#Grazing Platters

[kiwiaok]

andrew minyard actually and I will DIE on this hill

[houseofcucci]

What are you going to make for Christmas?

Probably a scene

[therealcoolfooddude]

(via Chicken Wing Platter) These chicken wings are extra special because they are slow cooked until the meat just falls off the bone

[staceybombacey]

It has to be aesthetically pleasing 💁🏼‍♀️

[life-spire]

@ andreagaribay

Shop this aesthetic.

[gibbonscatering]

Garden Fresh Vegetarian Platter: A Colorful Celebration of Flavor - gibbonsCatering

Discover our Garden Fresh Vegetarian Platter—a delightful mix of vibrant, seasonal vegetables and flavorful dips that creates a stunning presentation for any occasion. This vegetarian platter features an array of colors and textures, showcasing the best of fresh produce. Perfect for gatherings, our vegetarian platter not only pleases the eye but also satisfies every palate with its delicious offerings. Enjoy this vegetarian platter at your next event!

[thedanesuk]

Rectangular Palm Leaf Grazing Platters – The Danes

Buy Rectangular Palm Leaf Grazing Platters, Our range is made from natural fallen and dried pressed palm leaves. Biodegradable, compostable, and toxin-free.

[josephquinnswhore]

somewhere only we know - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts.

word count: 3.3k

content warning: emotionally unavailable reader, depiction of readers ptsd, public sex, being caught, raw p in v, tension!!! Age gap implied but unspecified, creampie, exhibitionism, choking, breath play, f orgasm, m orgasm, dom! Joel. Not proof read lol.

an: inspired by the song ‘somewhere only we know,’ by Keane. good to listen to while reading :) @sunshineispunk 🫶🏼

More often than not you’d find yourself in this position, stuck in thought, eyes in an emotionless glare off into the distance as you attempt to escape the reality around you. All of the noise, chattering, even the wind whipping your hair around your face all seemed unnoticed by you.

So much had changed from the previous years, where you struggled to find canned food, living off of very little from foraging. With the group you’d been caught up in, all of the slaughtering, merciless killing of men and women, families. All for a torn up jacket, or a can of two decade old beans.

There was blood on your hands, so much of it, even if you werent the one to pull the trigger, or plunge the knife deep into someone's flesh and bone. The blood and bodies accumulated, so did the guilt.

Being in Jackson felt wrong for many reasons, you were a deplorable human, yet you were living now–lavishly. Electricity, hot showers, warm clothes and a full stomach. Hell, even a giant christmas tree in the centre of the civilised town.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

What about those people that died? Their children, the women, the men. Good people.

Jackson winters are harsher than any you’d ever endured, the wind swirls around the snow jacket and penetrates your skin, landing on your skin and spreading like an infection. Your hands are freezing, fingertips red from being exposed.

He always knew where to find you, how much you torture yourself with guilt. He offered the hand that wiped your tears, the ear that listened to you as you sobbed into his chest. The heart that offered a home for you. Somewhere only you knew. Offering you a haven within him that he had opened for you alone. It was simple, really.

That was the worst part, that he had willingly opened his door, his arms, given you his heart on a silver platter. Falling for a man that tried, that gave you all he had. He could just as easily pull it all out from underneath you.

His multitude attempts of courting you, asking you to be his girl–all gone unanswered or denied. So he stopped asking, knowing that when the time was right you’d come to him.

Joel was aging, he would take any minute he could to spend with you unknowing of what day would end everything. The risk climbs with each patrol.

He knows where you’ll be, by the back of the stables, watching the horses as they play in the snow that had fallen on the ground over the past week. The snow surrenders under his feet, walking the pathway to you he knew like the back of his hand.

With the softest voice he could muster, he attempts not to startle you. “Hey.” He leans on the fence beside you, his elbow barely grazes your own. “Everythin’ okay? You've been here a while, ain’cha?”

It stings, to turn and look at him. The muscles in your neck seem frozen as you manage a small smile, realising that you've been leaning against the wooden fence for a while, the sky is thick and dark with snowcloud. Snowflakes fall around the two of you.

“Just thinkin’,” you clear your throat and manage to choke out. Inhaling sharply, you wiggle your nose in an attempt to clear the mucus from your cold nose.

Turning to face you, he knows what's going on within you, although the two of you weren't exclusive, he knew what the two of you shared. Something that felt so fragile in moments like this. He hums, gravelly noise cuts through the wind.

In a swift pivot, he's turning to face you, his gloved hands delicately brush the hair from your vision. “What is it?”

“Everything,” You're barely able to look at him, managing a quick sideways glance. The last thing you wanted right now was to start breaking down. Moments of you opening up were sparse, and Joel knew now was not one of those times.

He had to treat carefully, nursing your emotions delicately so you wouldn’t back away, start rebuilding your walls he had carefully and pliantly plucked one by one. To get here, where the two of you were, had taken months.

Dropping his hand to cradle your stiff neck, with gentle encouragement manages to coax you to face him, a gloved thumb caresses your cold cheeks. “Everything’s a lot to be thinkin’ about.” He utters in thought, “wanna tell me about it?”

Conflicting, the ache in your chest. Guilt. The urge to blurt it all out in one ugly, uttering cry, as if it were some dirty confession. “Not particularly.”

His brows furrowing were a response of disappointment, knowing that if he weren't careful you would brazenly resort back to isolating yourself. “You know how much I care about you.” Preferring a statement, a confession, it left no room for you to start questioning yourself.

“I know.” Part of you cracks a tight lipped smile.

The forced smile doesn't appease Joel, his own lips tight, hand curling around your jaw to look at him. Things seemed particularly bad today, he recognised. “Stop lyin’ to yourself an’ me, tell me the truth.” the attempt to coax you failed, with you pulling away from the gentle grasp on your cheek.

As you pull away from Joel's touch, your skin feels cold. All of you feel cold. It felt so wrong to pull away from him, but to confront the fiery flames of truth–you would bear the cold.

His hand falls to his side, the ever tugging frown on his features deepens as you pull away from him. Refusing any comfort he offers, a noticeable feat between you. The exhausted expression on your face, eyes weary, and now defeated silence.

But Joel had questions, something he desperately needed an answer to. “Are you happy?”

It was a loaded question, confronting. Are you happy here. With him. With your life. You can’t manage to decipher which one of those probabilities he wants answered. So it seems impossible to come up with an answer that was acceptable. “What do you want me to say Joel, that I’m thriving?”

Of course you resort to lashing out. “I want the truth,” his eyes take you in, the way you stiffen as he refused to be spooked by your natural act of stoicism. He shifts on his feet, you bet the cold is starting to take a toll on his aching joints.

The silence had become unbearable. “I'm miserable, Joel.”

“What is it that’s makin’ you miserable–”

With a stern warning, you interrupt him. “Don't go there.”

Each emotion you felt in this moment, guarded but vulnerable to him. He knew what was causing this turmoil. Him. your feelings for him.

“It’s me.” He utters matter of factly between you, looking over the fence as the horses whine and run inside the stable as the snowflakes start to fall faster. His hand contemplates holding your hand, realising that they are bare. Deciding against it, he pulls off his own gloves, sliding them onto your own.

