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khywren · 3 months ago

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❛ pairing: Astarion/f!Tav; Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 8.5k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: piv sex, fingering, blowjobs, semi-public sex

‣ preview: “Who's impatient now?” she laughs, smirking at him before he kisses her, all tongue and teeth. His hands clamp down on her hips, fingers embedding little crescent moons into her sun-kissed skin. A low groan – or is it a growl? – rumbles in his throat in warning.

“Must you torture me so, darling? By the gods, let me have you.” AO3 ┊ series masterlist

It's a crisp autumn evening, and the High Hall is the place to be. Music pours from the open windows in rich, melodic tones, inviting the Gate's best and brightest. Tonight marks the celebration of the rebuilding of the city – and the heroes who helped defend it.

Presently, Ysera wanders about the ballroom, searching for Astarion. Her heels click against the decorative tiles as her eyes scan the crowd, hoping to spot his distinctive curls amidst the lords and ladies dressed in their finery. He had left her for only a brief moment to fetch her more wine, but as more people began to arrive, they had gotten completely separated.

Ysera suppresses a string of curses as she stumbles forward, her movements severely hampered by her shoes. Astarion had insisted she wear something more practical, but it felt appropriate to wear something nicer to such an important event. The elaborate star-shaped motifs decorating the velvety exterior were the perfect compliment to her gown, the very same one that he had finished for her only days earlier.

Wearing anything less than her best would have been an insult to Astarion’s efforts. Were she more graceful, she would move like a living constellation. The wine will do her no favors, but it will certainly improve her mood.

The beveled edge of a tile throws her off balance yet again, and Ysera braces to crash into the ground, throwing her arms out in front of her in a last, desperate attempt to keep herself upright. To her surprise, her palms slam into something equally as solid but far more forgiving, and an arm snakes delicately around her middle to steady her.

Ysera opens her eyes, expecting the scent of bergamot and rosemary to follow, but she instead finds herself glancing up at a stranger she's never seen before, wrapped in the aroma of wildberries and pine. The man holding her is human, but he’s dressed so exquisitely and carries himself with an air of elegance that one might just as easily mistake him for being of elvish descent. Dark hair frames his handsome face, and the corners of his verdant green eyes crinkle as he smiles pleasantly at her.

Embarrassment floods through her, color staining her cheeks as she extracts herself from the man’s grip and offers him a small smile in return.

“I'm so sorry! Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the man replies coolly. Even his voice evokes power and wealth, a deep, rumbling tone that somehow makes Ysera feel even more self-conscious about how out of place she must look.

Of all the men to inconvenience…

“I am Coran Moore.” The man, Moore, dips into a respectful bow. “Might I ask your name, my Lady? I don't believe I've seen you around before.”

Astarion had been right to try and teach her the proper way to behave amongst the members of high society, an old remnant of his time with Cazador. To hear Astarion tell it, Cazador had often paraded his spawn around during the elegant balls he'd thrown for whichever patriars were corrupt enough to lend him their influence – and what better bargaining chip than those who were already obligated to speak highly of him?

Ysera clears her throat and curtseys politely. Her form could be better, but at least she thinks she's avoided offending him further.

Small victories are still victories.

“Ysera,” she says. Then, after a pause: “Um, Whitlock. I doubt you're familiar with the name. I'm not really…”

She trails off, but Coran Moore’s eyes brighten with recognition.

“Everyone in Baldur's Gate knows your name, my Lady. The hero who saved the city. Or one of them, at least.” He flashes her a dashing smile, all teeth and calculated charm.

Ysera feels more than a little foolish. She chalks it up to whatever it is about him that's clouding her thoughts, unable to break away from his alluring stare.

“Oh,” she mumbles shyly. “Right.”

“Forgive me for my impudence,” Moore carries on, “but whoever convinced you those shoes were a good idea does not have your best interests at heart, I'm afraid.” His eyes drop to the floor to assess her heels as they peek out beneath her gown, and Ysera lets out a breath the moment they fall from her face, as if she's been released by some enchantment.

She twirls a stray lock of her hair that's escaped the fancy braids Astarion had woven into it shortly before their arrival.

“It was my idea. They matched the dress.”

She hadn't meant it as a joke, but Moore throws back his head and lets out a laugh all the same.

“Of course.” He extends a single, gloved hand to her, which Ysera takes for no other reason than it feels like the proper thing to do.

“If I might be so bold,” Moore suggests, “I would like to invite you to my estate some time. If you have the time amidst all your well-earned celebrations, of course.” He addresses the look of confusion written on Ysera's face by quickly adding, “I would be thrilled to help you find a new pair of shoes. Or perhaps a new gown? I think you would look quite stunning in red.”

He must not need to imagine it, if the blazing heat that creeps up her neck is any indication. Ysera's too embarrassed to mull over exactly how appropriate such a remark is, even if his praise works wonders for her confidence.

“I have my own personal tailor whose work you simply must see.” Moore winks and releases her hand. “Special discount for one of the Heroes of Baldur's Gate, of course.”

The seconds pass like minutes as Ysera considers his offer. Her tail swishes anxiously beneath her skirts, thankfully hidden from view. Being designated as a local hero had come with plenty of perks; this, she convinces herself, is no different.

“I, uh…” She wrings her hands together. It would be rude to refuse him, no? This man is clearly someone important. Nevermind that she doesn't even know what she'll do with another gown that she has no use for.

“I mean – thank you. I suppose I could always take a look…”

“Excellent!” He claps his hands together. “When should I be expecting you?”

Ysera opens her mouth to make a suggestion before a familiar voice sounds out behind her over the music.

“Expecting you where, darling?” Astarion appears over her shoulder, slipping his arm possessively around her waist and deliberately pulling her against his chest. His ruby eyes narrow as he fixes an unflinching stare upon Coran Moore, lips pulled back in a strained half-smile.

“You must introduce me to this new friend of yours. I don't believe we've met, Ser…”

“Moore. Coran Moore.”

More holds out his arm to shake hands with Astarion, who makes no indication that he has any interest in returning the gesture.

“Astarion,” he says in a clipped tone. “And what is it that you want?”

“Ah, yes; I remember seeing your name amongst the reports as well,” Moore remarks in a disinterested tone. “I was simply trying to offer your… friend –” Astarion tightens his hold on Ysera “– an alternative to her unfortunate choice of footwear.”

His choice of words is intentional, calculated. Astarion knows he means to ascertain the nature of their relationship, and Astarion makes it clear in no uncertain terms. Moore's eyes flash wickedly, with a saccharine smile to match.

“Or anything she likes, really,” he adds. “A hero should look the part, don't you think?”

If he means to insult Astarion’s handiwork, the jab misses its mark entirely. His long list of clients are enough of a testament to his skill as a tailor – and at any rate, only a man without any more cards to play would stoop to such petty insults.

Astarion shrugs off the blow with a roll of his shoulders and retaliates in turn.

“Yes, well, if we have the need for any of your cheap baubles,” he sneers, his voice high and contemptuous, “we'll know exactly where to find you.”

Moore visibly bristles beneath Astarion’s haughty glare.

“I beg your pardon?”

Astarion is all too familiar with this kind of man: pretentious, self-righteous, and utterly devoid of any real substance. He's played the part himself more times than he can count. The mask slips so effortlessly back into place that it's as if he'd never taken it off to begin with.

“I was under the impression you were a smart man, Moore. Shall I say it more clearly for you?”

Coran Moore clenches his fists and raises to his full height. The mocking grin that works its way across Astarion's face enrages him further, and before the pair of them can come to blows, Ysera intervenes by inserting herself between them.

“Okay, okay,” she says, pushing Astarion back, “that's enough. Your offer was very kind, Ser. Thank you for thinking of us.”

Moore’s demeanor changes the instant he turns his attention back to Ysera, no trace of his earlier anger in the way he looks at her. In another life, he would have made a fine chameleon.

“My Lady.” He bows again and turns to leave, but not before delivering one last barb.

“My offer – which I have extended to you and you alone – still stands. If you have any need for more … refined company, please don't hesitate to pay me a visit.”

And with that, he spins on his heel and walks away. The moment he is out of earshot, Ysera rounds on Astarion and jabs her finger directly into the middle of his chest.

“Astarion! You didn't need to be so prickly!” She huffs in exasperation when Astarion rolls his eyes.

“He was just trying to be nice,” she insists. “...by selling me something… which I'm sure is a perfectly normal thing to do at an event like this. I think.”

Astarion scoffs and clicks his tongue in admonishment.

“Was that before or after he invited you back to his estate?”

The accusation drains the color from her face, and Ysera pointedly looks away, suddenly finding the tiled floor far more interesting.

“I thought so,” Astarion says. Ysera doesn't have to ask how he knows – the answer is obvious enough, even to her.

“I saw the way he was looking at you, darling – there's only one thing a man like that wants, and I get the sense he's not above a little bribery to get it. And what a fine catch you'd make.”

Ysera buries her face in her hands.

“Give me that,” she mutters, swiping away the goblet in his hand and downing half the wine in a single swallow.

“You never should have let me convince you that coming here was a good idea.”

“Speak for yourself, darling,” Astarion quips smugly. “That was rather fun, wouldn't you agree?”

As they meander throughout the ballroom, Ysera's occasional muttering is drowned out by the menagerie of bards and other musicians who perform at the opposite end of the hall. Amplified by magic, the music carries far, much to her relief.

The last thing she wants to do is talk about Coran Moore and his strange proposition. After a while, a familiar face emerges from the crowd, and Ysera lets go of Astarion’s hand as she bounds ahead on unsteady feet.

“Gale!” She throws her arms around the wizard, who struggles not to lose his own wine or the small plate of fancy hors d'oeuvres he's been snacking on. “You made it!”

Gale smiles warmly at her and chuckles. There's always such an infectious kindness to him that she can't help but grin back and hug him even more fiercely. When he sputters and sways on his feet, she finally releases him.

“Why, I could scarcely miss the opportunity for celebration!” Gale says, popping another square of something expensive looking into his mouth. “Good food, good wine – and even better company to boot.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial look on his face and adds: “My students have kept me busy, but I assured them my attendance tonight was quite mandatory.”

Ysera giggles and covers her mouth with her hands. The skirts of her gown rustle as her tail flicks excitedly beneath the layers of fabric. She has a sudden feeling of nostalgia for their time together back at camp, when the lot of them would sit around the campfire in the evenings exchanging stories and terrible jokes with one another. They all see each other so rarely now, but she will always cherish the memories she has of her dearest companions.

“I'm so glad to see you,” Ysera tells him. “Wyll and Karlach are here somewhere too. Probably off somewhere being pestered by the Duke before his big speech. Halsin is probably still here too… if he hasn't managed to rip off his suit yet.”

They both share a laugh, half expecting to see a bear eating its weight in appetizers somewhere amidst the crowd. He'd certainly be far happier that way, rather than stuffed into an ill-fitting ensemble that, despite its elegance, was clearly uncomfortable. If she sees him again, she’ll be sure to make the suggestion.

Ysera doesn't spot Halsin, but a shock of white hair catches her attention from only a few paces away.

“Is that…” She leans forward to confirm her suspicions, her smile growing wider when she spots two more of their companions.

“Shadowheart! Lae’zel!”

The cleric is dressed in a midnight black gown with a plunging neckline that tapers at her narrow waist before spilling into an array of satiny-soft skirts, complimenting her pale complexion and the braid that falls down her back like a moonlit waterfall. Beside her, Lae’zel looks as fierce as ever, dressed in the armor Ysera remembers so well from their travels. It's been polished to a mirror shine, along with the greatsword strung across her back.

Ysera spares a moment of pity for the poor servant who probably tried to take it away from her at the door.

“It's good to see you, my friend,” Shadowheart greets her, pulling her into a friendly hug. “Have you and Astarion been well?”

They launch into a lively conversation. Ysera tells them all about what she and Astarion have been up to since they last saw each other; Shadowheart, in turn, returns the favor by telling them about her and Lae’zel, and although the githyanki remains stoic throughout most of the conversation, it's evident by the way she glances periodically at Shadowheart that the two of them are doing quite well together themselves.

