#THAT ROGUISH GRIN HAS ME BY THE THROAT

[missmungoe]

Cover Anon STRIKES AGAIN with an alternate cover for Long Live, also by the incredible TricksterMelon, and I am just...floored.

[pucksandpower]

Pulled Over

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: in which Lando’s birthday celebration continues in his car and a police officer gets far more of a show than he bargained for … but it’s not your fault, okay?

Warnings: 18+ content

Note: I woke up to five separate asks in my inbox requesting I post something for Lando’s birthday so … happy birthday 🫶

The engine rumbles beneath you as Lando deftly maneuvers his McLaren through the streets of London. The two of you are headed home after a fancy birthday dinner, still dressed to the nines in your best evening wear.

You steal a glance over at Lando, his brow furrowed in concentration as he navigates the city traffic. Even after all these years together, your heart still flutters a bit when you look at him. The way the crisp lines of his button-up accentuate his athletic build, the slight curl to his hair, the intensity in his eyes as he drives ...

Lando must sense you watching him because he flashes you a roguish grin. “See something you like, love?”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks flush slightly. “You know I do.”

His grin widens and he winks at you before turning his eyes back to the road. You reach over and rest your hand on his thigh, absentmindedly tracing little circles with your fingertips.

Lando shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “As much as I’m enjoying your … attention, you might want to rein it in a bit until we get home.”

“And if I don’t want to?” You tease, sliding your hand higher up his leg.

He lets out a small hiss of air through his teeth. “Then I can’t be held responsible for getting us pulled over for reckless driving.”

“Is that a promise?” You lean across the console, your face just inches from his, and murmur, “Maybe I want to get pulled over ...”

Lando groans. “You’re killing me here.”

Feeling emboldened, you press your lips to the side of his neck in a soft kiss. He shudders, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Y/N ...” he warns, but his voice is strained.

You trail kisses along his jaw line, nipping at the sensitive skin just below his ear. Lando’s breath is coming in shallow bursts now and you can’t help but smirk in satisfaction at reducing him to this state.

Without warning, the McLaren swerves as Lando abruptly pulls over to the side of the road, throwing the car into park. Before you can react, his hands are on you, pulling you into a searing kiss. You melt against him, twining your arms around his neck as his tongue slips into your mouth.

He breaks away just long enough to growl in your ear, “If you’re that desperate to get pulled over, I’m happy to oblige.”

Then his lips crash into yours again with bruising intensity. You whimper into the kiss, desire coiling hot and tight in your belly. Lando’s arms wrap around your waist, hauling you halfway across the console and into his lap.

You straddle his hips, bunching the fabric of your dress up around your thighs as you grind shamelessly against him. Lando moans into your mouth, his fingers digging almost painfully into your sides.

His lips travel down to your throat, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin there until you’re arching against him with soft cries of pleasure. One of his hands slides up underneath the hem of your dress to caress the bare skin of your thigh while the other deftly works at the buttons of his shirt.

You push his jacket off his shoulders, letting it puddle on the floor of the car, and rake your nails down his now bare chest. Lando hisses in response, bucking his hips upwards. You can feel his hardness straining against the confines of his trousers and you rock back to provide some delicious friction.

“Bloody hell, love,” he growls. “You’re going to be the death of me one of these days.”

Before you can retort, a sharp rap on the window has you both freezing. You look up to find a police officer peering in at the two of you with an utterly gobsmacked expression on his face.

For a long, awkward moment, no one moves or makes a sound. Then the officer seems to recover, clearing his throat loudly.

“I’m ah … going to need you two to step out of the vehicle,” he calls out in his thick London accent.

You and Lando quickly disentangle yourselves, rushing to straighten your clothing and trying in vain to look presentable. Lando takes a steadying breath before cranking down the window.

“Evening, officer,” he says, all polite charm despite his face still being delightfully flushed. “We’re terribly sorry about this, you see-”

But the cop cuts him off, his eyes going wide in apparent recognition. “Blimey! You’re Lando Norris! The race car driver!”

Lando blinks in surprise, then breaks into a lopsided grin, clearly trying to use the situation to his advantage. “The one and only. Look, this is dreadfully embarrassing but-”

“Oh I’m a massive fan, mate!” The cop practically vibrates with excitement now, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Could I … could I get your autograph? And maybe a selfie? That’d be brilliant!”

You catch Lando’s eye and have to stifle a laugh at the incredulous yet hopeful look he gives you. He shrugs fractionally before turning back to the smitten officer with an easy smile.

“Of course, absolutely! Let me hop out and we can get that sorted, yeah?”

A few minutes later, the three of you are posing for a selfie, Lando sandwiched between you and the cop who is gazing at him with unabashed awe. You struggle not to crack up as Lando slings one arm casually around each of your shoulders for the picture.

“Cheers, thank you so much!” The cop beams as he lowers his phone to get a look at the photo. “My son is gonna go bonkers when I show him this.”

“Not a problem at all, happy to do it.” Lando gives the man a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Listen, we’d best be off but thanks for being a good sport about this whole … misunderstanding.”

The cop nods eagerly. “Same to you! And uh, maybe try to keep things legal next time, eh?” He winks exaggeratedly at Lando before tipping his cap at you. “G’night now!”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, doubling over in peals of helpless laughter. “I can’t — we just-”

“Hey, at least you didn’t have to tell your dad how his little girl got arrested,” Lando points out with a wry quirk of his lips.

That only sets off another round of laughter. Breathless, you flop back against the sleek McLaren, tears of mirth streaking your carefully made-up face. Lando joins you, shoulders quaking and eyes bright with lingering amusement.

“We’re never living this down,” you snort, thumping your head repeatedly against the cool glass. “Literally caught with our pants down. So much for your pristine image.”