“You ain’t happy because of me.” his bare fingers run through the hair at the back of his head and rub his neck as he exhales deeply.

Fixing the warm gloves on your fingers, it feels like you’re getting some much needed circulation. “It ain't like that.”

He was trying to give you the flexibility to open up to him at your own accord, but he's beginning to hurt, wondering if his love will be unacquainted until he’s buried beneath the soil, if your hand would be the one to push him in with an unwelcome gaze.”Then tell me what it’s like..” he pushes again.

All he wanted was for you to drop the veil, to reach forward and bring you to his chest and remind you that he was here, always had been.

“I need to learn to live without you.”

You can't swallow the shocked expression on his face, now bare fingers clutching onto the fence, the warmth of his palm melting the snowflakes that had fallen there. “You think I wouldn't miss you if you just walked away from this?”

“Don’t,” you plead, he was breaking your guard down.

Vulnerability and desperation roll of his tongue in a firm utterance. “I would.”

Deciding against what your reaction might be, he reaches out and takes a hold of your hands, thumb rubbing against the leather in an attempt to soothe you, to calm you before you could flee.

“I go on missin’ you as it is. You go on days without lettin’ me in. I can't stand it, everyday i don't see you is hell knowing you’re right there an’ dont wanna see me. Knowin’ you don't wanna be mine.”

Pulling away from his grip again, you step away from the fence, fleeing. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do this to me.”

With one long stride forward he's snatching your wrist, turning you back around to face him. God dammit, he was trying. He wanted to be everything you need. If you would just let him in.

He growls at the realisation. “Don’t what, huh? Say how I feel because you won't.”

“I’m fucked up!” You shout, emotion thick in your throat, unable to pull away from his vice like grip.

There's a tremble in his voice, a swirling mix of despair and desperation. “I’m tryin’ to be here.”

A bitter scoff rolls off your tongue, “that doesn’t fix anything!”

His chest heaves, up and down repeatedly until he finds the words to say. All of the pent up emotions he has toward you all rising to the surface. “Then what will?”

“You can't fix me.”

He drops your hand, “bullshit.” That was something he couldn't handle hearing, he was good at fixing things, repairing, protecting. The thought that you were a lost cause was as good as enough for his chest to begin constricting.

His fingers are succumbing to the exposed cold, tips of his fingers are cold on your cheeks, cradling your delicately compared to the ruthless things he had done with them.

Taken lives, stolen, abused substances, relieved himself, all with anger, all without meaning. But you–holding you was something he wanted to do right. He would do right. There was no room for mistakes. “I need to fix this..” the whisper is so quiet it's almost swept away in the wind.

It felt like a slap to the face when you pull away from his hands, the shared warmth from skin to skin was ripped away as you step backward.

That's all you knew how to do, retreat.

“You’re still pushin’ me away. Tell me when you’re gonna let me in,” the bitter edge was a clear indicator of the pain and disappointment he was feeling.

“The last thing I need is to trust you! Then what? You turn around with my heart in your hands and stomp over it?”

There it was, whether you realised what had slipped past your lips. Your greatest fear. Abandonment.

For a brief moment Joel hates that you distrust him after all he has done for you, proving time and time again that he would do anything for you. But it's quickly swept away by the realisation that you’d unclogged the blockage that kept him at arm's length. “How..” he pauses, realising he has one shot at this.

“What can I do, to prove that I ain’t ever gonna hurt you?” Of course, of course he looked absolutely torn, his throat bobs up and down as he swallows nervously.

The fact that you were still standing before him was a good sign. “How can I trust this is real?”

“Because I love you. I’m gettin’ old an’ I need somethin’ to rely on.” his hazel eyes softened with the admission, searching your face for any sign that you felt the same way. That you wouldn’t tear his heart open here and toss it to the snow, letting it freeze over once again as it had been before he met you.

He couldn't bear to go back to that, the loneliness, lack of heart and purpose.

There's a million thoughts running through your head, begging for your tongue and voice to cooperate, to blurt out somehow that you love him too.

His eyes continue searching your face at your silence, hoping to find any glimpse that you felt the same way. “Nothin’ to say then?” His heart ached, tone bitter.

This could be the end of everything.

In this moment of utter vulnerability, there are no words you can find to pluck from your throat, barely registering that you’re reaching up to grasp his face with both hands, pulling his head down to meet your own cracked, wind burnt in a soft kiss, lips brushing against each other.

For the short moment they are pressed together, you feel them warm against his, your heart races in reaction to the bold display.

“I.. I love you too,” you whisper thickly once you part from his lips, praying it wasn't too late. Foreheads pressed together, this is what Joel had been dreaming of, a simple act that had made his heart race, relief sparking each vein in his body.

“Oh.. baby..” he whispers, his own hands grasp your hips, grounding himself. Holding onto something to convince him this was real.

But at this innocent gesture, a small breathless moan rattles through his brain.

God.. the thoughts he had about you.

He stutters, “baby.. d-don't do that. You have no idea what it does to me. Tryin’ to be good to ya.”

Running the risk of taking things too far, you kiss him again, this time more desperately, seeking the validation and love Joel had always devoted to you, a newcome hunger growing within you. Your lips clash against his own, and you moan into the kiss, your hands roaming through his hair as you grasp onto the soft, overgrown follicles.

The both of you get carried away, both touch starved and seeking physical affection after having tension brewing thickly for months. Your hands find solace in the softness of joel's hair.

He cannot keep his hands on your hips, greedily giving in to your willingness to reciprocate his affections. Tracing the curve of your ribs to your hips, memorising each curve and dip. The way your body squirms closer into his chest as his revenant exploration of your body makes you whine into his mouth.

Deepening the kiss, his tongue wrestles with your own. Finding a rhythm that the two of you manage for a desperate long minute. His hands are groping the curve of your ass desperately through your jeans, whinging when he pulls you closer to him, the hard bulge in his jeans rub against your mound.

“Joel..” you whine, breaking away from him, his own hazel eyes blown out from the fiery kiss. Your lips are moist with a mix of his and your own saliva. Chests heaving in sync as the tension between you expands into something that cannot be contained another moment.

Without another word your gloved hands are attempting to unbutton his jeans, with much difficulty. Frustration wears your short fuse and you tear them off your hands, unbuttoning and yanking down Joel's zipper.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, baby.” He utters as his hands work quick to tear your own jeans, pulling them down until they reveal your ass, getting stuck mid-thigh. He lets out a deep grumble at the sight of you, bare ass and pussy all for him.

“We’re in the middle of town, dirty fuckin’ girl.” He scolds breathlessly against your neck, his hands commanding you flush against his chest, holding your wrists together with one hand.

Bending yourself forward a fraction, you whine, feeling his hard cock spring against your bare ass. “Let them see.”

Closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to ground himself, convince himself this was a bad idea, the rational part of him loses the internal battle. “Fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, you and this pretty pussy,” his voice husk with need.

With his free hand, he positions himself at your hole, damp and warm. A wonderful contrast to the rest of him that's freezing as you stand in the mild snowfall. Your hole opens up for him with no protest, his thick tip pushes into you with carnal need.

