ve seen you following me many times.”

His already astounded eyes turned fearful, wandering, his lips sealed together without a word, palpitating.

At that moment, he looked delicate and breedable, the absolute opposite of his normal demeanor.

“I bet you have nothing to say now!” I smirked when suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and blurted. “I like you!”

I wasn’t surprised at all. I was, in fact, amused and thrilled.

“Is that why you have been following me?” I questioned, watching him open his eyes and answer, “No. I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re a doctor. You seem so in control of yourself, so manly and responsible, yet you don’t know why you did that?” I questioned as I released his hands and pushed him to his knees, watching his eyes get astounded once again.

Even through astonishment, he did not hesitate. He simply sat on his knees and looked hesitatingly at me, looking like a big softy in a doctor’s coat in front of me.

“Do you stalk everyone, then? Without a thought?” I questioned as I pressed the sole of my heel to his crotch, and felt how hard he already was, while he stuttered. “No - no. That’s not it.”

“Then why were you stalking me, if it’s not because you like me?” I continued, as I set my bag on the floor and applied pressure to his crotch with my heel, rendering him shudder and whimper so mildly.

He was relishing that way too much for someone like him.

“Were you trying to do something wrong?” I applied more pressure to his crotch, watching him whimper more loudly while his hands grasped my leg.

He looked ever tastier and sounded like it, making me wet.

“Answer me, doctor! You’re not saying anything, you’re just making these dirty noises.” I added and started stroking his dick with my heel, feeling his dick getting harder than possible.

“I - I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong!” He moaned, digging his nails into my leg.

“Is that right?” I continued and added, “then you might have been stalking me for this.”

I pressed harder on his dick.

I watched him moan with pain and bite his lips as he embraced my leg as if begging for his life.

The scene spurred my insides, driving the greater hunger inside me. I wanted to turn him dirtier at that point.

“Answer me!” I boomed, “You wanted me to do these things to you, don’t you?” I pressed again, watching him whine and moan from pain. “No!”

“Then why are you enjoying this so much?” I questioned as I lifted his shivering chin up, noticing the tipsy look in his eyes, “that means, you are a whore, aren’t you?” I added and felt his dick twitch against the sole.

“No! I’m a doctor!” He moaned, making me chuckle, and push two of my fingers into his mouth and command. “Suck.” While I continued stroking his cock, watching him instantly obey and suck my fingers.

“Look how quickly you obey, yet you claim you aren’t a whore. You even look like you’ve done this before.” I teased, while he denied it, sagely shaking his head, his tongue twirling around my fingers.

“Then why are you sucking my fingers like a pro?” I questioned again, thrusting my fingers into his warm and salivating mouth. “Only whores suck like a pro.”

His cheeks kept beaming red with embarrassment as I continued thrusting my fingers into his mouth, reaching his throat, stroking his twitching dick with my heel, while he coughed, cried, whimpered, and choked on my fingers altogether.

“You’re such a whore.” I boomed, watching him turn into a mess, admiring his heaving body, and I added, “You know your dick twitches every time I call you a whore. You like hearing that, don’t you?”

His dick twitched again, while he shook his head again, denying my allegation as his saliva seeped through his lips.

“You need to be true to yourself, doctor.” I chuckled and pulled my fingers out of his mouth, shoving him onto the wall, while I regarded his mouth dribbling a pool of saliva.

“You are a whore.” I boomed and strongly began stroking his dick, aware of his stimulating body.

“Respectful doctor, can you tell me, what do you call cumming in medical terms?”

“Orgasm.” He growled, shuddering like a leaf.

“Correct! Do you want it?” I questioned, and he nodded his head vigorously, looking at me with needy eyes.

“I will give it to you if you accept you’re a whore.” I conditioned, watching him thrust against my heel and quickly whine, “I am a whore!”

I felt chills run down my spine, pride taking over me while he growled, “You are right. I am a whore. Now please, can I cum?”

I faked contemplating, while he begged again and again until his voice turned hoarse.