They've come a long way from trying to slit one another's throats in the dirt.

If Ysera had to use one word to describe Lae’zel, it would be intimidating. If she had two, she would call her admirable, though never to her face. But the wine has made her bolder than usual, and one more look at Lae’zel's too-serious expression makes her feel suddenly like bursting out in laughter.

“Don't look so sour, Lae’zel!” she admonishes, patting her on the arm. “It's supposed to be a celebration.”

Lae’zel scoffs lightly and peers down at Ysera, who feels very brave for not shying away.

“Do I not appear to be having fun?” she asks, in a tone that does nothing to counter Ysera's accusation. “Shadowheart assures me that it is an honor to be invited to attend such an elaborate ceremony.”

That, at last, is what makes Ysera laugh, struck by the absurdity of it all.

“Of course it is,” she agrees. In a moment of brilliant stupidity, she grabs the warrior by the hand and tugs her away from Shadowheart.

“Here, I know what'll help - come dance with me!”

“Chk.” Lae’zel scoffs again and furrows her brow. “I have no desire to embarrass myself with such frivolities.” She looks very fierce, but Ysera is far too tipsy to care about insignificant things like her safety anymore.

Shadowheart only smiles when Lae’zel throws an almost frantic gaze her way, uncertain how to deal with Ysera's uncharacteristic behavior. The two of them have never been exceptionally close, and even for such a hardened warrior, Lae’zel has no battle plan for this scenario.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart says unhelpfully. “It's customary. Go on and have a dance.” She'll pay for it later, but she knows a golden opportunity when she sees it.

Lae'zel allows herself to be pulled out onto the dance floor, though her posture is stiff and uncomfortable. Sensing her hesitation, Ysera chews on her lip for a moment and considers.

“Oh! How about this?” she offers. “Combat is sort of like a dance, isn't it? Maybe if you pretend you're trying to stab me, it'll be easier.”

Lae'zel’s scowl finally recedes, replaced by the easy smirk that flits across her face. She takes one of Ysera's hands and holds it aloft, mimicking the dancers around them.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

────

Astarion watches, perplexed and amused in equal measure, as he watches Ysera bully Lae’zel into dancing with her.

The sight of Ysera wobbling on her heels like a newborn fawn as Lae’zel leads her in a ferocious, chaotic waltz around the dance floor brings a grin to his lips, and he snorts when the other dancers part for them with looks of bewilderment.

Neither of them have any rhythm; Lae’zel, because she is unaccustomed to dance, and Ysera, because the wine has stolen what little grace she had to begin with.

A figure sidles up next to him, and Astarion catches a glimpse of Gale's trademark purple as the wizard gives him a thorough assessment.

“You look happy, Astarion,” Gale eventually concludes. Astarion swirls the wine in his goblet, takes a deep draught, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

“Of course. I suppose we have the old Duke to thank for the wine. I'm surprised his coffers weren't completely emptied out rebuilding the city.”

It's a calculated response, meant to gauge Gale's true intentions. Astarion is less guarded these days, but he still plays his cards close to his chest. Old habits and all.

Gale takes a moment to consider.

“I mean you and Ysera,” he clarifies, bringing his own goblet to his mouth and taking a quick sip. “Although I must agree, the wine is rather spectacular.”

A moment of silence stretches between them. Lae’zel and Ysera continue their rampage across the ballroom, locked in a strange display as they push and pull against one another. He hears Ysera's heart thrums above the music, thundering when Lae’zel twirls her so fast she almost topples into a nearby pair of half-elves. There's no time to apologize before Lae’zel whisks her away again – though she certainly tries her best.

Astarion hardly notices the way his expression softens as he watches her. As it so often does when she's caught up in the moment, living her life to its fullest.

And Gale has the measure of things. He is happy, isn't he?

It's difficult for him to imagine a life for himself without her in it, and even less easy to envision one where he would be happy without her by his side.

After a moment of introspection, Astarion tips his head to the side. His eyes flick to Gale for only a moment before returning to Ysera. He takes another drink from his goblet.

“She was the one to find me after I fled the docks, you know.”

There's something akin to surprise in Gale's expression for a moment, before his face becomes inscrutable. He's not used to Astarion being so candid with him, but his silence is a token of respect, paid in full for Astarion’s honesty.

“She sat with me until sundown and made sure that we – that I – had somewhere safe to go,” Astarion continues. His smile turns sardonic as he adds, “In that moment, all I could think of was how weak and ashamed I felt, and she never made me apologize for any of it. She never has. I've never understood why.”

And that, above all else, is the honest to gods’ truth. He doesn't doubt her affection for him (how can he, after everything they've been through?), even if it's still difficult to understand her motivations.

Loving her comes easy. Finding that same compassion for himself is a monumental task. He's not half the man she thinks he is, but he wants to be.

Gale fixes Astarion with a knowing look and rests his hand on Astarion’s shoulder.

“She loves you, Astarion. What other reason does she need?”

She'd told him nearly the same thing, what feels like a lifetime ago. The irony makes him bark out a laugh, and if it weren't for the fact that the tadpoles are very much gone, he would swear Gale had been conspiring with Ysera all along.

The memory is so vivid in his mind. The way the moon had illuminated her face and made her eyes shine like the sun. How resolute she'd sounded when she'd pledged herself to his cause, despite the risks involved.

‘I don't want anyone else to feel the way I did. I don't need any reason beyond that to help you.’

Beside him, Gale raises an inquisitive brow.

“It’s nothing,” Astarion says, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. “Just an old memory.”

Gale's brows raise again, but this time his attention is fully tethered on Ysera and Lae’zel. The githyanki warrior has increased their already frenetic pace, and Ysera’s expression has quickly grown to one of very apparent terror. Her body dips and twirls as she struggles to find a place for her feet, and in a desperate plea for assistance she catches Astarion’s eye for no more than a second before Lae’zel’s got her spinning once again.

Gale leans over and brings his face close to Astarion's.

“Does she know it's a dance, and not a duel? Might I suggest –”

Astarion presses his goblet into the wizard's hands and strides forward.

“Already on it.”

He reaches his destination in no more than a few clipped strides, carefully extracting Ysera from Lae’zel's arms. Lae’zel is breathing heavily from the exertion, eyes wild as though she's just fought a very intense battle. Ysera stumbles into his embrace, her vision spinning as she clings to him and tries to get her bearings.

“Careful, darling,” he croons, placing a single kiss atop her head between her horns. “Are you alright?”

“Oh gods,” she murmurs, “where am I?”

Astarion chuckles fondly and rubs his hand over her back in soothing circles. Her chin lifts easily when he slips a single, gloved finger beneath her jaw.

“Exactly where you need to be, my love.”

They melt back into the crowd, and as the music grows soft, Astarion’s world narrows to the space between them. The sconces along the wall begin to dim, casting a pleasant glow across the ballroom.

Ysera looks up at him in adoration, admiring how handsome he looks in this light, especially as it catches in his eyes and reflects a thousand shades of gold-flecked crimson. She tucks her head against his chest, mindful of her horns, and winds her arms around his back.

They sway back and forth, but after a few moments she can sense he has something more to say. She lifts her head to let him speak.

“May I have this dance?”

There's a vulnerability in his voice she doesn't often hear, and the soft smile he offers her has never looked so good or so genuine. She knows he can hear the way her heart skips a beat, but at least this way she doesn't have to try to find the words for how she feels about him at this moment.

“I don't know the steps,” she says in response.

“Don't worry,” Astarion assures her. One hand slips into hers as the other brackets her waist. She would trust him with anything, as long as he keeps holding her like this. “Just follow my lead.”

Astarion guides her gently around the dance floor, their bodies pressed together as he instructs her where to place her hands and how to move her feet. She takes to it far more quickly than she had expected, and it soon becomes as simple as breathing. Her mind is blissfully empty but for him; the comforting familiarity of his body, the way he cradles her in his arms, and the citrusy scent of him that she will always associate with what it means to be home.

“I'm sorry for making you jealous,” Ysera says, still feeling more than a little guilty.

Astarion scoffs incredulously.

“Please, darling. In order for me to be jealous, I would have had to have believed that oaf actually stood a chance with you.”

It's neither a lie nor the entire truth. He had been afraid of losing her before, of course. Once, when he confessed his feelings for her against his better judgment, and again when the brain fell and there was nothing tying them together other than the treacherous thoughts that told him she had no more use for him.

Somewhere along the line, the veil had been lifted, and he had finally accepted she wasn't going anywhere.

Almost as if she's heard his thoughts, Ysera grins up at him and flashes her teeth.

“Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me.”

“It's a difficult burden to bear,” he teases her back, “but I think I'm fit for the task.”

Their noses brush against one another before they share a quick kiss, letting the rhythm of the music carry them in slow, wide circles around the ballroom.

“You know,” Ysera says, almost mischievously. “Coram Moore said something very interesting that you might want to hear.” Astarion inclines his head but doesn't bother to suppress the pout he makes at the mention of the other man’s name.

“He told me I would look stunning in red.”

Astarion presses his face against the slender column of Ysera's throat, which muffles his deep chuckle. He opens his mouth, and Ysera shivers as his fangs slot into the twin scars on her neck where he typically feeds from her.

“Did he now?” he purrs. “Shall we find out for ourselves?”

────

The moment Ysera and Astarion enter the suite they've been given in the upper floors of the High Hall, Ysera kicks off her heels and tugs her hair out of the braids Astarion had made for her with a sigh of relief. With a flex of her toes, the feeling returns to her feet, and she follows Astarion out into the balcony.

“Gods,” she groans, resting her face in her hands as she leans her elbows across the balustrade, “that was embarrassing.”

Hands in his pockets, Astarion watches the sky, dark as the void and adorned with thousands of glittering specks of silver stars. His fangs catch the light as he smirks sidelong at her.

“Not a fan of the spotlight, love?”

At the end of his grand speech to those in attendance for the celebration, Duke Ravengard had turned towards Astarion, Ysera, and the rest of her companions and asked if any of them would like to say something. Her nerves had twisted into silent panic as several hundred eyes swept over her, and she had prayed to any god who would listen that someone else would volunteer so she didn't have to.

She had almost collapsed from relief when Wyll approached his father's podium to make a statement on their behalf, delivering a few concise words on the importance and enduring health of the city, and what an honor it had been to be on the front lines of its defense. Shortly after, the celebration had ended, and it was all she could do to stop herself from sprinting to their suite upstairs.

“I told you he was gonna ask one of us to get up there and talk,” Ysera laments. “And you thought he wouldn't be crazy enough to do it. I win.”

“I wasn't aware we were wagering on it, darling,” Astarion responds. “But since you're so insistent, what would you like for your reward?”

She doesn't need to think for any longer than a few seconds.

“A kiss,” she announces. “I want you to kiss me.”

Astarion sweeps her into his arms and slots his mouth along hers.

“How scandalous,” he murmurs against her lips. When he pulls away, Ysera pouts and balls her fist in his jacket to tug him back. Astarion rolls his eyes but willingly gives into her demands, this time nipping at her bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside her mouth.

“Insatiable, aren't you?” His voice is low and sensual in a way that makes her shiver.

“With you? Always.”

Ysera is light in his hands as Astarion hoists her up and onto the balustrade, holding her close while she steadies herself on the carved wooden beam. His fingers drag across her scalp as his fingers dive into her hair, and he tugs just enough to coax a soft moan from her. He has enough leverage to bend her neck to the side and bare her throat, but as he tears his mouth away from hers to turn his attention elsewhere, something catches his attention.

Across the narrow courtyard, Coram Moore watches them through an open window. Astarion doesn't care why he's there, but as he grins wickedly over Ysera's shoulder a plan formulates in his mind.

“Darling, would you mind?” he asks, innocently enough that she won't suspect anything. He holds up his gloved hand, and Ysera immediately opens her mouth, biting down on the tip of the leather hard enough for Astarion to pull his fingers free. The moment his cool skin touches her leg beneath her gown is electric and she sucks in a breath, anticipation burning hot in her belly.