His hand frees your wrists, grabbing onto your waist, his thick fingers curling around the skin of your hips. “Made f’me baby.. fuckin’ hell.”

There's a slight sting as you adjust to his girth, but he can't hold himself back, bottoming out in your warmth, grunting into the nape of your neck, leaving an opened mouth kiss.

The pace he sets is relentless, ploughing into your willing hole that slicks more with each thrust. His cock is coated in your arousal, nevermind how loud you are as he pumps into you. Not bothering to try and be subtle, uncaring of the straggling townsfolk of Jackson on the other side of the barn that are entering the hall for lunch.

“You’re gonna.... get us caught baby..” he ruts into you desperately as he utters his concern. Pressing his chest against your back, unable to pull away from you.

“Don’t care,” you manage to choke out incoherently, your hole clenched around him. Theres a warmth in your stomach, feeling the pressure build as he fucks into you like his life depended on it.

With one hand, he forces his hand under your chin, grasping onto your throat, fingers squeezing the sides lightly. Applying enough pressure to make your eyes roll, a soft moan of surprise and lightheadedness equals the raw pleasure of the pad of his pointer finger rolling around on your swollen clit.

“You wanna get caught like this hm? Sweet girl getting fucked by an old man, what would they think of you, hm?”

The thought makes your stomach twist, attempting to close your thighs to stop his hand from swirling softly against the wet bundle of nerves.

He tuts, “uh uh, this is what you wanted, wasn't it? You’re gonna cum for me, baby.”

Throwing your head back, he applies a fraction more pressure to your neck and you cry out with a crack in your voice, spiralling as your hips rut against his hand. Legs and hips unwillingly jerk as you orgasm. His muffled voice is runging in your ear as Joel continues to fuck you through your intense climax.

“Atta girl, so good f’me.”

He releases the grip on your neck and snakes his hands underneath your jacket, the warmth of your skin underneath his desperate fingers.

There’s some distant muttering you don't understand, too overstimulated and crying from still taking Joel’s cock as deep as he can bury himself inside of you.

He gropes your tits harshly, crossing his arms around you as he forces you down onto him, taking his thick cock as he bottoms out, his cock twitching as he fills you with his warm load. Turning your head to kiss him as he cums, you moan into his mouth.

“Oh my god–that is them, Joel and–” the voices utter your name and you tune in as you hear your name being spoken from a distance, hearing slowly returning. Your cheeks warm as you realise that someone has indeed caught the two of you in the middle of town.

Joel slides his hands from underneath your shirt, covering you the best he can. “You gonna stand there creepin’ or y’all gonna move the fuck along?” He snaps in irritation at the invasive eyes.

With a whimper, he pulls out of you. Both of you slide your jeans up. He turns you to look at him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

There’s an expression of vulnerability plastered on his face. “No more runnin’.”

Hopelessly, you nod. “Can we go back to yours?”

With a possessive swat of your ass, he hums. “Our place.” He corrects.

Is this the place you’ve been dreaming of?

[lovelyghst]

would i be crazy for saying ghost enjoys (mostly) clothed sex more than anything. well, more for him than you.

like, just being able to get you down to your cute bra and panties, propping you up on his desk so he can thumb at the swollen, little bud beneath the cotton you wear. humming when the fabric starts to get wet and sticky, playing with the puffy thing as he pleases.

you contradict him in every way; pretty, pink lingerie hugging your frame a stark contrast to the black, heavy-duty cargos that hang off his hips and an equally dark, though certainly not loose, t-shirt to show off his broad shoulders. soft skin up against his rough exterior, gentle lips pressed to his scratchy beard. your clothes intricately detailed, light and lovingly cared for, while his are embedded with smoke and gunpowder and an overwhelming need to devour you whole. you’re far too sweet for him, he thinks.

he drinks in your sounds, the soft little hums that spill from your throat when your jaw falls lax shooting straight to his dick. his lips even twitch into a smile when your hands fist at his shirt, your hips nudging forward a bit when his knuckles graze your nerves teasingly.

he snickers at your giggles when he has you unbuckle his belt for him, just ‘cause he finds it amusing when your fingers struggle a bit with the leather in your dazed state. a tender grip on your wrist guiding your hand into his boxers rather shamelessly, having you knead him to a full erection before you’re finally allowed to take it out.

he usually hands you whatever you’d like and on a silver platter, without the need to even ask, but sometimes he makes you earn it. he promises it’s for your own good, sweetheart. you can’t complain.

he carefully urges one of your legs up and onto the desk, knee bent with your foot planted right on the edge for better leverage, a more depraved sight. rubs the pretty tip of his cock up against your wet spot, the only intimate bit of him exposed as his fingers are curled tightly around his shaft, guiding his movements.

and he fucks you just like that; your panties pulled to the side, further ruining the perfect pair as he gradually pushes into your sweet cunt.

he’s benign at first—slow and careful as he gives you time to adjust to the stretch, hardly moving much at all as he lays kiss after kiss to your forehead as a means of grounding you—but it isn’t long before you’re crumbling into that world where you’re dizzy, dumb on his cock, and the only noises coming from you are sharp huffs punched straight from your lungs. he isn’t too fast with you, but he’s fucking deep, and big in every sense of the word.

he holds you delicately compared to it all, with his hands at your waist and hips, giving you a faint squeeze in allotted intervals that seem to match up with his groans. similar to that of a cat preparing its sleeping place.

you know that’s what he plans for later, anyways. your pussy always knocks him out.

and sure, he’ll let you hike the hem of his t-shirt up just enough to stare down at his pretty abs, to rake your nails across his navel as he renders you speechless on his cock. he might even have you take it off for him completely if he’s going for multiple rounds with you.

but otherwise, that’s the best you’ll get from him on most days.

perhaps it’s the power dynamic, or maybe he simply feels more comfortable like that; either way, you know it’s fucking hot.

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi love can I get a tiramisu with a side hot coffee (w baby trapping) made freash by Max Verstappen ty 💛

bakery menu (complete)

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i have tons of items to choose from and i'd love for you to check them out! any driver is available (must be 18+, duh) so please feel free to throw your orders my way <3 i love the way your mind thinks, lovely anon. that's one way to get competition off the track! i hope you love the fic!

tiramisu (“my little slut to ruin.”) + coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, driver!reader, rivals au, baby trapping, (technically) unprotected sex, jos verstappen jumpscare, missionary & mating press,

max knew the hunger of racing. it was almost a blood lust. it was a fire in the belly of a driver that pushed them to such limits that it would kill some. formula one drivers were all striving to be the best. max knew this quite well, spending years in a shadow he could never escape. he yearned for approval but it always came to him like a bitter pill. but, not you. you were the track's princess, praise came to you on a silver platter.

and it annoyed the hell out of max. many prayed for his downfall both on a driving level, but also on a personal level. people wanted him to fail, but those same people wanted you to fly high to a second world championship.

so when he saw his own father smiling at you and give you a firm hand shake followed by a pat on the back after a spectacular win. max knew there was one thing to do.

make sure you never stepped foot on the track again.