Then finally I pressed his dick harder, watching him orgasm against my heel, soiling his pants like he was peeing with so much eagerness; his body trembling and his moans louder than before.

Quickly I covered his mouth, while he continued oozing out each drop he had in his ball, whispering, “What kind of doctor are you, do you want everyone to know what you’re doing here?”

He shook his head again, settling his trembling body on the floor, looking up at me with fatigue.

“I thought you had that fantasy as well,” I added as I removed my palm from his lips, cleaned my heel on his pants, and picked my bag from the ground, continuing. “Give me your phone.”

I dialed my number in his phone and petted his head, calling him, “Good boy. I’ll see you next time when I need a whore.” And left him shuddering.  

_________________

END OF THE PART 1

--- Love, author! 

Early Access to more smut and short stories https://queenbeewritess.carrd.co/

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

I think I might sequester wip posts to once a week on a Thursday (coz it's Thursday). I'll post art and maybe a writing snippet if I'm up for it. Just gotta keep wips low-key.

anyway I got tagged by @skyrim-forever @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark Tagging @nyarevar and @archangelsunited. No pressure 🫂 The rest of the post is under the cut.

I've been working on the render that I started in December, just have his hair and some extra lighting details left.

And an idea for the next render

And a snippet from You, where Josh gets harassed by Hircine again.

“Fine,” I finally replied, shoving the ring back in my pocket, “What do you want me to do.”

The spectre nodded again, pleased with my answer, “I see you’ve matured since we last met, Blodskaal. I expected to hear protests?”

I sighed, “An what would refusing the Lord of the Hunt do? I’m old Hircine, I’m too fucking tired to argue.”

“You are a strange one, Nerevarine but I will make use of your—” The spectre paused for a moment and blinked its large eyes at me again, “Compliance.”

I grit my teeth as Hircine continued to rattle on, my hand still clasping the ring that I had shoved into my pocket.

“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he believes is his sanctuary,” Hircine continued, “Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunter but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter who has lost my favour, flay the skin from his body as you once did centuries ago and make it an offering to me.”

I shook my head as I finally let go of the ring in my pocket and folded my arms, “You want me to do what I did to Heart-Fang? Why should I do that? That kid’s done nothing to me.”

“Did Tharsten Heart-Fang do anything to you in the Hunting Grounds, Blodskaal?” Hircine countered, “Or was he acting on his nature?”

I rolled my eyes, “Heart-Fang attacked me in that maze, I don’t much care for his reasoning. That kid back in the gaols did nothing but annoy me a little. It’s not an equivalent.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before, Blodskaal.”

‘He’s right, Sero—'

‘Shut it,’ I mumbled under my breath. The last thing I needed was Nerevar’s input. It’s his bloodthirstiness that got me into that mess out on Solstheim in the first place. I was content pissing my time away watching that mine.

“Not an equivalent,” I spat, replying to the two of them. I’d killed my fair share of people for ridiculous reasons, sure but I didn’t relish in having blood on my hands. Well, not the part of me that I associated with my old self anyway. There was a part of me that relished it but I’d always attributed that to Nerevar’s influence. A partial melding between the two of us that didn’t quite work in his favour.

It's a part of me that does not mix well with who I want to be. It churns about in my gut and merges with my paranoia like a demented slurry. I’d always tried to push that desire out of my mind, but there's always something that grabs me and throws me back into wanton violence. Then I spend all my fucking time justifying to myself why I did it in the first place. If they attacked me, then I have a reason to kill as I wish.

The thought just makes me feel sick.

“There is no retribution in the hunt, Nerevarine. I do not seek vengeance as you do, no. Merely the glory of the hunt,” Hircine’s voice boomed throughout the clearing, and I struggled not to cup my hands around my ears. That kind of vulnerability in the face of the likes of Hircine would be a grave mistake on my behalf. Though it seems that the spectre noticed my discomfort regardless, “Nerevarine, there are countless others that would gladly accept my favour. They will hunt him while you delay. It is your choice.”