He takes his time with her, gliding his slender fingers up her calf, face tucked against her neck so she's free to make more of those pretty little noises for him. Ysera holds him by the hair, not trusting her balance the more and more he teases her. She can already feel the wetness pooling between her thighs, and her clit throbs with need as Astarion nears the place she wants him most.

Astarion is finally thankful for the vastness of her skirts, for the chiffon and lace that keeps her guarded from prying eyes. Nevertheless, his fingers trace a devastatingly slow path across her skin, drinking in the warmth of her and the sound of her increasingly desperate mewls and moans make it all but impossible for either of them to keep her pleasure a secret.

“Nnn… Astarion!” She gasps his name, but he can hear the concern in her voice.

“Yes, my love?” he inquires, fingers stilling just beneath the apex of her thighs. “Afraid someone might hear us?”

“No,” she says, “not really.” Then she smirks. “But if we don't get invited back next year, I'm blaming you.”

“Perish the thought.”

It’s settled. Let them all see, then, so there will be no doubt in anyone's mind that she is his. The next time he glances across the courtyard, Coram Moore has vanished.

Ysera is already in quite a state when his fingers brush against her through her underwear, and he groans when he feels the wetness seeping through the thin fabric.

“Already? Why, I've hardly even touched you, darling.”

Astarion dips his head to nip at her collarbones and the tops of her breasts, and even a subtle shift of movement makes him hiss as his hardening cock brushes against her thigh. He doesn't need to see her face to imagine how smug that's made her, especially after his teasing remarks. But before she can comment on it, he slips his hand beneath the gusset of her underwear and drags two fingers along the seam of her, and she cries out at the sudden sensation.

“Q-uit stalling,” Ysera chokes out, less sternly than she would have liked. Astarion has already busied his fingers with her clit, tracing purposeful circles around her most sensitive areas with the precision of someone who knows her body almost better than she does.

“I'm doing no such thing,” he says, offended. “I'm simply affording you the pleasure you deserve. Or am I wrong? Does it not feel good?”

He asks the question with deserved arrogance, knowing very well how much she's enjoying this. Despite her impatience, the stuttering of her heart and the way she pants against him tells a clear enough story.

“It would feel better if – ahh! ”

The moment Astarion sweeps the pad of his finger directly over her clit, Ysera bucks her hips and bites back a scream, mouth slack as her vision swims.

“Asshole,” she groans. Then, “Don't you dare stop.”

Astarion grins triumphantly. “Say please, sweet girl.”

“ Please don't stop, Astarion. Not if you know what's good for you.” The sweetness on her tongue turns to venom, and she barely gets the words out. But there's an edge to her voice that speaks directly to the lizard part of his brain that wants to forgo all this – what had she called it? Stalling? – and take her straight to bed. His composure is nothing when matched against her.

With more difficulty than he would like to admit, Astarion claws back the remaining threads of his sanity. He gathers her wetness on his fingers and presses a single one against her entrance; he slips inside with little resistance, stroking her walls with practiced efficiency. Her body easily acclimates to the second one he pushes inside, and Ysera arches her back to coax him deeper.

“Greedy,” he huffs, stealing another kiss from her. “Can you take another, darling?”

“I’ll take anything you give me, Astarion,” she whimpers, shuddering when he makes good on his offer. It doesn't feel the same as his cock, but when he buries himself to the second knuckle and crooks his fingers, the pleasure she feels is enough to wipe whatever remaining thoughts she has from her mind.

Ysera babbles incoherently as he fucks her with his fingers, praising him as he swallows her moans with another hungry kiss.

“So good… you're so… ohhh…”

As Ysera writhes beneath his touch and bares her throat to him, Astarion finds his patience growing thin. He finds that he wants nothing more than to feel her unravel on his fingers, the cloying thought guiding every pass of his thumb as he guides her closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” she begs, “yes!” There is only desperation left for her now. Astarion gives her what she needs, and as his fingers glide across her walls one last time, she finds herself tossed about on the rising tide of her orgasm, burying her face into his jacket to muffle her sobs of pleasure.

Once her body has stopped its trembling, Astarion slides his hand from between her legs. Ysera opens her mouth without hesitation, letting Astarion press his slick fingers against the flat of her tongue. Her lashes flutter as she looks him in the eyes, tongue swirling around his fingers as she tastes what he's done to her.

And Astarion’s brain nearly short-circuits.

He can think of nothing but replacing his fingers with his cock; if he doesn't get her back inside now, it might very well be the end of him. Ysera seems to have the same idea, and she slips from the balustrade, barely pausing to grab him by the wrist as they retreat into their suite.

Astarion takes only as much time as is absolutely necessary to close the balcony doors and draw the curtains shut. Ysera's already tugged the laces of her gown open, and Astarion spots the fading glimmer of the mage hand she summoned to assist her before her gown flows like a river of ink down her body, leaving her in nothing but her smallclothes, which she wastes little time discarding just as haphazardly.

She strides towards the bed with Astarion in toe.

The mattress dips beneath her weight when Ysera sinks into the plush duvet, with wildfire in her eyes and a laugh that washes over him like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. Astarion barely has the time to begin shedding his clothes before she's reaching for him, tugging him down to join her only moments after he kicks off his shoes and undoes the buttons of his embroidered jacket.

He crashes into her with a noise of protest, just as roughly as she surges up to capture his lips with her own. A quick flick of her tongue against the seam of his mouth is enough for Astarion to oblige her, and he groans as he parts his lips to let her taste him. She kisses him like it's their first, their last, and every time in between, hands tangled in the curls that he had worked so hard to style before tonight's affair.

“Patience, darling,” he tries, barely able to pull his lips away and admonish her eagerness before she's chasing after him. “You're going to ruin the stitching.” His trousers were already tight enough to begin with, tailored to accentuate his long, slender legs. And now, the growing need between his thighs is merciless, the swell of his cock straining against the only remaining barrier between them.

“I'm certain you can fix it,” she murmurs deviously, grinning when her teeth sink into his lower lip and his hips buck suddenly. “After all, you've just shown me how talented those hands of yours are.”

The inflection of her voice is downright sinful. Astarion struggles not to whimper when her hands fumble for the fastening of his waistband, fingertips brushing over the bulge in his pants with just enough pressure to make him ache for her more than he already does.

“Despicable woman,” he grumbles, tugging his pants and underwear down as Ysera hums contentedly and kisses him again. The aftertaste of wine and her own arousal is sweet on her tongue, and he can smell enough of it in the blood coursing through her veins that he yearns to pierce her throat with his fangs and indulge in the rich, heady taste of her. But he would need to abandon her lips to do it, a prospect neither of them seem to be too keen on at the moment.

The instant Astarion’s cock springs free is a euphoria rivaled only by the way it feels pressed against her flushed skin, leaking onto her stomach. Their bodies mold together, the space between them small enough that Astarion can't help but rock his hips forward to chase the friction he so desperately needs. His desire to be inside her overtakes his every thought, and he has half a mind to beg her for it as he tears himself away from the hungry sweep of her tongue.

“Ysera…”

She looks at him through half-lidded eyes, angling her gaze towards him with a look of adoration on her face.

“I –”

He's only just opened his mouth before her hands slip around the small of his back, and Astarion finds himself dazed for the second time this evening before everything stops spinning and he finds himself beneath her. Ysera smiles tenderly at him, brushing away a stray lock of his hair that was so rudely obscuring his view of her lovely face.

“My turn. Let me take care of you now.”

Pleasure erupts within him like the fires of the hells themselves when Ysera splays her palm over his stomach and rolls her hips in a slow, steady rhythm across the hard length of him, teasing his neglected cock. She's absolutely soaked, and it feels so wonderful, but it's not enough, it's not enough, gods it isn't enough.

The loss of contact between them is agonizing when Ysera pulls away, but as she sinks between his legs and runs her tongue along the underside of his cock, his protests die on a shaky, broken moan. He watches, spellbound, as her lips encircle the head of his cock, her eyes trained on his. The hand she wraps around him is bliss, and his hard length twitches as she takes him eagerly into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “that's… wonderful, darling.”

“I had a good teacher,” she mumbles around him with a smirk, and the vibration of her voice entices him to thrust up into her until he hits the back of her throat. Ysera groans and takes him beautifully, following his lead and bobbing her head along the full length of his cock as she sucks and licks him. Her fingers cup his balls, teasing him in gentle sweeps that have him keening. With a hand buried in her hair that moves to wrap around one of her horns, he fights not to buck wildly into her mouth.

If she keeps this up, he's going to come.

Not that he doesn't want that, of course, but it's too soon. He needs more of her – all of her.

Astarion tugs gently on Ysera's horn and she releases his cock from her mouth with a soft pop , licking her lips as she sits up and waits for him to gather his thoughts. Elusive as they are, he finally manages a gruff, “Not yet, love… come here, will you?”

Ysera sighs softly and climbs back on top of him, grinding her hips against his sensitive cock.

Astarion’s mouth falls open and he pants softly, his throat constricting around a whimper he can no longer contain. He bites out her name through gritted teeth, brow furrowed as heat coils like a taut spring low in his belly. He grabs her by the wrist and tugs her forward, caging her close to him with the arms he wraps tightly around her back.

“Who's impatient now?” she laughs, smirking at him before he kisses her, all tongue and teeth. His hands clamp down on her hips, fingers embedding little crescent moons into her sun-kissed skin. A low groan – or is it a growl? – rumbles in his throat in warning.

“Must you torture me so, darling? By the gods, let me have you.”

He could take her right now, if he chose to. It would be a simple enough thing, to lift her just high enough so he could plunge his cock inside her eager little cunt. The bliss he imagines feeling as he thrusts wildly into her is almost enough to make him do it, but she seems so intent on taking control for now, and he'd be a fool not to admit the idea doesn't intrigue him.

And the admission of his desire for her was all she wanted, in the end.

The wetness between her legs drips down her thighs as Ysera extracts herself from his embrace, and the sight of her makes Astarion's mouth go dry as she wraps her free hand around his cock and sinks down onto him. Both of their lips part with a satisfied sigh, and Astarion throws his head back against the pillows.

She feels better than he ever could have imagined, warm and soft and unbelievably tight as her body molds to the shape of him. She bites her lip as she rolls her hips experimentally, her walls already pulsing around him.

“Astarion,” she moans, taking the hand he reaches out to her and threading their fingers together tightly.

“I know,” he says, squeezing her hand.

Something he learned early on in their relationship, even before it was a relationship, was her fondness for physical contact. Whether they were in the throes of passion, laying next to one another, or simply existing in each other's space, she always sought comfort in the closeness of him, delighted merely by the feel of his skin on hers.

It wasn't easy, overcoming that particular distaste of his, but now, the thought of her not touching him, of not running her hand across his chest or cupping his face so gently as she smooths the pad of her thumb over his cheek is enough to make his dead heart ache with longing.

She holds him delicately, not because he is fragile, but because he is something precious. Some one worth loving.

Her hips undulate as she rides him for all he's worth, his cock slamming home inside of her each time their bodies make contact. The heat of her engulfs him completely, unfurling through his limbs. Their movements are an extension of the dance they shared before, harmonized this time not by music but by their shared sounds of ecstasy.

A lopsided grin spreads over Astarion’s face, a single brilliant fang poking out beneath the uneven curve of his lips. He feels weightless and almost giddy, as though lost in a dream he hopes he never has to wake from.

“Have I told you lately that you are the most beautiful woman in all the realms?” he asks. His eyes rove over every inch of her body, from the place they're joined to the feminine curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the blissed-out look she fixes on him.

She smiles back and rolls her eyes, sucking in a breath when his fingers return to her hips.

“You've had too much wine,” she insists. “You're drunk.”

Astarion huffs a laugh.

“What's the saying, darling? ‘Drunk words are sober thoughts?’”

“You're ridiculous,” she says, crouching low to hide the color in her cheeks with another passionate kiss.