"c'mon, schat." max said as he leaned against the doorway of the motor home on the track. he saw you walk by back to your teams. he crossed his arms and watched you on shaky legs.

you made a face, "treasure?" you laughed, your voice bounced a little down the row of motor homes for the weekend, "max verstappen, do you forget who i am?"

he snickered, "currently you look like a shaky deer. why are you in heels, you never wear heels?" the two of you butt heads often. you seemed to get under each other's skin often enough.

"it's called going on a date, max. have you heard of those? plus, shouldn't you be fucking some grid bunny tonight? we are on your home turf, might as well trap some poor girl with your bastard."

he laughed louder, "funny. were you having a night on the town? i bet you opened your legs to whatever manager you could find. whoever would give you the biggest contract." his words were biting and so were yours. while it was always better to catch flies with honey than vinegar.

it was easier to catch a rival with vitriol than kindness.

you got your heels off and threw them one after the other towards him before you stopped over bare foot to get in his face. you got onto the small porch and he was all smiles.

"do you have-"

"of course. after all, you're not the first grid bunny of the weekend." then pulled you into the motor home with a slam of the front door. before you could chew him out for that term being used towards you. he had you pressed against the door of the motor home with your leg wrapped around his hip and his large hand pushing up the already short skirt of your dress.

he had no interest in any of the fans with his face plastered across their fat tits. while the women of his home country were beautiful, his eyes were set on the snapping jaws of another driver.

his lips down your neck, teeth grazed across your pulse point and it made you shudder. nipples grew hard under his touch. he started to grope your breasts and you moaned out loud in the near empty motor home.

clothes were shed, leaving you vulnerable. it was a surprise that you made it to the bed. for a brief moment as you dragged him to the bedroom, max thought he was going to breed his future wife on the linoleum wooden floor. and max may have wanted you bred asap but, he wasn't going to hurt your poor elbows and knees. his wife deserved the best, you were going to be doing a big thing. giving birth to the next legend of the track.

"schat." he said softly his mouth to your ear. his strong arms wrapped around you and pulled to his chest. his hands then went to your breasts where he groped the flesh, near bruising them. they were only going to get prettier once you got pregnant. he felt lucky tonight.

"max. fuck." you groaned before you managed to pull yourself away from him and get onto the bed. you propped yourself up on your elbows as you gazed at him. he eyed your beauty as he got closer to you and the bed. his cock at full attention.

oh yeah, you'd never step foot in a car again after tonight. well give it a few weeks and then you'll be off the track for good. he got between your legs on the bed. he got those lovely thighs around him as he continued to gaze at your figure.

"pretty thing." he said, "should i be worried that another man touched you tonight? or were you a good girl?"

you looked at him, "you're not my husband. max. you don't own me."

max smiled before he leaned over you, his bare cock almost slipped into your slick hole as he grabbed a condom from the box in the nightstand. you were trying to get out from under him before he slipped in without protection. a condom was what you thought was your savior. but, max had pricked little holes in it earlier, when he found out you'd be back to the track late.

you watched him get the condom on, the low light made it almost impossible to notice that there were small tears int he tip of the condom. with enough force of his hips, max could probably tear through it. you held onto his forearms as he rubbed his cock up against you for a few moments before he sank inside your sweet cunt. it made him groan and feel a heat in him.

"perfect little thing. i bet you thought about me while you were out. thought about all the thing i'd do you that's why you came in here, right? because you knew you'd get that cunt fucked out."

you felt your ears burn as he continued to rut against you. you dug your short nails into his arms as he thrusted against you. his cock was like a bully, just like the rest of him. but it made your toes curl as you laid under him.

max verstappen was your rival and now he was too busy gorging on your cunt like he owned it. like you were a couple. but, little did you know. the plan was going well in max's mind. it wasn't a difficult one anyway. he just needed his achy, thick cock inside of your gooey cunt and finish inside of you. the rest was biology's doing so he could take his hands off the wheel for that.

and if you weren't pregnant there was a whole other leg of the season plus the off season to really make sure it took. but, you strived for perfection, it was written in your dna. so you'd be good and take him the first time. let his baby sprout in your sweet womb. no need to think about racing when you're caring for his child.

"jij bent de mijne." he said like a promise as he picked up the pace. his cock shoved into the softest parts of you. for such a bitch on the track, your pussy was gummy soft and just pulled him in.

you whined and arched your back. max enjoyed the heavy rise and fall of your pretty breasts. oh, you were beautiful. maybe he was lucky, giving you a baby now. not allow anyone else on the grid to get a taste of you. because you were the kind of woman that men got addicted to.

he picked your hips up further and started to really work at it. your legs were over his shoulders while he fucked you with such vigor that you couldn't find it in you to grip onto the covers under your back. your toes curled while he pounded into you. heat flashed across your body and you felt like you were on fire.

you panted and moaned while max was determined to breed you. you'd be such a pretty mother to his children. did you think he was stopping at one? no. because with you he was going to breed champions and that fact made pleasure lick up in his stomach. he watched you squirm a little as you neared climax and it made max hot all over.

yeah, it was only right that he bred you. keep you off the track and at home with the kids. no need to step on anymore toes in formula one. retire with grace and raise his kids. put that hot feminine body of yours to good use, grow them well in your soft womb. be good for your husband.

he leaned further, pushing you further into yourself to kiss you hotly on the lips once more. he felt your cunt tighten around him as you panted heavily. he had you in a full mating press as his cock bruised your sweet insides. poor thing, marked forever by your rival. the kissed between you two were hot and left heat dripping through your body. his cock felt heavy between your legs. pushing you to your limit. that was a good future mrs. verstappen. you climaxed, he watched bliss crossed your face as you tensed up then relaxed. your heart hammered in your ears as you laid under him, knees to your chest and over his shoulders while his leaky blunt cock head hit against you.

he came soon after, but even when he stilled to a stop. he kept the position to make sure every last drop knew where to go. now wasn't the time for mishaps. he knew that the condom was fully torn at the tip. there was nothing protecting that pretty cunt of yours.

sorry, schat, that was the game. and as max looked into your dazed eyes, he thought that you didn't mind. when he put your legs down and got you on your stomach.

you whimpered a little and he shushed you with heated kiss. he didn't even try to pretend he changed the condom before he was back to being inside of you. you two had a long night together.

max hungered for a lot of things, but as he listened to your sweet whimper and moans, he hungered for one thing. your cunt happily drooling down his cock.

-

"think he's going to do it?" max asked, his arms crossed over your rounded middle. his head on your shoulder as you both watched your eldest son do a second lap on the track.

you looked at him and replied, "of course he will. he's our son." your son, remko was eight now and had taken to the track like nothing else. maybe max's plan didn't work when he made you retire years earlier due to being pregnant with your son. you would eventually step on the track again, first watching your husband win three more championships and now your son taking an interest in it.

you turned back to your son as he hugged the curves of the track. you worried your bottom lip a little. it was a little too much hugging for your liking. you rubbed your lower back. maybe it was the pregnancy emotions getting to you. making you worry.

your career ended after two championships. something you held with pride. you were married to max now, had a son and expecting another in a few short months. as max rubbed your middle and kissed your cheek. you did get one thing out of it though, a promise from your young son that while he would race under the verstappen last name, he'd happily race under your country's flag.

so while you couldn't bring your nation joy, you'd be nothing but smiles when your son held the flag high in due time. some would've considered that max trapped you with a baby (or rather two). but those same blue eyes and charming smile still lured you in. even though you had your doubts about that night being an 'accident', there was nothing you could really do now. both your boys needed their father.