“I’m not looking for your favour,” I replied flatly, “If I recall you orchestrated this whole thing to lure me out of hiding. Why the fuck would I seek you out of my own volition?”

“Be careful with your words, Blodskaal,” Hircine threatened, “Do not think you have the upper hand here just because you possess my artifact. You may have once been favoured by Azura but she has long abandoned you. You crave that favour again. That is why you will do as I command, because you are compelled to do so by your very nature—”

I spat on the ground in front of me, the taste of ash burning in my throat as my fury rose. I hated this sort of tactic, insult aspects of myself that I had no fucking control over and attribute everything I do as an inevitability because of that. As if I was never capable of change. That I needed to be treated like shit just to get me to comply. I was no stranger to it, whether it was my bastard of a grandfather, Orvas Dren, Caius Cosades, Nerevar, the Daedric Princes, the fucking Tribunal! Fuck even you at the end reduced me to nothing but the curse that corrupts my flesh!

Everyone who ever believed in me is either dead or too far away to help me right now. All I had at the end of the day was myself and I’d been fighting alone for two human lifetimes at this point. The only person who could stand up for me is myself and I knew there was one thing this fucker was wrong about.

Azura never truly abandoned me, I abandoned her.

“Fuck this,” I growled, turning away from the spectre. I was done parlaying with a fucking Daedra. It’s rid myself of the ring in some cave or a deep hole or something and hope that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass again. I heard my guardian move and crackle as Hircine’s voice boomed through the clearing once again.

“You never had a choice.”

And my own voice echoed his words as I hit the forest floor.

[akicine]

Hi hello I hope you're well I hope your requests are open if not please ignore this but can I ask blade with a lover from when he was yingxing who he lost a long time ago and they reunite and the spark is still there just some cute fluff and abit of angst

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I SWEAR TO GOD MY WIFI IS SO SHITTY , EVERYTIME I REFRESHED , IT DIDNT SAVEEE SO I HAD TO RESTART 4 TIMES.

The same , yet different (Blade x Reader)

You thought you’d never see him again.

After all these years , you’d never tried to dream that he would come back.

And yet, here he is , right in front of your eyes , looking at you with a cold stare , and talking to you with curt responses.

When you had first gotten a note , claiming that you could meet your lover once again , you thought it was just a scam , seeing that you haven’t met him in centuries and have long given up on the hope of seeing him again.

However that one small part of you , clung on to the hope that you would meet him again.

So when you arrived at the destination given , you thought you were hallucinating, seeing the stellaron hunter Kafka , and …

And-

Yingxing.

But then you realized , he wasn’t Yingxing.

He was blade.

Just like how you were questioning his existence and how he’s here , he was questioning his feelings about you.

He doesn’t know why , but whenever he thinks of you , he feels a soft pang in his heart , almost as if he was mourning the loss of something , but forgot what it was.

You know that face , you’ve seen it for the past couple of centuries , yet he was different from what he used to be.

Snow White hair , now a dark indigo , with ends as red as wine.

Those eyes that used to hold the pride and life of a blacksmith, now dead and holds the regrets and pain of centuries.

Even then , he’s still Yingxing to you.

Your lover , who had stayed with you for years , even when he was a short life species , you had loved him , cared for him when he got injured, and laughed with him.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally realized that he had come back to you .

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much , he doesn’t care to remember people from his past life , but whenever it comes to you , he feels the urge to gently wipe away your tears , as if it’s some familiar thing he always did , and comfort you.

With great ‘reluctance’ he gently pulls you into his arms and rubs your lower back , getting into a comforting rhythm as he tries to comfort you.

He presses his chapped lips together , trying to figure out a way to make you feel better , but then he hears a sound of pure joy and looks down to see you smile .

He hasn’t seen anything better than it.

He gently cups your face , something he hasn’t done in centuries , and tilts it up a bit more before smiling.

He hasn’t done that in centuries.

You gently grasp his hand , one that’s so familiar to you , and squeeze it , relishing the fact that he’s truly here with you.