“So tell me I'm wrong,” Astarion says, confidently calling her bluff. He kisses her back just as fiercely, the fingers of his hand tangling in the loose waves of her hair. The soft strands wrap around his fingers and he pulls hard enough to coax another undignified noise from her.

“Tell me you're not the most stunning–” he bites her lip, groaning as he catches the single bead of blood that blooms on his tongue; “–magnificent… radiant creature to ever grace these halls.”

He explores her mouth between praises, free hand tracing absent-minded patterns across her skin as he lets himself enjoy every inch of her body. He drags his nails along the curve of her spine, and she arches into him with a broken moan.

The heat radiating from Ysera's cheeks may as well be an inferno; he doesn't need to see her face to know his words have hit their mark.

“If I agree with you,” she mumbles quietly, “will you stop embarrassing me?”

It's an absurd request, and one he has no intention of granting.

“Oh, no, my love,” he purrs, purposely lowering his voice because he knows it will drive her wild. “Never.”

His fangs graze the soft curve of her jaw, and Astarion revels in the way she shudders as goosebumps bloom across her skin. He mouths at the shell of her ear and she cries out with a sharp snap of her hips.

“And besides, we both know you wouldn't want me to anyway.”

Ysera's magic roars to life beneath her skin like a hibernating predator roused from slumber. Mastery over her powers has leant her formidable strength, and so it is with careful deliberation that she manipulates the Weave, until the very air itself crackles and seems to writhe around them. Traces of her magic burst around them like a constellation of stars, bathing them in soft, glittering light.

Satisfied, Astarion pulls her ear closer to his lips, near enough that she can almost certainly feel the wickedness of his grin.

“Does it please you, knowing how much you make me ache for you?”

“Everything you do pleases me, Astarion.”

He doesn't expect her admission to affect him so deeply, and he holds her close with a fierce possessiveness. His hips roll into hers at a feverish pace, his fangs a sharp, desperate question against her throat.

“Do it,” she commands him. “Sink your fangs into me and take what's yours.”

Astarion whispers his thanks against her throat before his fangs pierce her neck, warm blood flooding his mouth and coating his lips. Ysera hears every ravenous swallow he makes, lost in the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her on his cock as he drives into her again and again and again. She cries out as the pain bleeds into pleasure, the drowsy satisfaction of losing so much blood nearly making her go limp in his arms.

But Astarion doesn't seem to mind, chasing his own pleasure with reckless abandon. One hand slips between them to tease her clit again, and as her cunt flutters around him and Ysera whines into his ear, he falls apart beneath her. He growls against her throat as he empties himself inside her, hips undulating wildly with each spurt of his cock. He doesn't stop until she comes again, her throat ragged with the way she screams for him.

When she has enough clarity to remember where she is again, Ysera lets Astarion gently roll her onto her side; he moves with her, his softening cock still buried inside her as he holds her close, kissing her face, her neck, her breasts. She sighs softly beneath his affections, letting him shower her with praise.

Tucked against his chest, her eyes flutter closed, and she drifts in and out of consciousness as she fights against the overwhelming urge to sleep. Astarion nuzzles his nose against the crown of her head and presses a soft kiss into her hair.

“You must be cold, darling. Let me get up, and we'll get you beneath the blankets.” He tries to roll to the edge of the mattress but Ysera tangles her legs with his and whines in protest.

“No,” she says, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Stay with me.”

Ysera sits up just far enough to cast a quick Fire Bolt, tossing the mote of flame into the empty hearth across the chamber. It roars to life, bathing them in its gentle warmth.

“There,” Ysera yawns, falling back into her pillow and snuggling close to him again. “Problem solved.”

Astarion can't help but laugh.

“Stubborn girl. Whatever am I to do with you?”

Ysera smiles softly and places a quick kiss on his lips. She knows the answer as if it's been there waiting all along.

“That's easy. Let me love you.” She's still so warm as she drapes an arm over his middle, determined to hold onto him as long as she can. A hundred different responses hang in the silence that stretches between them. But before Astarion can settle on one that appropriately conveys the depth of his feelings for her and her endless kindness, Ysera has already fallen asleep, snoring softly with her face pressed against his chest. He cards his fingers through her hair, and when her lips pull back in a smile, he wonders if she sees him in her dreams.

“Don't be ridiculous, darling,” he tells her, finally letting his eyes close as he settles in beside her. His heart feels light, and the warmth he feels blossoming in his chest has nothing to do with the fire burning in the hearth or the comforting heat of her skin. “As if I could ever do anything else.”

#HAPPY LOVE DAY HAVE SOME SMUT #astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female oc #bg3 fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #my writing #ysera #kinktober day 11 #divider by: saradika-graphics

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Text

It's just the beggining (Oscar Piastri)

Oscar hasn't done or said anything, so you're taking matters into your own hands

Note: english is not my first language. It's my first Oscar piece and I'm nervous posting this, but hopefully you enjoy it! 🫶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: mentions reader's grandparents' health issues, mentions the situation with McLaren and Daniel, insomnia

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey, Y/N!", James called you once he saw you walk by his classroom, "hey", you greeted back, adjusting your books on your arms.

"There is a new kid, I'm sure you know, Oscar Piastri his name is, and apparently he's staying the long weekend too, like you", he trailed off, not knowing if he was stepping further than he should.

"Yes, I am staying, it's okay to talk about it", you gave him tight lipped smile, "well, I was hoping you'd keep him company - he's a bit shy, but he's very fun to be around and the teacher also thought it would be good since you're both staying", he reasoned as you nodded.

You had to stay back because your grandparents didn't live in England, and because of their old age and problems that naturally arose with that, your parents had to fly out and spend sometime with them, meaning you didn't have anyone back home, so you stayed. As for Oscar, you found out that he was staying back because his family was in Melbourne.

"At first, I just had online schooling, but it got trickier to manage and my dad needed to go back to work so I had to stay back", he explained when you asked him why he was there, "and I hope I can focus on racing, but you already know that", he scoffed softly.

"I don't think I do, I'm sorry", you narrowed your eyes, genuinely unaware of what he was talking about.

After he told you all about his career until that moment, as well as his hopes and dreams, he chuckled, "you really didn't know?", he wondered.

"I didn't! The girls said something about you moving here but I didn't listen much, I'm not that into gossip and my memory is like Dory's, I can never keep up with the latest who likes who and who flirted with what's his face", you earnestly replied.

For the first time since he arrived at the school, he felt like he could really trust someone and he could hope for new friendships on this side of the world.

You were there for his final race in F4, clapping at him on the podium, and even F3 and F2 despite your university deadlines, always making sure you could support him in every way you could.

"Hey, Osc", you said over the phone, setting your pen down the desk and swivelling in the chair. You wanted to get as much knowledge and experience as possible, so you applied to do a internship in a physiotherapy clinic near your apartment during the summer.

"Hey, Y/N, how are you doing?", he asked as you could notice the antsyness on his voice.

"I'm good, it's a bit of a slow day here, my supervisor said I could read up on a few articles", you mused, "is everything okay?", you asked.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight", he began, "you can come to my flat if that's okay, I'll order something in since I can't be trusted in the kitchen", he suggested.

"Fine by me, I'd like that, sounds really nice", you smiled, "I'll see you soon, then", you added, not wanting to dwell much on the fact that he didn't answer your question.

When you left the clinic, you walked to Oscar's place since the sun had graced you for the day and it was still nice to be out. Knocking on the door, you waited for him to open it, "I'm still in my scrubs as I didn't see the need to change", you said as you walked inside, hugging Oscar after dropping your backpack on the floor.

"Hey, you look nice, don't worry about it", he smiled as he led you to the living room, "I had to go and get the take out myself, but it's still warm", he said as you sat at the dining table.

"Now can you tell me if there's something wrong?", you wondered as you poured some of the wine he kept for you at his place on your glass.

"I have something to tell you actually", he played with his glass while he fought the smile on his lips, "this weekend I finally had some conversations with McLaren", he began.

"McLaren?", you asked as you served yourself of the food in front of you, taking some bimi brocoli and then some of the warm noodles.

"Yes, McLaren. We finally spoke about contracts and, this morning, I signed the official driver contract for next season", he stated as if he was saying that the sun had been out today.

"You did what? Since when has this been in the works?", you gasped, dropping the kitchen utensils and looking at him intently, "you're driving for McLaren next season?", he nodded, "like, driving on track? Oh my Goodness, Oscar! That's amazing!", you got up and hugged him, "why didn't you lead with that?", you pinched the nape of his neck playfully as you kept the tears from falling from your eyes. This was his dream and he was getting to live it as early as the end of the year when pre season preparations began.

"I didn't want to tell you over the phone", he shrugged his shoulders.

"But how? This is huge, Oscar!", you smiled, your teeth showing and eyes squinting with how high your cheeks rose.

"There were a lot of conversations about it, specially the last few weeks", Oscar explained, "they still want to keep it quiet", he warned.

"So you're driving alongside Lando?", you wondered. You only followed motorsport and the Formula series because of your bestfriend, so the assumption you made was based on what you had seen and read.

"Yes, hence why they want to keep it quiet, I've only told you and my family", he mentioned, "my manager knows that, obviously, but I really need you to keep quiet about it", he smiled.

"Absolutely, don't worry!", you assured, "this is so amazing Oscar! You're going to drive in Formula One! Aren't you amazed?", you beamed.

"I put in the work too, you know?", he dramatically feigned offense as you hugged him tighter, "this is your dream, Osc", you cooed, letting the tears fall freely down your cheeks as you swayed you both around, "I'm so proud of you", you hiccuped, holding his head close to your lips so you could kiss his forehead.

"Let's eat, this is getting cold", your best friend urged as the situation for more intimate and brought you closer and closer to the thing he had been avoiding for nearly a year.

The feelings he had been arbouring for you weren't just friendship. How could he keep himself from being in love with you? You had been there with him and for him when he was alone in a new country, being the other shy kid that spent the long weekend im boarding school, and since then you had been attached by the hip. You were kind, caring, intelligent, beautiful inside and outside and anyone would be a fool to not see why Oscar felt the way he did about you.

"I'm just going to a training camp, Y/N, I do these every year!", Oscar reasoned as you groaned.

"Who am I going to complain to about university? Or how noisy my neighbours are? I'm going to die of boredom", you stated, "when you come back, I will have ceased to exist because of boredom and lack of attention", you exaggeratedly threw yourself on your sofa.

"You won't, silly", he chuckled, pulling you up since his trainer was picking him up soon, "you're going to go out and enjoy yourself, okay? You'll barely notice I'm gone", he tried as you helped him with his suitcases down to the door.

"I'll miss you", you muttered as you hugged him, "enjoy your training camp!", you smiled as you pulled away, waving at him before you made your way to your place.

Getting on with the project you had to hand in at the end of the week, you got it all through to the end, leaving time to proofread later.

You clicked on the folder where you kept your photos and videos, looking through them and reliving all of the memories you had in there.

Most of them had Oscar somehow, wether it was a screen grab from one of your FaceTime calls when he was at races, picnics in the park and lazy days at your place.

You had to admit it, for your sake and Oscar's sake as your friendship was on the line. At first you thought it was just the fact that a boy seemed to want to spend time with you, so you put it to that. Recently, however, things changed perspective and you felt stronger feelings and emotions when you thought about him.

You loved spending time with him and cherished every single hour he chose to spend with you whenever he didn't have racing related duties. Every time he hugged you, you clung just a little longer to feel hia body against yours and his arms enveloping you.

Whenever someone approached you in the rare times you went out clubbing with your friends, "I have a boyfriend" became more a wish and a need rather than some made up excuse to get guys to leave you alone.

So, to sum it up, you either had an honest conversation with him or continued to dwell on feelings you couldn't keep to yourself.

"Y/N just sent me a picture of her notes, can you believe they ask them to know all of that?", he showed his trainer Kim while they had lunch after a strenuous workout.

"I had to learn most of that, too", he said nonchalantly, not necessarily diminishing your competences and intelligence but letting Oscar know that maybe his infatuation with you had a source elsewhere.