"i love you." max said, hand wide across your swollen middle.

you looked at him, your rival turned husband. as your son crossed the finish line for his practice, you kissed your husband on the lips. the time of the laps were called and you said to max, "i love you too." then watched your husband pull away to congratulate remko on a good practice.

knowing your luck both of your kids will be in racing. and you knew if max had his way, the entire future grid would have the verstappen last name. <3

[munson-blurbs]

Emperor Geta x Concubine!Reader

Summary: The emperor catches you in the library, going against his direct orders, and there is a price to pay for your disobedience.

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, degradation, mention of spit, breeding kink if you squint, jealousy, Geta is horrible but we like it.

A/N: "Augustus" is the term that a concubine would use to address the emperor. Thank you to my favorite history nerds, @lokis-army-77 and @offensiunculae, for their help in ensuring accuracy.

Divider credit to @saradika

“What are you doing in here?”

The sharp voice drew you from your reading. You tried closing the book and hiding it beneath the marble table, but you knew you’d already been caught. There was no safe place to lay your gaze. If you looked at him, he would yell at you for daring to look an emperor in the eyes; if you looked away, he would berate you for your cowardice.

You chose the latter option, heart catching in your throat as Geta’s footsteps drew closer.

“Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for the gala?”

“I–” You steadied yourself, hoping your words didn’t fall apart before they could even leave your tongue. “All of the preparations are finished, Augustus.”

That was the wrong answer. You should have excused yourself and found another task, if only to keep busy. His fingers, free from the calluses that marred the hands of gladiators, gripped your chin with a possessive force.

“Look at me when I speak to you, concubine,” Geta snapped. His dark eyes radiated flames that scorched you with a single look. “You know you are not to be here. Ever. You are to stay in your quarters until you’re summoned.”

You nodded, humiliation heating your body. “My apologies.” 

Geta ignored you and yanked the book from your grasp, turning the pages with careless abandon. He never cared for reading, or for education; why would he, when power was handed to him upon a silver platter? 

“What purpose does this serve you, concubine? Are you so dissatisfied here that you need to lose yourself in other worlds?”

“No, Augustus.” The lie was too fast, and you knew he caught it, in spite of his remarkable ability to only focus on his own needs.

The emperor’s smile was wicked. “After all I’ve provided for you,” he purred, “you can’t even offer me the truth?”

Tears stung in your eyes; a sob lodged in your throat rendering you unable to speak. It was no matter for Geta, who insisted upon capturing your words for you. “It’s her, isn’t it?” A chuckle emanated from his diaphragm. “You had me all to yourself for some time, and now you have to share my affections.” His thumb brushed your chin again; this time, you could have sworn there was an ounce of compassion in his touch.

“Yes, Augustus.”

Geta tossed the book aside. “And so your solution was to directly defy my orders? Is that how you sought my attention?” He leaned in so his forehead pressed against yours. “This library is off-limits for concubines.”

“So I’m meant to sit around and wait for you to summon me?” The retort could have earned you a smack to the face, and you braced yourself for the impact. 

Yet it never came.

Instead, Geta’s smirk deepened, his hand enclosing your wrist. “That is exactly what you are meant to do,” he growled. “You are nothing more than a common whore, and yet you are audacious enough to expect the treatment of a wife.”

“That is not what I–”

“Tell me what you believe you deserve.” His words clipped yours. “To be adored? Revered? Worshiped?” The last suggestion drew a heinous laugh. “You want me whispering in your ear, making remarks of your beauty and the desires you stir within me?”

Honesty mingled with shame as the tears slipped down your cheeks. 

“Say it.”

“Yes!” Embarrassment strangled your confirmation. “I want you to myself. I want us to share a marriage bed. I want you to tell me that you need me.”

One tooth scraped over his lower lip. “That’s what I thought.”

A gasp escaped you as he tugged you closer, nose grazing yours. If you lacked the knowledge of prior experiences, you might have anticipated a kiss. 

“Bend over the table.”

You did as he ordered, bracing your forearms on the cool marble. Geta gripped the hem of your tunic, pushing it above the curve of your ass. His palm hit your flesh with enough force to bruise; though you couldn’t see his face, you knew your yelp brought to it a smile. 

“This is all you’re good for.” He fumbled with his own garments, hissing as his erection made contact with the air. You heard him spit on his cock, rubbing the saliva over the shaft. “And you know it, too. You may fill your head with these inane writings, but you know you simply want to be filled with me.”

His words sent lust rippling through you, amplified only by the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt yourself stretch around him, his wanton moan the only betrayal of his dominance. 

One hand grabbed your waist and the other wrapped around your neck, squeezing as he yanked you closer. 

“Is this what you’ve been brooding over?” He delivered another swift spank when you whimpered your yes. “You’re so pathetic, resigning yourself to an object. My object.”

You clenched around him at the identifier. His object. No matter that he was not yours. You were his, at least in this moment. 

Geta rocked himself with pounding thrusts that sent his pelvis colliding into your rear. “Say that you’re pathetic. That you’re weak for me. That you would do anything for my seed.”

You found your voice in time to comply. “I’m pathetic, Augustus. I’m weak for you. I would do anything for your seed.”

He laughed at this. “I could do anything I wanted and you would let me, so long as I attend to you.”

“Anything you wanted,” you echoed. Your climax was building; just a few more moments until it shrouded you in pure pleasure. “Anything for you.”

“How utterly pitiful.” Grunts punctuated his taunt. “I might be inclined to feel sorry for you if I possessed that capacity.” He withdrew until just his tip was inside you and promptly slammed back in. Empty, so horribly empty, and then deliciously full.

Geta’s groans echoed throughout the library, growing louder as his own orgasm neared. “Take it, take it all, my little whore.”

He spilled into you with harsh, sloppy thrusts. The hand around your throat restricted your airflow to its minimum; you ached to cry out his name, even his title. He only loosened his grip once he was completely spent.

He held you in place as he caught his breath, carefully pulling out so the evidence of his release stayed within you. “Ready yourself for the gala,” he said tersely. “I will send for you when the time arrives.”

“Yes, Augustus.” You moved to leave, but your insecurities hooked their talons into you and drew you back. “Does she also get your seed?” His other concubine. The other woman he kept around to bring him pleasure.

Confusion marred Geta’s smug expression for a second, but he quickly composed himself. “She hasn’t earned it.”

You nodded, trying not to let pride swell your head. She hasn’t earned it, but you have. “Thank you, Augustus.”

His acknowledgment was an unintelligible grumble, but you could have sworn he let his gaze linger for a beat longer than he had before.