He takes the time to slowly reacquaint himself with your features , memorizing your features , wishing that the Mara wouldn’t wipe his memory away.

He hasn’t felt the call of Mara once in this time span

He gently kisses your forehead .

He may not be Yingxing , but he’ll still love you like him.

[glitchedcrows]

I've never been a writer but I saw a post about Sirius' silver eyes and couldn't get this out of my head...so here's an attempt at something. (I also tried to write it into a @wolfstarmicrofic prompt)

first heartbreak - wolfstar - word count: 743

Remus chews on the nib of his quill as he re-reads the same sentence for the fifth time, ignoring the wet feeling on his lips as the ink is surely staining them.

He'd told the other marauders he had an essay to write, but really he just needed a moment to think. It had been impossible to keep his thoughts straight, all he could think about was those-

"Moony?"

His head snaps up and there they are, those eyes.

A grey storm pulling you into it's depths, keeping you trapped. They look colder today, or maybe he's just imagining because he feels cold looking at them. He watches as Sirius graze flicks down to his lips and he realizes he's still chewing on his quill. Sirius watched Remus wipe at his mouth with the cuff of his robes before meeting his eyes again.

"Can we talk?"

Sirius’ voice cracks a little at the end as he shifts nervously from foot to foot. He's clearly uncomfortable with Remus’ gaze on him which is exactly why Remus doesn't look away. He did this, Sirius did this so he can deal with the consequences. He resides to make the other boy suffer a little longer before he finally looks away, his voice coming out harsh and cold.

"No."

He can hear Sirius fidget on the other side of the table as he shuffles around to pack up his things.

He's not looking back up but he's very aware that he's being watched.

“Please, moony-"

Don't call me that!"

The words comes out as more of a growl and he almost flinches at the harshness of his own voice but he's bad enough.

"You lost any right to call me that when you decided to go and do this prank"

He says the last word with so much venom that, despite not looking at him, it's noticeable his Sirius flinches at the harshness of it.

"Remus…please I just want to talk.. just let me-“

"What?"

He can't help but interrupt as the anger builds in him. The moon just passed but the wolf isn't quite gone yet and Sirius is not helping him control his anger. He can hear the other boy open and close his mouth trying to get his words out.

"I just want to talk…”

But Remus has had enough, as he picks up the last book he finally looks up to meet Sirius' eyes and the mistiness of them is almost enough to make him falter. The grey of the storm is nothing new but they're not supposed to be accompanied but the ocean surrounding the storm.

But then he remembers how he once compares those eyes to silver. Silver which usually hurts him, but not this silver. Not those eyes, they were always so kind and made him feel safe. And the anger comes back in full force.

" You want to talk so bad? Sure let's talk”

And Remus can't hold it back anymore; he lets all his emotions from the past few days spill out. He lets Sirius have it all because he deserves to know how much he hurt Remus.

"Let's talk about how you did the worst thing imaginable and went and told my secret, huh?

Not only that but you went and told it to snivellus of all people! And for what? For a stupid bloody prank? You could have gotten him killed? You could have gotten me killed? If the ministry found out...do you even realize how bad this could have been? I TRUSTED YOU! And what did you do with that trust? Turned around and spat it back in my face apparently.”

Sirius opens his mouth ready to answer my Remus just raises a hand silencing him as he shakes his head.

"No. Just no. I'm done. Leave me alone Black."

He sees the impact of the name and a small part of him relishes the sight of the other boy's pain. He loves him so deeply and so dearly and that's why this hurts so much.

He turns and heads towards the exit. Despite hearing Sirius call after him he doesn't slow down until he's gotten far away from that voice. From those beautifully dangerous eyes. He doesn't know where he's going, just away from the hurt.

Sirius' eyes was the only silver that didn't hurt Remus. They were safe until they weren't. Then they hurt more than any other silver ever had.