"Y/N is very smart, I'm sure she'll do really well - oh, she sent me a picture, she's all dressed up!", he said as he inspected the mirror picture. He assumed it was a requirement for your presentation, as you usually preferred comfy attire, since you had a pair of trousers and a shirt, some small heels on your feet and your bright smile that left him feeling butterflies in his stomach every single time, "she looks gorgeous", he said as he texted you the same words along with wishes of good luck.

"Something you'd like to say?", Oscar quesioned when he felt Kim's eyes on him as he put the phone back on the table, screen down.

"I'm just here wondering why you're not together", the trainer offered simply after he wiped his mouth on the napkin.

"No, we are not together, at least not yet", he mused. The thought had crossed his mind, admitting how he felt about you before the season began. If everything went belly up and you didn't feel the same and didn't see him that way, he would occupy his time and channel all of his energy into racing; if you did feel the same, he would have been worrying for nothing and would have a extra spring up his step for his first season in Formula One.

"Good to know you're working on it", Kim waved his fork at Oscar, "now we need to finish this and we'll do some recovery stretches", he announced as Oscar groaned, prolonging his meal as long as he could.

Today, Oscar was coming back from Lanzarote and you couldn't wait to speak to him. Lately, it all dawned on you.

It happened a couple of nights ago, a slight insomnia episode keeping you up when you thought about what things would be like from now on. Oscar would travel a lot more, and he would be in a much public role compared to his previous one. It would seem stupid to other people, but a lot more people would know him, and you were sure they would fall in love with him. How could they not? Hence why you wanted to quit those thoughts while you were ahead of them.

I'm on the cab to your place, it should take another 10 minutes and Can't wait to see you, Oscar texted you just as you finished tidying your living room.

You missed him dearly, so when you threw yourself into his arms, you didn't let go as he kicked his suitcases into your apartment while still holding close to him, "I kind of need to get my backpack off my back, and I can't do that if I don't set you somewhere - only for a bit at the very least", Oscar suggested after trying to balance you against his body with one arm but he didn't feel safe enough to let you go without you falling.

Reluctantly, you got back down, feet back on the floor as he discarded his backpack before he tapped your hip twice, "up again, I want a proper hug", he mumbled as you jumped back, his hands protectively holding your thighs up as he nuzzled his face on your neck, "I need you so, so much", he sighed.

"I missed you too", you replied back, "and I don't ever want to miss you like this when I don't know how to feel about you", you forwarded. Now or never, you thought as you jumped out of his hold and faced him.

"I missed you like I have never missed you before, not even when you go a visit your family or when you went away for triple headers - and I've been trying to understand why and I finally realised what it was. I like you, more than friends like eachother - for Goodness' sake, I'm in love with you", you chuckled nervously as you admitted it out loud to him, "and everyone else will love you too - I just know it -, so soon enough you won't be my Osc anymore and I couldn't not tell you. People - and these gorgeous girls all over the world - are going to like you so much and I won't be able to compete with them, so I'm just telling you how I feel. You can leave if you want or we'll just stay here in silence of that works too, but I needed to admit my feelings", you let out in one go.

Oscar smiled, a big teeth and gums showing smile as his eyes crinkled at your words, "I'm not leaving, and we are not going to be silent - at least immediately - because I want to tell you how I feel", he began, "I'm in love with you too; I have been for about two years and only realised it a year ago, and I don't want to pretend anymore. I want to be able to kiss you, to hug you, to take you with me wherever possible, to sleep next to you, to argue with you, I want all of it. With you", he said, hand cupping your cheek as his eyes asked for consent to kiss your lips.

It was as you dreamed it would be, soft, gentle and caring, lips moving in sync as you held him by his waist, pulling him closer to you.

"I thought I was loosing you to the whole F1 fandom", you chuckled, looking up at him once you pulled away.

"Of course you won't, you're my best girl", he winked, "this is just the beggining for us", he added as he pulled you to cuddle on the sofa, sharing his stories of the past days as you revelled in the feeling of being in his arms.

#oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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griefabyss69 · 2 months ago

Text

Concrete Lovers

Written for @domeddieweek's February 25th prompt: Trust! Sorry I'm late, my original fic got all the way up to 8K before I realized it was inherently and deeply about two switches so if there's ever a switch Eddie week hit me up LMAO

I've had more forniphilia/human furniture in the works for over a year now and this is one of them. I'm so glad I could use this opportunity to finish it, I loooove the concept of this one tbh! I hope you all enjoy <3 Steddie | Rated: E | 6.3K | CW: Under-negotiated kink | Tags: Getting Together, Dom Eddie Munson, Forniphilia, Human Furniture, Stripping, Anal Sex, Objectification, Friends to Lovers, Praise, Trust, Cock Rings, Condoms, Anal Fingering, Topping from the Bottom, Domming from the bottom

[ AO3 ]

Summary

When Steve goes to hang out at Eddie's place, he doesn't expect to find peace in a chaotic place, and he especially doesn't expect to find something further than that.

Excerpt

"There. Hold that position."

Steve's got his back straight, his shoulders and hips squared, with his arms gracefully bent out to the sides; just enough to stay away from his body and to turn his palms up at waist height.

"Perfect, lemme know if you get tired," Eddie says, kicking back on his bed as he goes back to his notebook.

He's not like, drawing or anything. He's clearly jotting stuff down, and Steve's clearly just here to... to follow orders, to put it plainly. They haven't actually established whatever the hell is going on here, but it's not like he minds.

It was like they were hanging out, then just started... doing stuff, and now he's shirtless and posing like a statue.

At first it was, "Your shirt is ruining the mood of this place," like they were somewhere other than Eddie's messy bedroom—as if his bedroom had any mood besides "chaos".

Then it was, "Stop looking so cranky, don't cross your arms like that. If you're cold you can borrow one of my flannels", and Steve had sighed and put his arms at his sides, only then starting to feel weirdly exposed.

And after that it was another complaint, then another, until Steve was standing next to Eddie's bed, the position of his body dictated to him in specific terms until he finally got it perfectly, helpless against the way the whole thing was making his cock start to get hard in a pair of laundry-day-tight jeans.

He wasn't allowed to move, though. So he had to just hope nothing super noticeable happened and that Eddie decided to keep using his keen eyes for writing and not for more of the scrutiny.

"Hey, want to make yourself useful?" Eddie asks, mumbling against the butt of the pen he's got pressed to his lips.

"Um, sure?" Steve asks, wincing at how unsure it sounds.

"Cool," Eddie says, tossing his stuff onto the bed before scrambling to his feet, not even looking at him as he heads to his desk. "I broke my incense holder and I could really use the ambiance right now."

Steve's not sure what that has to do with him, but as Eddie roots around in the piles of stuff, shuffling containers and papers and little boxes and like ten lighters around, he wonders what the hell kind of ambiance Eddie needs and what he's doing to need it.

#griefabyss69 writing #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #dom eddie week

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rindecisions · 1 year ago

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Only What You Need

Made for @strangerthingswritersguild Daily Prompt

Prompt | My hero

Part of my Vampire Eddie Munson Series: Bloodlust

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

Steve's heart rate was going wild as he offered his wrist to Eddie. He couldn't believe he was about to willingly let a vampire drink from him, but it was Eddie... and he was starving. How could he turn a blind eye to that? He glanced over and their eyes met with Eddie's mouth open and less than an inch from his skin. He couldn't get over Eddie's solid black eyes.

By the worried look on Steve's face, Eddie could tell that he wasn't exactly thrilled about the situation. "I don't have to do this," he reluctantly explained, swallowing the begging saliva that pooled in his mouth. "I can find someone else.”

Steve cringed. "You can barely walk, how are you supposed to get to anyone else?" He extended his wrist and tightened his fist.

The action made Steve's veins bulge and Eddie gulped. His saliva thickened with a numbing agent from the sight alone.

"I'm more worried that if you don't, you'll die or something," Steve muttered.

"Technically, I'm already dead, but yeah. Give me a couple more days and I hear the bloodlust does awful things to you." He brought Steve's wrist up to his face. He could feel Steve tense in anticipation, but he simply smelled the area and ran his gently parted lips over it.

"Then—" Steve was confused by the way Eddie was acting. It was almost as if he was getting high off of him. His eyes were closed with a relaxed and oddly elegant expression. "Then just take what you need, man," he stated firmly.

"Thank you," Eddie sighed sincerely and a little pathetically as he finally wrapped his lips around Steve's wrist.

Steve looked away and preemptively winced, but to his surprise, all he felt was Eddie licking him. It was weird and confusing on multiple levels. For one he'd never had anyone lick his wrist before, on the other, he kind of liked it and didn't know what to do with that information. He cringed at the confusingly gross and arousing feeling of Eddie's tongue writhing on his skin.

It went on for a bit, but before he could say anything, he gasped at the strangest sensation of his skin breaking under Eddie's sharp canines. The weirdest part was that it didn't really hurt. It stung a little, but not much more than getting a shot.

Eddie's eyes rolled up as soon as he pulled his fangs out of Steve's skin and the blood hit his tongue. He retracted his fangs as to not further injure him as he eagerly clamped down on his wrist and sucked deeply. He shuddered at the heavenly flavor and already feeling his strength return.

Steve groaned at Eddie's grip on his arm tightening. A pleased moan came from Eddie. It urged Steve to glance over at him with wide eyes. He only got a glimpse of Eddie's pleasure stricken face before his long hair fell in front of it. The urge to move it startled him.

He watched Eddie's body slightly writhe as he drank his blood. Small, almost erotic sounds came for Eddie, and he could swear he was grinding his hips. Was he getting off on it? "Eddie?" he grunted when the grip on his arm got uncomfortably tight.

Eddie glanced up at Steve with wide eyes, showing that his irises had changed to a deep blood red. "Shit, sorry," he exclaimed, frantically licking at the bleeding punctures on Steve's wrist until they stopped bleeding entirely. The punctures were still there, but they'd been sealed with another feature of his saliva.

He was still hungry, but that was more than enough to get back on his feet. With a sigh, he released and pried his eyes away from the still very tempting arm. "You really are my fucking hero, Harrington. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Steve furrowed his brows while examining the punctures on his wrist. He hadn't considered getting anything in return. He just wanted Eddie to feel better. He ran his thumb over the puncture points.

"Careful with those. Treat it like a delicate scab until your body can create its own.”

"Right," he nodded and lowered his arm. "Now what?”

"I'm assuming I get out of your hair," Eddie chuckled. "Unless there's anything I can do for you.”

Steve shook his head. "Just don't let yourself get that bad again.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. "That's fair. Wouldn't want some monster like me to come knocking at your door again, right?”

"If you need it, I'd rather you come here than suffer alone, alright."

The offer made Eddie swallow, but he gave him a small nod. He hadn't really had any allies in all of this, so it was nice to hear that. "Thanks.”

#stwgdailyprompt #Vampire Eddie Munson #Drabble #Microfic #Steddie #Blood Drinking #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfic #fanfiction #steve/eddie

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venusararara · 2 years ago

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Guys I just had the silliest thought EVER and its such a dumb porno concept so cw smut, cummies, fuckies, demon cock, floor

Here you go, Gatherine lovers, this one goes out to you HFKS

MDNI AS ALWAYS

This is properly formatted for renpy/python just ignore the tags, g = gatherine, y = you

It's a rough draft 4 the nsfw dlc

"Gatherine brushes up against you and feverishly unbuckles your restraints, noticeably flustered."

g "You have to go home, uh, you can't stay here, we have this {i}bug{i} going around right now and everyone is getting it."

y "{i}Bug?{i}"

g "Yeah, like, an illness or disease. It's highly contagious. Like, everyone is fucking everyone upstairs."

"She refuses to elaborate any further."

"Your hands are now free."

"Gatherine grabs your hand and pulls you up, leading you to the exit."

g "I'm sorry for this whole ordeal, let your neighbor know I'm looking for them, okay?"

"You're struck with a sudden feeling of fire in your gut."

"You stop following her."

"Gatherine stops and turns around to look at you."

g "Why did you stop? We have to get you home."