--

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@happilyeverafterforme @daisy-munson @strawbbzombwie @mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel

[freakassfemme]

dealer!crush!ellie making you nervous at a party

a/n: sfw drabble that's cliche, not reviewed, and hurriedly scribbled in 20 minutes. lots of 'it's in the eyes'. harry's emerald orbs bore into you esque shit. enjoy

You didn't know why you assumed Ellie wouldn't be at a party like this. It was a frat, and those were always Ellie's best customers. She was their chosen dealer, supplying them with a seemingly-endless amount of weed that had every letter in the Greek alphabet begging her to attend their party that Saturday, not someone else's.

So, you kind of felt stupid when you pranced in behind your friends, already tipsy from pregaming in your ridiculously tight dress and gogo boots and nearly ran face first into her back.

"Oh, shit, fuck -- I'm really sorry," you said, the words uncontrollably tumbling out of your mouth like vomit as you continued, your face still at her shoulder-level until the shock wore off and you finally looked up.

Ellie smirked down at you, leaning against the wall next to her as she held up her cup a little too high up, just above your head, keeping it clear of you.

"Damn, you're a little dangerous there, huh?" She said, raising her eyebrows as her eyes raked over you, ogling your appearance like a piece of candy left out on a platter for her, eat me written so delicately across the expanse of your exposed cleavage.

"Yeah," you giggled out, pushing a piece of hair out of your face. The strobing lights caught on the glistening spit of Ellie's tongue as she licked her lips, taking another sip as her gaze returned unabashedly to your face, still waiting for any leverage she could latch her fangs on to.

After an awkward pause, you cleared your throat.

"So, um, how's business?" You said, trying to make some conversation, but it came out too formal, to standoffish.

You averted your eyes, cringing and mentally cursing yourself, but your cheeks turned pink as you looked right at Ellie's arm, propping herself up against the wall in a way that had her bicep practically bulging out of her tight black tee shirt.

"Business's fine," she murmured against the lip of her cup. "You don't seem the type to really care about that sorta thing, though."

Fuck, you were staring.

You looked back up, blushing even darker when you saw the knowing look in her eyes, her teeth grazing the plump baby pink of her lower lip. Your mind raced as you fidgeted with your hands, trying to come up with anything to play her acknowledgement off in a way that wasn't even more embarrassing, but the words weren't even in your throat, let alone on the tip of your tongue. All your brain was mashing together was a terrified chorus of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--

"Relax," she said after a moment, chuckling as she leaned down some to your height. "'M not interrogating you, it's not my business what you do."

"No, you're right," you admitted after a moment, happy with any words coming out of your mouth, even if they admitted how lame you were. "Kinda have my head stuck in different clouds, I guess."

Ellie snorted, rolling her eyes. She held this sort of lazy boredom in her soft smirk and hooded gaze that made you feel plain stupid, like she knew more than you. That she was so high and mighty she couldn't even be bothered to like, fucking stand up straight or give you the time of day. You were surprised she was still even talking to you, let alone that she knew who you were --

"You've heard about me?"

Again, word vomit. It lurched out of you before you could stop it, and out loud it sounded like the same voice you used in your head to narrate your god damn diary. You felt more stupid, and you wished you had your own drink to hide behind.

And jesusfuckingchrist, Ellie full on grinned down at you. She had a strand of hair falling out of the front of her half-up/down/left/right shit thing she's always had going on, the one that made you sometimes wonder if she even knows how to do a real ponytail, and then after that thought you always realized you were staring at the back of her head in the middle of --

"English, right?" She said, tilting her head some. "You sit like, two rows behind me?"

"Yeah, when you show up."

Good god, you should've taken it easier earlier. Who thought multiple rounds of shots was a sane pregame?

Ellie seemed almost surprised at your banter though, and her laugh seemed to stutter a bit as she admitted defeat, putting her hands up in mock surrender. The drink in her hand sloshed a bit as she did so, but she didn't seem to care.

"Damn, you noticed?" She said, almost weirded out for a second, and you could tell. "Do I look good from the back or something?"

It's so embarrassing, and you desperately tried to claw yourself out from the uncomfortableness of it all.

"I mean, yeah, you always look good," you said, attempting to direct the conversation elsewhere, something you could actually work with before you made yourself an excuse to skip class every Tuesday and Thursday morning. She didn't seem very impressed. Maybe you were laying it on too lightly? "Now, too. You look like, really good."

"Really?" She said, a glimmer of something in her eyes seeming to catch on to what you were so pathetically trying to make happen.""S just my usual."

"Your usual is really hot," you said, still fiddling with your hands as you gave her a hopeful smile, trying to really put it on thick.

Her eyebrows raised again, and she set her drink down in the table next to her. Her jaw was sharper than a butcher's knife, and you were trying not to salivate like a freaking dog at her exposed neck when she turned back, grinning.

Yeah, Ellie got your lame ass pick up.

"Yeah, you think so?" she asked, taking a small step forward, like she was testing the waters, unsure if you would match her energy or run away like the scared little fawn you looked like right now. Ellie's smile seemed to only grown bigger, a bit darker even, as she watched you suck in a small breath, your antsy hands dropping to your side.

"Cause, I've always thought you were really hot," she said, much more quietly. Her voice was like velvet, its richness mixing with the adrenaline coursing through your veins like it had been replaced with a warm chocolate, and you melted under her words.

"Yeah?" You asked, sighing almost dreamily below her.

"Yeah," Ellie murmured. "Didn't want to make you uncomfortable, though. Seems like I make you nervous."

She added a small laugh to the end of her sentence, like it was supposed to be a joke. And god, you knew you were a bit ditzy, but you weren't that stupid, so both of you knew how painfully obvious your reactions were.

"Little bit," you whispered, though you didn't mean to. Her strong arm crowding you in, the scent of her cologne (What was that? Cedarwood maybe? Some lavender?) and the way she was almost pushing you back into the wall all seemed to pull the words out of you like a puppet on strings.

"I make you nervous, sweetheart?" Ellie asked, her eyes lighting up at your admission, fueling her ego. She took in a heavy breath, licking over her teeth as she bore fucking holes into your face.

When you couldn't speak again, she shook her head, reaching back for her drink. She took a sip, watching you expectantly, tauntingly, like she thought you'd collapse under the silence any minute. Then, when it really seemed like you might, she leaned in until you backed yourself up fully against the wall, your bare thighs hitting the coldness with a small squeal.

"Here," she mumbled, holding her solo cup to your lips. Her other hand pushed a bit of hair behind your face, caressing your jaw as she tilted the cup for you, letting you stare up at her like she hung the fucking stars in the sky.

"This'll help your nerves."

[musouie]

── .✦ 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

précis: suguru, a servant of your household, wrestles with the complex feelings of loving a noblewoman.

contents: pining, suguru!pov, implied classism, internal classism, envy, forbidden longing, resentment vs yearninggggg, historical romance, 1900s au, fem!reader, 1.0k wc

It was easy to despise beautiful things. 

The things that shone, that flowed, that bloomed amongst the bleak — that made artists falter and poets weep — bound the miserable together.

Perhaps, that was why Suguru despised you.

He despised your lips, stained with the blush of cherries, and the sweet, fleeting scent that lingered on your skin.

He despised your hands — slender, warm, and impossibly delicate — hands that seemed to belong to a world gentler than his own.