[shvdwscng]

truly,  it  was  quite  alarming  how  she  could  not  even  wait  a  moment  as  he  led  them  inside  his  chambers,  before  the  winter  fae  was  claiming  his  lips.  then,  she  had  been  so  well  in  her  patience,  the  restraint  she  held  each  time  he  tempted  her  with  the  offer  of  joining  him  in  his  rooms.  her  patience  had  been  worth  her  while,  as  daxton  offered  her  far  more  than  she  would  have  imagined.  not  the  charm  and  arrogance  he  allowed  others  to  see,  but  the  slowly  every  part  of  him  that  kept  the  winter  spy  so  fixated  on  him.  the  more  she  learned  of  this  captivating  man,  and  the  more  he  draw  her  in,  made  it  impossible  to  look  away  from  him,  lailah  had  decided  then  she  would  not  have  his  body  if  he  did  not  offer  her  his  heart  along  with  it.  "at  another  time,  i  will  relish  in  the  humor  of  this  turn  of  events  of  you  lecturing  me  on  patience."  she  retorted  without  missing  a  beat  as  she  nibbled  his  lower  lip,  though  how  forms  words  when  his  lips  on  her  is  perhaps  the  proper  miracle.  she  tilts  her  head  back  just  enough  to  offer  him  further  access  to  her  overly  sensitized  flesh,  as  her  veins  thrummed  in  barely  veiled  desire.  her  hands  reach  out  to  aid  him  shedding  his  coat,  and  every  fabric  that  was  a  nuisance  between  them  so  she  could  feel  his  hot  flesh  beneath  her  palms  and  against  her.  when  his  upper  body  is  entirely  free  of  fabric,  her  hands  explore  every  inch  of  his  strong  frame.  memorizing  the  hard  panes  of  his  chest  and  then  to  this  abdomen  before  toying  with  his  belt. 

she  was  like  a  drug,  something  he'd  become  so  quickly  addicted  to  he  couldn't  get  enough.  daxton  couldn't  stop  letting  each  word  she  offered  him  settle  into  his  very  being,  every  fiber  unafraid  despite  knowing  he  should  be.  no  one  had  ever  known  him  this  well,  other  than  alina,  and  he  often  thought  he  would  run  the  other  direction  if  any  even  came  close.  but  everything  with  lailah  felt  natural,  felt  right.  for  that  alone,  daxton  kept  running  to  her  rather  than  away.  his  mind  swims  with  all  these  thoughts  as  they  walk  to  his  rooms,  and  he  knows  he'd  be  shaking  with  excitement  were  he  any  less  controlled  of  a  fae.  his  chuckle  is  quick  the  moment  the  door  closes  and  she  returns  her  lips  to  his  own,  and  daxton's  arms  band  around  her  to  pull  her  in  as  closely  as  possible.  "  waiting  is  part  of  the  fun,  beautiful.  "  he  teases,  winking  at  her  before  allowing  his  lips  to  trail  down  her  neck,  featherlight  kisses  gracing  every  space  of  her  skin  he  can  manage  as  his  arms  leave  her  only  to  shrug  out  of  his  jacket.

[screampied]

I feel like Sukuna eats pussy the best in jjk (besides Geto). Like he'd be FEASTING till you're crying and shaking

꒰১ warnings. fem! reader, ōral (f receiving), mild dacryphila, eating from the back, impact play, he has a forked tongue

whenever it came to pussy eating—sukuna ryōmen was just nasty,

with no shame whatsoever, he doesn’t care. all he really cares about is having you arched over the wooden leg of his throne, your ass all out and drinking out orgasm after orgasm out of you. he really knows no bounds— a starved man, he’d eat you out until there’s fat tears sticking against your naturally lengthy lashes. “o-oh my goddd,” you’d whimper out. not even seconds after, you’d just finish a release and he’s already delving his long tongue between your slick folds again. your taste makes him groan, he’s never had anything as sugary sweet as you. a sharp nail of his gingerly scrapes against the juncture of your curves as you arch forward. your mouth opens—pretty pink tongue unfurling as you’re just feeling the tip of his tongue wander to its hearts content. he’s messy, if it’s not dripping down his chin he doesn’t want it. you shudder, feeling him thrust his tongue in and out of your puffed cunt before he pries your thighs open further. you gasp, hearing him gather a nice amount of spit before it delivers right against your dripping entrance. “s-sukuna, you’re so nasty.”