"She's very red in the face. The sexual frustration is practically leaking from her pores."

y "I think I caught the bug."

g "FUCK."

"She ponders."

g "Then you can't leave, you'll spread it to the outside world. Guess you're stuck here, bud."

"You can feel the blood rushing to your face and groin."

"Gatherine's eye contact doesn't falter, begging you to run."

"You don't, though. You want this."

y "... I think I'm okay with that..."

"You lean in for a kiss, where Gatherine's face connects with yours hungrily."

"She slams you against the wall and drags you down to the cold, metal floor."

"This virus must act fast, you already feel like you're going to bust."

"You plead for her to release you from the feeling."

y "Hah... I want you..."

"Gatherine flips you over and rips into the seat of your pants with a boxcutter, panting."

g "Fuck, I can barely stand you stupid mortals, you're all so tantalizing..."

"She takes a handful of your hair and shoves your face to the cold floor, pinning you to the ground and restricting your movement."

"The sound of a zipper coming undone."

"You nearly scream when she shoves it in you, unlubed. She apologizes before she begins rutting into you, stretching your hole."

"Her member moves around inside of you with a mind of it's own."

"Tears escape your eyes, though you're in ecstasy."

"Once she figures you're adequately stretched out, Gatherine thrusts into you with a roughness."

"She makes it to the base, her hips smacking against your ass with every thrust."

"You shed tears, but moan with every movement of her hip. Her smooth cock has made a home for itself in your hole, and almost feels like it belongs there."

"You cum fast, but she keeps going."

"It puddles beneath you, soaking into your bottoms."

"Gatherine continues to use you for a good, long while, her circumference stretching you to your limit."

"You get to the point where you can't cum anymore, your parts leaking, mouth drooling."

"Suddenly, Gatherine releases her seed into your ruined hole with an echoing moan."

"Pulling herself out of you, she remarks how wet your pants are and pulls them off of you."

"They smack the floor with a loud, wet plop."

"Gatherine attempts to speak calmly to you, winded."

g "You'll never guess how loose you are right now."

"She's able to easily slip her entire fist into your slutty oriface, causing you to involuntary shiver."

"You moan, and she pulls her hand out."

"She gestures to your pants."

g "You'll never be able to wear these again, I'll throw them out."

"You realize you're laying belly-first on a cold, metal floor, dripping a mixture of cum and demon eggs."

"You're wearing nothing but a shirt, which doesn't cover your genitals."

y "I'm cold."

"Gatherine takes her sweater off the floor and gives it to you."

g "Here, it'll keep you warm. Clean yourself up, too, you don't want those eggs to stay inside of you."

"She leads you to the bathroom, thoroughly satisfied."

g "... That was cool of you. I hope you're feeling better, too."

"Gatherine pats your back and leaves you at the bathroom door."

g "I'm glad you're here."

"Your body is sore and will surely bruise, but the pain you're feeling feels good right now."

y "Me too."

#nighthive//skindeep #yeah it has its own development tag now #literally so embarrassed please don't be mad #idk why you would be but listen okay #gatherine fucks. hard

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 3 years ago

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Prominence [Pt. 2.4]

Social Media AU ; Idol AU ; Added Unit AU CW/TW: Language, A Bit of Toxic Stan Twitter Genre: Comedy, Romance Pairing: NCT x Idol!Reader, Seonghwa x Reader, ft. NCThree (Mark and Yangyang) Y/N Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 2.4K

Notes: Hiiii I FORGOT TO CHANGE THE NOTES this is what I get for copying and pasting the format jfkgdhjkg Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

Today was January 22nd, and for some reason, as you prepared to record your comeback stage set to be aired next month, all you could think about was how much trouble you've found yourself in.

"That's a joke, right?" You leaned back on the waiting room couch while Mark and Yangyang shook their heads.

"Nah, (Y/N), it's been trending since yesterday," Mark frowned and turned his screen towards you, showing Twitter's daily trends.

#YNSHGetBackTogether

#YNSHFinallyBrokeUp

#(Y/N)LeaveANiMA

#NCTANiMADisband

#NCThreeDisband

"Boys, I'm so sorry," you took Mark's phone and tapped on the top trend, seeing all the tweets highlighting some of the revealed points of the relationship, all things you remembered, of course, and even some small things you didn't think people would catch onto. You left the tag and clicked the next one, but, right before it loaded, Mark took his phone from your hands. When you reached over to take it back, Yangyang took your own phone from your back pocket and unlocked it. "Hey! Wait, when did you put your Face ID onto my phone? Wait, that's beside the point! Give it back!" Yangyang only moved it out of your reach and deleted something from the home screen, before handing it back to you.

"We're putting you on Twitter ban, (Y/N)," Mark crosses his arms.

"What? How come? I'm fine!"

"Nope, we're doing this for you, (Y/N). Twitter's a toxic place and you don't need to see those strangers dragging you through the mud for no reason," Mark defends. "That and Suho suspended your account anyway..."

"Of course he did, I swear, he and Seojoon are out to get me sometimes," you crossed your arms and pouted, the statement being meant as a half joke. Another social media ban, it would seem. As much as you wanted to reprimand them, they had a point. Back when you first debuted, you and Yeseul used to stay up late at night translating all the tweets about your debut to Saeron and Jihyun but, the further down you went, the worst the hate got. You and Yeseul would just translate it incorrectly so that Saeron and Jihyun didn't get discouraged, but after that day Yeseul stopped reading them and you, meanwhile, kept at it. You said it was to better help with your Korean while maintaining your English but, really, you didn't know why you kept at it. Before you could continue the conversation, someone cut in.

"NCThree! Regroup," the stylist calls out with a mocking command. The three members appeared and saw the circle of stylists. You shuddered, whenever they did this it usually meant that they were going to toss you an array of outfits to try on to brainstorm future concepts. But, instead, you all saw a new face amongst the crew. "Everyone, meet our new stylist! This is Jeon Kyungjae," the main stylist gestured to the boy next to her. He was a rather plain fellow, actually, save for the bleached streaks and the obvious care put into his hairstyle. Regardless, he waved 'hello' and bowed his head.

"Thank you for this opportunity, I hope to make the most of my new job!" He announces.

"Aw, just do you're best and you'll be fine!" You reassured him. He looks to you with a wide smile on his face and you smile back, albeit awkwardly.

"Good you think so, (Y/N), he's with Jia on you today," the main stylist instructs.

"Well, best we get to know each other well then," you stepped up first. "I'm (Y/N)," you introduced yourself proper.

"I know," Kyungjae nods slowly, his eyes wide and starstruck. Yangyang whistles behind you and you glare at him.

"Ignore Yangyang, he just likes to tease new staff members," you told him. "Let's work hard together then!"

"It was nice meeting you! I'm Mark!" Mark peeks over and waves. "It's always fun to get new staff, ya know?" He says.

"Good, with introductions out of the way, we have a comeback stage to film, everyone take a seat so we can get styling done, you have to be on stage in an hour," the main stylist says. Your phone rings in your pocket and you silence it as you check the name on it.

"I'm going to take this really quick, is that alright?" You asked Jia. She nods and you walk out, answering the phone as you stepped into the empty hall. "Hey, Dan."

"(Y/N). Sorry I haven't been picking up your calls, I've been kinda busy."

"It's alright, don't worry about it," you muttered. "How's everyone else?"

"Holding up, Crystal's been bawling her eyes out though."

"Of course, she is," you sighed. "So... are they willing to meet up?"

"Yeah, just give us a time and date."

"How about you?"

"Me? I mean... I don't think it's a good idea for the two of us to be seen in public, right? I don't want to stir the pot."

"How about we meet there then? No one ever goes there."

"There? I'm surprised you still remember it."

"How could I forget it?" You chuckled quietly. "That's where we always went, no?"

"You've got a point there. We have a lot to talk about. Sure, when are you free?"

"After six today, so in like ten or so hours. How about you?"

"I'm free then too, I'll meet you there," he says.

"It's a plan then. I have to go, we're filming the comeback stage, I'll text all of you when we can meet up."

"Alright, take your time, (Y/N), we all understand."

"Thanks, and... how about Juliet?"

"Juliet? We haven't seen her since the meet up back in October."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, apparently her and Carson broke up shortly after."

"Oh, no..." your mind flashed back to the last conversation you had with Carson and suddenly the guilt came back.

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). Everything will work out fine. You just focus on your stage, okay? Don't forget to have some fun, you deserve it."

"Thanks, I'll call you back."

"Bye." You hung up first and walked back into the stylists' room, scrolling through Twitter and looking through all the quote retweets on the breakup post. Everyone seemed to be making such a big deal out of everything, you'd never understand why strangers wanted to pry into your life so much. You hated it, actually.

“Everything alright?” Mark tugged your sleeve and you looked up from your phone.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s all good, thanks for asking,” you gave him a quick smile and before he could continue the conversation, you were both interrupted.

“I need NCThree on stage as soon as possible please!” The producer shouts over the commotion. In seconds, you were pushed into a stylist’s chair and your makeup was being touched up.

"We'll meet you out there, (Y/N)," Mark squeezed your shoulder and he and Yangyang walked off.

"Sorry for taking so long out there," you told Jia. She only shook her head.

"It's no problem, (Y/N). Luckily for you, I'm extremely good at my job," she says as she applies your eye shadow. "Everything okay with you?"

"Yeah, just fixing some things," you muttered, your eyes closing as the brush moved over them. "I'm really at a loss, right now, I don't know what to do."

"Well, to be fair, your situation is kind of unique," she says. "Kyungjae, wheel over that cart over here, yeah?"

"Got it!"

"I know, but... I guess I just miss him, is all," you mumbled. You felt her applying gloss on your lips. "I dunno, I'm going to try to set things straight with my uni friends first, I kind of blew up on them a few days ago, and they don't deserve that."

"Respectfully, they don't deserve you," Jia says. You felt the blush brush swipe up your cheek. "Okay, Kyungjae, do some final touches, yeah? I have to go check on Yangyang, I saw Mina struggling a little with his eye shadow so I'm gonna go fix it," she says before walking off.

"O-Okay," Kyungjae watched her leave and you opened your eyes.

"Hi," you waved at him.

"Hey," he answered back. Whatever starstruck nervousness now gone and replaced with relaxed charm. He moved in front of you and brought the cart closer to him. "Sorry, just let me know if I'm making you uncomfortable," he says while he picks up the mascara tube.

"Don't worry about it, you're just doing your job," you nodded. "Speaking of, tell me about it. I'm curious, why a stylist?"

"Ah, it's kind of a boring story actually," he places the tube down and instead picks up the lip tint. "When I was in school, I wasn't too confident about myself, a bit of an introverted wreck, actually. But, in college, I told myself that I wouldn't be like that anymore, so I borrowed some of my sister's makeup and watched a few makeup tutorials and here I am," he says. "I don't want anyone to feel unconfident in any way, so I figured I'd help them feel good inside and out," he says while he dabs the tint across your lips.

"That's a good sentiment," you said.

"How about you?"

"Hm?"

"Why become an idol?"

"Oh," you hummed and he picked up a highlighter palette. "That ones a bit complicated. My ex and I got scouted together way back when, and both of us were in crippling student debt, so I told him if either of us could make enough money as idols we'd be set. Well... we ended up breaking up a few months later for some reasons, and I figured that I'd put enough time into training that I'd might as well see it through, you know? Then I got put onto a debut lineup and here I am, sitting here, getting my makeup done," you explained. It wasn't the full story, but it was enough. You decided to leave out the part where you were about to quit but a certain crush-turned-best-friend got you to stay.

"Oh, that's all?" He asks. "I thought you joined because you were just a natural," he chuckles. Heat rose to your face and you cleared your throat.

"Ah, I'm nothing compared to my groupmates," you turned your head while he added light contours.

"I'm sure that's not true. You should be more confident in yourself, you're very attractive, you know," he says with a light tone. Heat rose to your cheeks and you looked elsewhere while he picks up the mascara once again. "Let's touch this up and you'll be good to go," he says. His hand held the side of your face gently while he lightly applied it.