He despised your voice, lilting like a bird’s song, soft as the breeze that warms the bitter cold.

Most of all, he despised that even if you had nothing, like he, your beauty would still be enough. 

(This was a lie and he knew it. What he despised most of all was that his loathing was built atop a craving — a palpable thing that made his teeth ache and his bones tremble; he could hardly bear it, this furious tenderness.)

He watched you dance, bathed in candlelight, and he wondered what life might have been like with a face and hands like yours (or your face in his hands, or your hands on his face.

To embrace your light, or to shadow it. How could anyone not wish to do one, or both?)

An ugly thing, deep in his soul, festered — feeding off the shame he felt for simply existing in your general direction, for loathing you yet longing for you the way he did.

And like all beautiful things — you felt it. Faltered in step as your eyes flitted to his, wide and probing, searching for a way to right the wrong of someone yearning for you in such a twisted, impure way.

Your twirling slowed — then ceased, and you waltzed over to where he stood, a smile curving your rose-hued lips.

“Enjoying the ball, Suguru?” You reached towards the silver platter that balanced in his hold, retreating with a glass of wine, fingers grazing against his ever so slightly as they slipped around its stem.

He watched you take a sip; daintily, with your head ever-so-slightly craned and throat bared to him. “Please,” he chided, voice a measured strain, “do not address me so casually. Mr. Geto will suffice, Miss.”

“Oh, Suguru, what need have we for such formalities among friends?” you cooed, placing down your now empty wine flute upon the tray. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

(How typical of a spoiled noble to misunderstand their lack of courtesy; how typical of a blazing star to not realise she burned her surroundings.)

He withheld a scowl, replaced it with a tight-lipped smile instead. “Except I, a mere butler, am most certainly not your friend, Miss.”

“Sugur—” His gaze narrowed. “Mr. Geto. Would you not like to be my friend?”

“It would be most improper.”

The orchestra played a new tune — a lively thing, that people joyously gathered and scattered for on the wooden floor. You continued to hold his gaze with your own, brows raised as you murmured:

“That was not my question, Mr. Geto.”

Your tongue glided across your bottom lip, caught a stray drop of wine, and Suguru’s mouth watered. He’d only had a single glass and yet, his head swam. Or perhaps, it was something else that was catching him off-kilter, disorientating him in the way that you did.

(Because it was no accident, he noticed — the way the pads of your fingers slid away from the glass and glided against his; no accident, the subtle curve of your hip that pressed against his waist when you drew near. The way the velvet of your dress trapped his shadow, like a moth grasped between fingers.)

He took a chance to step away — tried not to notice the way the plush curve of your bosom swelled, as if taking a sharp breath, though your face betrayed nothing of the kind.

He allowed his gaze to trail you, like a guilty voyeur, a starved man eyeing a delicacy, a secret he had always wanted but was forbidden to taste. Just like you wanted him to. (Beautiful things survive off attention, after all. Be it perverse or pure, as a rose blooms on a dead man’s tomb.)

“I suggest we not tarry here further, Miss,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “People may speak.”

“Hah. If I was worried about ‘people’, Mr. Geto, I would not have asked.”

(How typical of a spoiled noble to misunderstand their lack of courtesy; how typical of a blazing star to not realise she burned her surroundings.)

A sharp intake of air tore his lips apart, like a sudden storm ripping off the last of an autumn leaf, and a cold rush flooded his nostrils. “I must see to the other guests now, Miss,” he replied tersely. “Please excuse me.”

He bowed, clasping the silver tray to his chest as if clutching for his heart — to staunch the flow, before it could spring forth and ruin him. You followed his form as he stepped back, the fabric of your dress dipping at the apex of your thighs with the movement; a brief promise of the hidden warmth below, a glimpse of bare skin just within the threshold of shameful.

“A pity, Mr. Geto. It appears there is not a glass empty enough for our conversation to come to its end,” you murmured, as people spilled around you, flitting back and forth across the ballroom in a breathless flurry.

“Unfortunate,” he agreed.

Your lips thinned. He watched them purse. Saw the slight rounding of your eyes that usually preceded a flash of mischief, a flame that threatened the darkness, that sought to pry it open and swallow.

“The wind, Mr. Geto. You are as elusive as the wind.”

And even the words that spewed from your lips were beautiful. His legs nearly bucked.

To despise a beautiful thing would be his tragedy.

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[justporo]

Blood running amongst us

No one had ever spoken of the waves of tingling lust running through your body caused by your lifeblood rushing from your body to the vampire’s as he felt your pulse under his lips. A sensation almost as intimate as if he was buried deep inside of your body.

Either way he had a tendency to get lost in you.

That’s what you would be going for tonight - either way.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | PART 2

Author's Note: I wanted to write some smut again when I got that request asking for Astarion receiving some sweet sweet head. And he will. But you know I wouldn't be me if it didn't completely spiral out of hand. So this willl be a hopefully nutritious three-course meal (plus dessert maybe?) - this being merely the appetizer. Gif by @cheekylittlepupp (pls follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, foreplay, blood kink, light predator/prey dynamic, dryhumping

Wordcount: 2,1k

The day had been strenuous for all of you. Your adventures had been tiring before you had entered the cursed Shadowlands but now it had taken on a wholly new quality of exhausting.

All of it weighed especially heavy on Astarion it seemed, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Not only was the fact that he was once more surrounded by darkness the cause of a perpetuous knot in his stomach but there was nearly nothing here to keep him fed. It was more than just an uneasy feeling that had become his continuous companion roaming these godsforsaken lands.

His usually glinting crimson eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle and the dark circles around them seemed deeper than you had ever seen them before. His behaviour had become a lot more skittish again too: eyes flitting around as if he feared his old master could await around every corner now.

It made your chest clench in agony to see him like that. Especially since he had opened up a little about his past and what pain it had meant to become and be a vampire.

Now he'd barely begun to enjoy a bit of sunlight and freedom again, only to be thrown back into the shadows. Like a flower that had just sprung up only to be wilting away so quickly again.

You wouldn't let that happen. You swore it silently to yourself as you kept watching the man that had managed to make your heart stir, despite everything.

Not that you had planned to fall for the pale elf that had grazed your neck with a blade the first time you'd met. It hadn't exactly been love at first sight. And now you didn’t quite know how you would ever tell him. But all gods above and below be damned, you would rip your own heart out and hand it to him on a silver platter if only it meant, Astarion would be safe and happy.

But thankfully this wasn’t yet needed - a bit of blood this far had sufficed to nurture him. And you had an idea how to make him at least temporarily forget some of the worries he so obviously was carrying around with himself.

Immediately when your party set up camp for the night you sauntered over to your vampire, dragging him into his tent telling him that he should feed on you. You would make sure to take some of the worry off him - make him feel happy.

“My, aren’t you a little too desperate to get my fangs sunk into your neck, darling?” Astarion teased, one eyebrow lifted. His tone sounded a little flat compared to his usual flamboyant manner. But he still obviously wouldn’t reject your generous offer. You laid down on his bedroll like you were used to from all the times before to let the vampire climb on top of you so he could easily access your graciously offered neck.