“gotta be when your pussy’s this wet,” he huffs.

a thumb stroking down against your swollen slit. with a tongue skimming across his lips for an extra relishing taste, he rolls his tongue out all the way and you can even hear his throaty, ‘ah’ noises as he prepares to dive back in.

sukuna groans, feeling himself get hard just from pleasing you. with a rude spank, he speaks in a rough tone. “arch for me more. ‘m starved ‘n i need seconds.”

it’s not even long before the curse is nose deep. your pulsating folds were continuously being sucked and you already feel your tummy heaving. then texture of his tongue. the length, the forked structure of it all that repeatedly slurps everywhere inside of you makes your toes curl up. despite them curling, they were numb anyway so you felt practically nothing.

he’s snarling, fangs of his occasionally poking against your clit. sukuna chuckles as he feels your ass wriggle against his face, he brings a thumb towards your hood before he glides it across. “what a fuckin’ mess. jus’ can’t get enough, can ya?”

and with sukuna— he’s thorough.

and while you’re happily arched over for him, eyebrows bunched together into a cute furrow, he makes sure that his tongue licks every part of you. a wet, slippery trail from your pussy to your ass, even between the secluded inner crevices of your thighs. he’s greedy, he doesn’t like when you make an attempt to touch yourself. each time you try to play with your pretty cunt whilst he’s eating, he smacks your hand away, grousing a “don’t touch my girl.”

his girl— your pussy.

sukuna’s favorite thing to do would be to constantly spit on your folds, only to lap it up, then spit on it again,

bonus if he finishes eating you out, telling you to come here, then makes out with you so you can taste how much of a messy girl you were for him. he likes hearing you moan, the nibbling he creates against your slit has you sobbing profusely. with your own two hands, you feel against your mounds that were glued against your chest, rocking against his face as you feel yourself approaching the inevitable abyss of pleasure. a groan leaves his lips as your ass jerks against him, he’s gotta hold you still so he can savor this,

savor you..

with glistening reddened lips of his, sukuna briefly departs his mouth from your love palette and with crimson bloodshot eyes—his own lustrous saliva dribbles down between your slit, dragging a thumb to softly snake against your convulsing nub. your mouth stupidly dangles open that it’s almost comedic. you then feel a whimper die out your throat, rubbing your ass against his face, “kuna, ‘s good, right there pleasepleaseplease.” it’s only then when he snakes a hand between your thighs, prodding his fingers alongside your saturated pussy. the moment sukuna starts to maneuver tiny circles and shapes against your pussy, you were just about done for. the staticky friction from his palm going against your folds scratches such a lewd itch in your brain.

you’re going haywire—crazy for more of his touch. as years merely blinded you from how they were welling into your sockets, your voice becomes strained from your numerous whimpers. he sucks you so good, so much of your slick pours down his chin that it even starts to get into his kimono.

sukuna ryōmen was nasty,

but his tongue was even nastier.

it doesn’t miss a single spot, he’s all in the depths of anywhere and everywhere.

you chew your lip in salacious anticipation. unhurriedly, you rock back against his mouth as you feel his callused fingertips gripping against both parts of your ass, spreading it even further.

sukuna leisurely dips his tongue into you once more, it’s probably been the umpteenth time by now as he kisses against your clit. “mhm,” he’d hum to himself, your eyes were visibly rolling back. you saw nothing but darkness. as he’s bringing you closer and closer toward the edge. your nails grip against the arms of his throne, embedding into the hardened material before you whine, shimmery tubby tears forming above the outer corneas of your dilated pupils before you make a cute attempt at crawling away from his mouth but he drags you back.

“girl get the fuck back here. can’t have my meal runnin’ away now, huh.”