"You're not going to ask?" You mumbled.

"About?"

"You know... Seonghwa and I?" Your eyes looked off to the side while he fixed your mascara. You'd been hearing staff members whispering about it all day, after all, you wouldn't blame him if he wasn't curious.

"Why would I?" He moved a bit closer to you, making sure it didn't clump your lashes. "That's none of my business," he says. "What matters now is that you both grow from it, right?" He switched to your other eye.

"Huh... I guess you're right about that one," you turned your head for him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything about it."

"Oh, don't worry about it, I understand," he says. "But, since you asked... do you still love him? Just a curious question is all, no need to answer if you're uncomfortable."

Did you? Part of you did. Part of you missed the times you'd both finally be off and spend it doing nothing but sitting next to each other. Part of you missed the secret glances in events, the stolen moments that could've been caught on camera if you weren't careful. Part of you missed talking to him, just having that comfort that he was there and he always would be. But the other part of you was afraid of what else he was hiding from you. Did you both really go into the relationship with full trust? You told him everything. Your previous relationships, the truth behind your own rumors, hell, you even told him secrets of yours that you swore to yourself you'd take to the grave with you.

Then he didn't tell you something as simple as why he broke up with you. And you didn't even give him the chance to.

“Ow,” you winced when the stylist’s hand slipped, causing the mascara brush to hit your eye.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” he gasps. He leans in closer to observe the damage and you only smiled and shook your head.

“It’s fine, nerves happen,” you told him. “Plus, you’re new, right? Jia is teaching you?”

“Ah, yeah! Yeah, first day on the job,” he nods, his eyes seemingly sparkling, almost starstruck “Do you mind if I open your eye a little to see if any mascara got into your contacts?” Kyungjae asks.

“Go ahead,” you turned your head to allow him more access and he investigates his careless mistake. “All good?”

“Looking great as always, (Y/N),” he confirms and shoots you a thumbs up. You hop off the chair and walk out onto the comeback stage. Mark and Yangyang were quick to wave hello before turning back to the producer. You jogged up to them and took your usual spot between the two.

“We’re just going to do a quick shoot, Echoes doesn’t have demanding choreo so we’ll keep it simple, just follow the stage cues and it’ll go smoothly,” she explains.

“Yes, ma'am!” The three of you answered and took your first spots. You took a deep breath. First comeback of the year, and you had to make it count. NCThree originally started as a small NCT U unit to fill in for a gap in promotions, but so many people enjoyed the first mini-album that SM decided to bring the trio back. Preparing for this second EP has been hectic, but right now, on this stage, it all felt worth it.

“And cameras are rolling in three, two, one…” the director announces and the backtrack kicked up.

It’s showtime.

General Tag List: @vickylamore @chxngyunie @sehunnies-hunnie96 @yangsrose @bat-shark-repellant @cloudreads @raeincitizen @here-aeth @lune1897 @gaiyofanfiction @jaeminsespresso @umbralhelwolf @morningsunandnightsky

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @eggoyu

Prominence: @nuoyii @leesalts @jiheonie @naphthalene-ball @thejungjaehyun @eggoyu @minimochi24 @mythicalamphitrite @zwiehe @uzumakioden @billboard-singer @shinyddeonghwa @kibblesnbites @simpery @dear-dreamie @marsophilia @samsemsame @chimmybaek7 @aritokurin

Unable to be Tagged: @mizzdivagirl7-blog @elwiwiwi @sunaispretty

If you want to be added to either tag list just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

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shadowlight17 · 4 years ago

Note

My heart says Fives/Tup, but my brain fears the angst potential when putting them in your hands. 🤣 So ... uh ... Fives/Tup, but please don't kill them? 😂🥰 (If you want some inspiration or more specific ideas, maybe Tup needs comfort during/after Umbara, or he has a lucid moment after killing Tiplar, or he does die but is resuscitated and has to comfort Fives afterward.)

Tup needs comforting during/after Umbara. Fives is the brother who gives him that. May end up revisiting the other specific ideas!! Content Warning: Requested as Fives/Tup. I write Ace...so nothing crazy. Can be read as platonic. BUUUUT, tagged cloneshipping so as to let y’all know if it ain’t your cup of tea. AAAAALSO CW: Panic attack! WHY NOT BOTH DURING: Tup didn’t have time to sit and breathe. The umbarans were still firing further down the path, but he couldn’t breathe. He tugged his helmet off, his heart pounding against his chest and armor. He watched the lines pass as he hid in the shadow of a large tree-like plant and worked desperately to get his lungs to work with him and not against him. He was pretty well hidden, so when someone spotted him, he instinctively flinched backwards, going for a weapon he’d set on the ground. “Oh hey. Vod, are...are you okay?” The ARC trooper split away from Captain Rex and quickly moved over to him. “Oh. I see what’s going on.” He said, reaching over to set a gentle hand on Tup’s shoulder. “We’re going to breathe together, okay? My name is Fives. You can tell me your name when you’re not trying to breathe like a fish out of water, okay?” He said kindly and Tup gave him a shaky nod. He wasn’t even sure why he was panicking in the first place. Fives snapped his fingers in front of Tup’s face and Tup focused back in on the ARC. “Focus on me, kid. There you are. Breathing, right?” Fives reminded him and Tup nodded again, breathing in with Fives and breathing out. His heart stopped being quite so eager to get out of his chest and he let out a shaky sigh. “T-tup. My name. It’s Tup.” He squeaked out. Fives smiled and patted Tup’s shoulder. “Good to meet you Tup! Now stick close to me! They need help up there!” Fives said, stooping to scoop up Tup’s helmet up and pressing it into Tup’s hands. Tup slid his helmet on and nodded, grabbing his blaster and following Fives into battle.

AFTER: Tup heaved breathes in raggedly as he was pulled from the nightmare, on the edge of his bunk, most likely having thrashed around in his sleep. He worked to calm his racing heart and hoped that he hadn’t woken anyone. A creak and a shift, then silence and he relaxed a little further, but for the pounding of his heart. All was quiet until a soft “Tup?” sounded by his ear and Tup flinched, flashes of green and blue swinging towards him and- “Oh Force, I’m sorry Tup. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you..okay?” Fives’ worried and sleep creased face hovered in Tup’s view and he belatedly realized that Fives was keeping him from falling off the other side of the bunk with a gentle grip on his forearm. Fives looked down and let go with a muttered apology. “It’s...it’s okay.”

Tup managed to breathe out, wrapping his arms around himself and drawing his knees to his chest, trying to forget how Krell’s laughter had bounced of the Umbarian plants and trees. Tried not to think about the empty bunk below his. Of all the dead brothers with scorched armor, dead by his hand. He hadn’t even realized he was hyperventilating until Fives’ hands cupped either side of his face, gently brushing the flyaway locks of his hair out of the way. “Focus on me, vod. Breathe in for four, and out for four. In, one...two, three….good...four. And now out, two, three, four.” Fives gently coached, his brow wrinkled in concern as Tup fought to follow his instructions. It took a good several minutes, but soon enough Tup was following Fives’ breathing easily and not panicking as much. Fives had scooted onto his bunk at some point and Tup found he didn’t mind as much as he once might’ve. “Care to tell me what’s bugging you, vod?” Fives asked, gripping Tup’s hands to help him stay grounded. Tup swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and nodded slightly. It took him three tries to speak and five more to say the first words without stuttering. Even then, he still stuttered a bit when he could finally get it to come out of his throat. ‘I...I k-killed them, Fives.” He said miserably. Fives only reached forward to bring Tup’s forehead to meet him in a gentle keldabe. “You didn’t mean to.” He said steadily, gently easing a hand out of Tup’s to brush away Tup’s tears. “You didn’t mean to and they knew.” He promised and Tup could only nod shakily into the keldabe. He could only shakily breathe, following along with Fives’ breathing until Fives tucked him close to his chest and a GAR blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. “You didn’t mean to. You couldn’t help it. False information will do that. You did your best with what you had and I can assure you, not one of the vode that went down blamed you.” Fives said gently, rocking back and forth just slightly. Tup relaxed into the hold and his mind slowed, instead of the racing thoughts he’d been having. He was safe, and those vode, they weren’t gone. Merely marching far away.

#tw: panic attack #cloneshipping #fives/tup #EARLY RELATIONSHIP clone bois!#arc trooper fives #tup #Clone trooper tup #Shadow's Prompt Requests #my writing #Shadow's writing #star wars the clone wars

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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Mmmm'kay, I'm loving this arranged marriage au, the possibilities are endless. But... imagine if once they got married and they went to their shared home for the first time and they found only one bed? The tension. And then they're both like, "I don't wear a shirt to bed..." 😂

Yeah anon, it really grew on me too. It was going to be angstier as I was writing, and then I realized, wait, this has so much potential, so I softened it up a bit.

So “there was only one bed” in the “arranged marriage au”, huh, got it.

Here’s the first part

cw and tags: angst, trust issues, double entendre noises, naked cuddling, pining, sleep deprived Runaan has his own opinions, light bdsm but for angst reasons, biting, falling asleep on someone

____________________________

Runaan stalked in through the tree house door ahead of Ethari, dropping his flower crown carelessly atop a side table. Ethari slowed to catch it from sliding to the floor, hanging them both on pretty silver hooks set into the wall. The hooks were meant to hold the flower crowns as they dried and became a nostalgic reminder of Moonshadows’ vowing night, a permanent decoration to be seen by all who entered the home. Every vowed household had one.

Ethari stilled as Runaan’s footsteps retreated up the curved staircase and faded from earshot. He ran a soft fingertip along the edge of a lunabloom petal and felt a heaviness settle on his shoulders.

“My vowing night,” he murmured, so softly that only the flowers could hear him. “I imagined it very differently when I was a wee lad. With more kissing, for sure. I barely got any--”

A soft cough outside the door perked his ears with alarm. He whipped the door back open and stared out at a sheepish Lain.

“Hey, bro.” The rangy assassin straightened up from a crouch near the door’s crack and slouched easily against the tree’s thick bark. “How’s things? Need anything before you two tuck in for the night?”

Tucking in doesn’t seem to be on Runaan’s to-do list, I’m afraid. But Lain’s smirk told Ethari that he might be missing something. “Lain, what are you doing?”

“Vowing vigil, bro. Assassin thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

Ethari’s feet hurt from hours of dancing beneath the full moon’s light, and he was starving and exhausted. But for the sake of his brand new husband, he pasted on a smile and asked curiously, “Maybe you could explain it to me? ...Bro?”

Lain blinked, and then a broad grin sidled across his face and decided that it liked it there. “Sure, bro. Assassins have each others’ backs, yeah? No matter what. When one of us falters from injury or falls ill, the others gather around to keep them safe. When one of us lets his guard down, we gather, too, and hold ours high.”

Ethari squinted in puzzlement, not following Lain’s secret assassin lingo.

Lain flicked his gaze up toward the various branches overhead, belonging to half a dozen different trees. “Runaan’s our leader now. But he’s gonna let his guard down tonight, for you. And we’ll hold vigil to defend him while he does it. No matter how many times he does it,” Lain added, with a giant, cheesy wink.

Despite Lain’s suggestive joke, Ethari’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and his tummy miserably curled in on itself. He recalled Runaan’s clipped words on the day they’d finalized their betrothal: “Don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.” Runaan wouldn’t be letting his guard down, in any respect, today. Or possibly ever.

“Thank you for your courtesy,” the woeful craftsman managed, before turning away and closing the door in Lain’s face.

His feet found the stairs, and he trudged upward with a heavy heart, just wanting to find a place to crash and sleep. High narrow ceilings that slotted up through organic gaps in the tree gathered darkness overhead, winking with mushroom light and the odd moonfly. Delicately carved walls and living lattice windows showed him various rooms along the side of the stairwell that wound upward around the heart of the tree itself.