It had become a well practised ritual between the two of you. All steps meticulously planned out and followed through. You were laying on your back, trying to stay relaxed. But an exhilarating mix of anticipation and some kind of primal fear took hold of you like usual. Your hands became a little clammy and your fingers began to tap a nervous tune as you watched Astarion kneel down beside you. After all, you were about to hand yourself over to a mortal predator.

For now though, it was merely the anticipation nearly killing you - or was there something else to it?

If you were honest with yourself, it was more than instinctual fear that made the pace of your heart pick up. The whole process was - as you had quickly found out - incredibly intimate and titillating; despite - or rather because of - the pain.

You knew that as much, if not more, was true for the vampire as well. In fact, it was often quite evident - and not only because he enjoyed taking his time when he saw you already quivering beneath you.

Not uncommonly after Astarion had taken enough of your blood to keep up his strength did the tension in the air become overwhelming and lead to both your bodies entangling further and a night was quickly wasted away wrapped up fully in each other.

For now though he had you pinned to the ground beneath him with the way his knee slid between your legs, one hand next to your head and the other gently wandering over the delicate skin of your throat. Cool, smooth fingers wrapped around the back of your neck to steady you for him - one by one.

His grip was firm. You knew his fingers would soon dig into your soft flesh even harder - as soon as his instincts at least partially took the better of him. It was those moments that had your heart gallop near to collapse: knowing what he was while you were fully assured that Astarion was very well capable of keeping the reins on himself firmly.

The vampire hovered over you as you watched him close in on you, your heart beat tumbling. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

His angelic face above you could have been enough to forget everything else-

But you mustn’t lose track of your objective - he was the sole focus tonight. As hard as it was with Astarion’s crimson eyes already devouring you as he bared his fangs right above where your racing heart beat showed him where his lifeline laid.

You wrapped your arms gently around him when he leaned into you. Some of his bodyweight settled down comfortably on you, rendering you fully immovable. You didn’t mind in the slightest as he pressed you down to the ground.

And as soon as Astarion’s thigh pressed between your legs, brushing against your core as he pinned you down more, coherent thoughts evaporated.

People had always only taught you to run from the big bad monster. No one had ever told you what might happen if you ever got caught. No one had ever mentioned the thrilling sensation of being in the monster’s grasp, feeling its grip tighten around you. No one had ever spoken of the intense pleasure between the two heartbeats of fangs grazing your skin and them sinking in, the breath that was held and the muscles that tensed.

No one had ever spoken of the waves of tingling lust running through your body caused by your lifeblood rushing from your body to the vampire’s as he felt your pulse under his lips. A sensation almost as intimate as if he was buried deep inside of your body.

Either way he had a tendency to get lost in you.

That’s what you would be going for tonight - either way.

Right now you felt the familiar shot of pain echo through you that quickly turned into this icy, numbing sensation that felt weirdly pleasant. A soft mewl left your lips as Astarion began drinking your blood. He could always feel how your heartbeat quickened even more as he indulged in your exquisite and generous offering of blood. The taste was promisingly and uniquely you, nothing would ever compare to this.

For a few long moments the tent was filled with nothing but soft moans and whimpers. Something you hoped would linger when Astarion would’ve had his share of blood from you to keep up his strength.

So - time to set up a trap on your own.You let your hands softly wander over his back, pressing down gently so he would lower himself fully onto you. And when he quickly let himself be roped in by you and your tender offer, you made your hips roll into him, eliciting a groan from Astarion as he was still buried in your neck.

You were delighted by the friction it caused. Every tiny bit of traction made the coil in your lower body wind tighter - until this alone could have become your undoing.

And to your satisfaction you clearly felt the vampire’s desire already manifest too. Only hesitantly had Astarion admitted to you how arousing the whole act felt for him. How he hadn’t be prepared for the primitive lust it caused him to have you like this, to taste you. And how it had taken every last ounce of his self-control that first night he’d drunk your blood to not take you right then and there until you would have been nothing but an overstimulated, drained whimpering mess.

Now he embraced this sensation and latched onto it deliberately.

His hardening length was pressing against your stomach now with the way you worked on eliminating even the last bit of space in between you. Instinctively and subconsciously he began slowly grinding into you. You coaxed him on with breathless, almost obscene gasps and moans spilling from you and rolling your hips against him again and again. Effectively grinding on his thigh between your legs.

The two of you stayed like this in this unbelievably intimate embrace, lewdly writhing against each other as you offered Astarion the life force he needed.

He could have kept living off meagre critters. But getting to indulge in your exquisite, incomparable taste heightened the pleasure and sensation tenfold for the vampire - the difference between merely surviving and enjoying life and all the sinful pleasures it had to offer to the fullest.

A whole eternity passed as you felt Astarion’s fingertips dig harder and harder into your neck - just as you had wished for. Only part of the beast within the vampire was unleashed - the part that enjoyed playing and teasing and made it enjoyable for both of you. The delicious pain added onto the hazy, floaty numbness spreading through your body and made your eyes roll back. The moan that drifted off your lips was immediately answered by Astarion with another groan of his own. The faint metallic scent of your blood filled the air.

You felt his rock hard cock drag along you. You were already desperately longing for it.

But this was first and foremost about your vampire tonight.

He bucked his hips into you harder now, almost losing control. But Astarion always remained having the upper hand in the end.

When he finally withdrew from you, you saw how the pupils in his eyes were diluted. Giving him more animalistic than humanoid air. The creature within him was barely in check.

He licked a last trickle of blood off his lips as he sat up again, sitting back on his legs. And with the gesture you saw him regain some of his composure, the man getting a hold on his more primal side again.

Your heart hammered against your rib cage as you observed Astarion. You got up onto your elbows at first and then sat up while the vampire took deep breaths, trying to find the anchor within him again. A massive bulge was clearly outlining against his pants.

Astarion’s crimson eyes wandered slowly up your body. Surely your arousal must be visible too, you already felt your nipples press against your shirt and how sweat made it stick to your torso.

“You’re playing dangerous games, my sweet love,” Astarion murmured, sounding breathless despite his lack of needing respiration. One of his hands was clawing into his knee, the grip slowly loosening the more breaths he took. With his other he tried to capture an escaped drop of your blood before it would be lost. He surely couldn’t be accused of letting anything go to waste.

As you gazed upon him, you saw that some of the vigour he’d recently been missing had returned to him. Which was most prominently evident by his cock achingly straining against his pants.

Your eyes dropped to it and your tongue darted out to wet your lips subconsciously.

“Maybe I enjoy that,” you replied firmly, catching his gaze and holding it while you crawled over to him. He smirked softly at you as you prowled closer.

“Proceed at your own caution then, darling,” he replied, purring the last word. You hummed contentedly, smiled and pressed an almost chaste kiss to his soft lips. It felt almost innocent after what you had just engaged in. He kissed you back just as lightly.

And when you had lured him with your gentle caress, you pushed him back by his shoulders, making him fall backwards.

The vampire gasped curtly but was already smirking lasciviously at you as you roamed closer with a grin that bared your teeth - as if the roles were reversed now.

He’d fallen right into your trap.

You had brought him to an edge once already this night.

You would take him to another - and then beyond.

~~~

Part 2

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