This place is beautiful... I’ll have to explore later, after I catch some sleep. Where is the bedroom in here, anyway? Ah, here-

He came to an abrupt stop outside a graceful wooden arch twined with soft glowing vines and nearly bumped right into Runaan, who was swiftly exiting the bedroom with an armful of blankets--as well as cheeks the color of moonberries. Their eyes met--Ethari’s seeking, Runaan’s vulnerable, darting away. Ethari glanced over Runaan’s shoulder, seeking the source of his seeming distress, but saw only a spacious, neat, empty room behind him.

“Where are you going?” he asked Runaan.

Runaan studied the blankets he held, then raised a wry gaze to Ethari’s face. “There is only one bed here. I will sleep elsewhere.” He moved to slip past Ethari into the hallway.

Ethari’s hands clutched at Runaan’s shoulders. “No, you can’t do that.”

Runaan’s gaze was cold. “Take your hands off me.”

Ethari jerked his hands back as if they’d been burned. “Sorry. I only meant that... the assassins are watching the tree house tonight, and they’d know that you... that we didn’t... uhh...”

Runaan’s eyes widened and his gaze sliced toward the nearest outer wall, looking vulnerable, hunted even. Ethari’s heart clenched at the sight. Had the assassins’ supposed vigil slipped his mind? Was it just a prank Lain was pulling?

“That’s... really a thing, then?” he asked.

The quirked frown that snapped into place on Runaan’s face seemed to indicate that it was.

“It seems we’re trapped in here until moonrise,” Runaan grated.

Wow, that makes me feel great. Thanks for that. Ethari let his shoulders slump as Runaan spun and retreated deeper into the bedroom.

The assassin plopped his blankets on the foot of the broad bed. Ethari approached and stood beside him at a safe distance, studying it analytically. Runaan shot him a side glance and opened his mouth sharply, but Ethari spoke first. “No one needs to sleep on the floor. Look at this bed. It’s enormous. Five elves could sleep here and not even touch.”

“You exaggerate. I only see room for three.”

“Oh, should I go invite Lain to sleep between us, then?” Ethari teased, before he really grasped the words he just said.

Runaan rounded on him. “Is this funny to you? Have you no respect for--?” The assassin managed to snap his mouth shut before he said anything further, and he huffed a furious snort.

Ethari backed away, his guts swirling with guilt. He’d fooled the village council into choosing him as Runaan’s marital ally, hiding his feelings from them, and from Runaan too. And then he’d tried to steal his first kiss, blurted the truth, and confessed what felt like an innocent, wholesome, clever chain of events. Except now Runaan didn’t trust him. Their union had meant to strengthen Moonshadow relations, but Ethari had brought the seed of deceit into its very heart.

He looked down at his boots, silent, waiting. This was no time to try to earn back Runaan’s trust. That would be a long and painful process as it was. Better to start when his husband wasn’t actively yelling at him.

Maybe tomorrow, after a good night’s rest. If we can manage to figure out how and where to find it.

When he peeked up at Runaan through his lashes, the assassin was staring at him with wide intense eyes. Ethari raised his brows. Runaan kept staring. Not fondly, either. Ethari’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze found the smooth wooden floor. The grain was beautiful, he noted, full of deep blue-silver swirls.

Runaan tucked his hands behind his back, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. “I apologize. This is no way to begin our... arrangement. If we must share a bed, then I suggest we get to it. We’ve had a long day of... of getting married. You must be as tired as I am.”

Ethari offered him a tired half-smile. “Do your feet hurt too?” he asked softly.

Runaan’s brows evened out. “I’m on my feet all day. Hours of dancing are no hardship.”

Ethari let his eyes slide toward the outer wall of the tree house, beyond which he knew several assassins were pretending not to eavesdrop. “That’s a real shame, Runaan.”

Runaan’s eyes zeroed in on him with intense focus. “Explain.”

-*-*-

“Ah, right there, push harder,” Runaan moaned, writhing lightly on his stomach atop the soft bed. His long hair sprawled, tousled and tangled, across his bare back.

“You sure you can take it?” Ethari’s question breathed through closed teeth as he bent to his task, hands working over the assassin beneath him, lending his body weight to the sweet, insistent pressure he offered.

“I’m going to be sore when I wake, no matter what,” Runaan said breathlessly against the pillow he clutched. “Your hands are v-very skilled--aah-- Please, please, continue... hnngh... aahhh...”

Ethari chuckled softly at the sweet, desperate noises Runaan was making. The lanky assassin looked delicious all stretched out before him, all long legs and tousled hair and breathy gasps. He dared to hope that, one day, Runaan might make them for another reason besides getting an intense calf massage to work out the knots from too much dancing.

Runaan’s other foot kicked helplessly atop the blanket as Ethari pressed a knuckle into a new knot high on Runaan’s calf. “Hhhgh, moon and shadow,” he cursed.

Ethari’s hands paused, holding Runaan’s muscled calf protectively. “Too hard?”

“Mm’mm. Keep going. It’s good for me.”

“I’ll slow down,” Ethari offered. “I don’t want to break you on our first night.” He couldn’t help but say that last line with a sassy grin.

Runaan’s head popped up from his pillow, and he shot Ethari a hot glare over his shoulder. “You couldn’t possibly--”

Ethari drove his knuckle deep into the knotted muscle.

“AAH-ha-haagh, moondimmit, fuck!” Runaan swore. “Light and shade of the sacred cycle, have mercy on my s-soul...” he squeaked.

“Ooh,” Ethari cooed, “I like it when you plead.”

Runaan’s gaze could’ve stripped the bark off the entire house in a single slice.

A sudden sliding scuff on the branch outside the shuttered window drew their attention. It was swiftly followed by a quiet yelp as someone outside lost their footing.

Ethari paused his hard kneading and flicked his eyebrows with another sassy smirk. “Well, that’s three assassins we’ve overwhelmed so far. How many more do you think will want to listen in?”

Runaan let his forehead plop into the pillow as he caught his breath. “It’s been an hour. We’ve made our point. And I’m not sure I can walk at the moment.”

“You want me to carry you somewhere?” Ethari offered softly. He rested a light hand against the back of Runaan’s knee.

“No, I just want to sleep with you now.”

Ethari blinked, unsure he’d heard right. “S-Sorry?”

“We’ve established that I can’t sleep anywhere else, Ethari. So I have to sleep with you. All I meant.” Runaan groaned and rolled into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. One hand reached for Ethari’s scarf. “You don’t plan to sleep in that, do you?”

“Uhh. Nope.” Ethari tugged his scarf free. “I don’t sleep in much, actually... I get hot... uh...” Like right now. It’s really hot in here all of a sudden!

“Hm. That’s fine. I don’t sleep in anything at all.” Runaan stood up and shucked off his trousers with zero ado whatsoever.

“Hrkk!” Ethari choked against a fist. “Are-Are you s-sure you...” Moon help me, I’m just infinitely gay, infinitely, did he just, did he-- Help....

Runaan turned around and looked down at him, hands on his narrow hips. Ethari desperately locked his eyes onto his new husband’s turquoise ones, feeling his cheeks burn.

“I’ve got about five minutes of consciousness left before I crash,” Runaan said in a cool tone. “And I’m not falling asleep around someone I don’t trust, unless I can control the risks he poses.”

Ethari gulped. “Wh-What does that mean? Are you going to tie me up or something?”

Runaan raised a speculative eyebrow.

-*-*-

“Not too tight?” Runaan murmured, kneeling at Ethari’s side as the craftsman lay on his back, wearing nothing more than a soft pair of sleep shorts--which was more than Runaan was wearing. His fingers lightly adjusted the soft bindings around Ethari’s wrists.

“This really isn’t necessary, I promise,” Ethari began. “I’ve already agreed to--”

“I know what you’ve said. I also know the depth of your capability for deceitfulness. If you’d been truthful, we wouldn’t need restraints.”

We. How “we” does he mean that? Ethari wondered.

“Now roll onto your side,” Runaan ordered. “I’m not turning my back on you again, and I’m keeping you right where I can find you.”

With his eyes wide and dark, Ethari rolled over and felt Runaan tuck his bare body behind him, nestling close. Ethari’s breathing stuttered as Runaan hooked one leg atop the craftsman’s hip, pinning him in place. He clutched his softly tied hands to his chest to reassure himself that he was still breathing. This was torture of the worst kind! To be in love with such a beautiful elf, to be allowed to marry him, to share a bed, to watch him strip down and snuggle tightly--and to have it all mean something entirely different than what Ethari had begged the universe for--it was the sweetest dagger in his heart. He knew he’d never recover from its wound, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

Runaan’s hand snaked between Ethari’s arm and his ribs and clasped his wrists lightly, tucking one seeking finger under the bindings. The touch was so intimate and gentle, as if Runaan were admitting that he too were bound the same way as Ethari was, that it brought a shaky tear to the corner of Ethari’s eye.

His struggles to smooth out his breathing did not go unnoticed, however, since the assassin was pressed skin to skin against his back. Runaan’s fingers gently rubbed along Ethari’s wrists, soothing the cord’s rub.

“Sometimes I don’t trust myself, either.” Runaan’s voice was slurred with sleep. His five minutes had come and gone, perhaps a couple of minutes ago.

“I swear to you, Runaan,” Ethari said, breathing his words like a prayer, “I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted this.” He wriggled his bound wrists against Runaan’s grip.

Runaan squeezed the bindings possessively. “Maybe I did.”

Ethari gasped slowly at Runaan’s sleepy confession. Then he gasped harder as Runaan’s mouth closed over the skin at the base of his neck. Runaan instinctively clasped him still with all his limbs, holding Ethari in his control with a soft hum that grew gentle teeth against his skin. Ethari froze, entirely breathless, trembling with a heady concoction of delight, fear, and arousal. “R-Runaan?”

Runaan’s mouth nibbled gently, sleepily. “Mmmm.”

“Runaan, are you... awake?”

The assassin’s teeth grazed his skin and claimed his ear, biting gently, sucking on its tip. “No. And don’t you dare tell me about this in the morning.”

A waterfall of helpless, confused, ecstatic noises tumbled from Ethari’s mouth. Runaan’s hands began roaming him, and his teeth dragged and nipped in their wake, drawing gasps and curses from Ethari’s lips, making him writhe against his husband. Runaan’s nibbling became insistent, and he crawled across Ethari, pushing him onto his back, pinning his bound hands over his head even as his mouth worked along the lower curve of Ethari’s left pec.

Ethari bucked helplessly and groaned until his voice shredded into a needy whine. “Runaan, please... aah...”

Runaan nipped his way across Ethari’s heart and along the side of his neck, drawing ever louder sounds of pleasure from Ethari’s lips. He eased down flush atop him, tucking his long slender legs outside Ethari’s sturdy ones. Rampant heat flared between them. But while Ethari was getting worked up, Runaan was relaxing bonelessly, his breathing slowing.

He pressed his mouth to Ethari’s ear, nipping gently at its lower edge. “Hold me, Ethari. I want to trust you so much.” And he let go of Ethari’s bound wrists and nestled his head against his husband’s muscled shoulder.

Ethari tensed, as desperately confused as he was aroused, but he lowered his arms to hold Runaan close, craving the smell of his hair, the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath. “I... I have you, Runaan...”

“Mmmm.” The assassin’s breathing slowed and evened out as he passed fully into slumber, sprawled without a stitch atop the elf he claimed not to trust.

Ethari felt his body throb hot against Runaan’s lax weight. With a tiny whimper, he let his head fall back against the pillow. No...This really is torture of the worst kind! He flexed his wrists against Runaan’s bindings as they rested against the small of the assassin’s back. How am I supposed to survive this kind of cruelty?

He bemoaned his indecently unfair fate for several minutes before exhaustion claimed him, too. His last waking act was to kiss Runaan’s temple and murmur, “Sleep well... husband.”

At Ethari’s soft words, Runaan let out a deeply contented sigh and snuggled closer.

Alone in the dark, and yet not quite as alone as he had been, Ethari thought he might cry, for every single reason at once.

#ruthari arranged marriage au #ruthari #ruthari fanfic #my writing #tdp angst #ruthari angst #spicy fluff #naked cuddling #enemies AND lovers

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