“Please,” he scoffs, draping an arm carelessly over the back of your seat and regarding you with a fond, heated look that has your skin prickling all over again. “Like anyone’s actually going to believe some random cop over a devilishly charming Formula 1 driver.”

Your laughter fades to a simmering warmth as Lando leans in, mouth barely a hairsbreadth from yours. “Now c’mere, you gorgeous thing. I wasn’t done showing my appreciation.”

All other comments immediately fly out of your mind and you melt bonelessly against him, tangling your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting softly, your foreheads pressed together. Lando’s gaze is dark and full of unmistakable want.

“I still need you,” he murmurs roughly, skimming his fingers along your jawline. “I need to be inside you, touching every inch of you ...”

You shiver at the raw desire in his tone, feeling a fresh wave of arousal sweep through you. “What are you waiting for then?”

Lando growls low in his throat and suddenly you’re being whirled around and pressed up against the side of the McLaren. His mouth finds yours again in a branding kiss, all heat and urgency. You arch against him with a soft whimper, your nails scratching lightly down his back.

His hands are everywhere, caressing, squeezing, setting your nerves on fire. The hard line of his body pins you deliciously in place as his hips grind against yours in a maddening tease. You tear your lips from his with a desperate whine, throwing your head back against the car.

“Lando, please ...” you beg breathlessly. “I can’t wait anymore, I need you now.”

For once, the cheeky racer seems to be at a loss for words. His eyes burn with pure hunger as he takes you in — flushed cheeks, tousled hair, chest heaving with every ragged breath. Then he’s on you again, shedding you of your clothes with skilled efficiency until you’re deliciously bare before him.

His calloused fingers trail down your sides, across your stomach, skimming torturously along your hipbones. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, hyper aware of how exposed you are in the open night air. Every nerve ending feels electrified beneath Lando’s scorching touch.

“So gorgeous,” he rasps, dipping his head to drag his tongue along the swell of your breast. “And all mine.”

“Yours,” you confirm in a breathy whine. “Now stop teasing me and-”

You’re abruptly cut off as Lando surges up to claim your mouth again, stealing what little breath you had left. Not that you’re complaining — any thought process instantly wipes out under the intoxicating assault of his lips, his tongue, his hands roaming hungrily over your naked body.

In one smooth motion, he hitches your legs up around his waist, supporting you easily against the solid strength of the car. You clutch at his shoulders with a desperate keen as the hard ridge of his length nudges against your molten core.

Lando breaks the heated kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, “Hold on tight, love.”

Then he sheaths himself in one powerful thrust and you cry out at the incredible fullness, at finally having him buried to the hilt inside you. For a moment you’re suspended in that blissful eternity of feeling so perfectly joined together, your harsh breaths mingling in the barely-there space between your faces.

Then Lando starts to move and the world whites out around the edges.

Time becomes a blur of searing kisses, shared moans, and the slick slide of sweat-dampened skin against skin. Every roll of Lando’s hips has you clinging to him, chasing that burning crest of pleasure. He pounds into you with relentless pace, cursing softly with each shallow thrust.

You’re rapidly unraveling, reduced to a whimpering mess under his eager attentions. Stars are bursting behind your eyelids with each mind-numbing drive of his shaft, each searing brush against that utterly perfect spot inside you. You dig your nails into the straining muscles of Lando’s back, silently begging him for more, always more.

“That’s it, let go for me,” he pants harshly in your ear. “Let me hear you ...”

As if in response, your release suddenly crests in a blinding wave of pure euphoria. You throw your head back against the car with a broken cry, every muscle drawn exquisitely taut for a handful of heartbeats. Then the tension shatters and you’re boneless, sagging limply against Lando as sparks of bliss continue to pulse through your veins.

Lando only lasts a few more erratic thrusts before he’s following you over that edge with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering against yours. He slumps forward, forehead pressed into the crook of your neck as he trembles through the aftershocks.

For a long while, the only sounds are your mingled panting breaths in the stillness of the night. You card your fingers through Lando’s damp curls, savoring the pleasant ache coursing through your thoroughly ravaged body.

Eventually, Lando lifts his head to gaze at you with sparkling eyes and a massive, self-satisfied grin. You laugh softly, bopping him lightly on the nose with one finger.

“So much for subtlety.”

He snorts at that, leaning in to nuzzle against your neck, pressing a few light kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Please, you’re one to talk. I seem to recall you started this whole debacle.”

You let out a soft hum of contentment, enjoying the solid weight of him against you. “Well, in my defense, how was I supposed to resist you looking like sin on legs in that suit?”

Lando pulls back with a wicked glint in his eyes, running his hands idly up and down your sides. “In that case, consider me your own personal occupational hazard.”

You throw your head back with a peal of laughter. “Unbelievable. You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

Lando’s grin softens into something fonder as he gazes up at you adoringly. “Only for you, my love. Only for you.”

He leans up to capture your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss that leaves you feeling warm and cherished all the way down to your bones. As you settle more comfortably against him, tangled up in a perfect post-coital haze, you can’t help but think how lucky you are to have found someone like Lando.

Someone who can make you laugh until your sides ache one minute and then have you trembling with unbearable desire the next.

Someone who loves you fiercely and without reservation.

Someone you would gladly get arrested with if it meant never having to be apart.

With a contented sigh, you tuck yourself further into the protective circle of Lando’s arms, savoring this stolen moment of bliss with the love of your life. Even with the crisp night breeze wrapping around your tangled, sweat-dampened forms, you’ve never felt so perfectly warm.

[honeyed-hedonist]

Parings: Jason Todd x afab!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: SMUT—MINORS DNI. mentions of blood, gore, and violence, oral (f & m receiving), lots of teasing, degradation (jason todd is a big meanie), a lil bit of a size kink if you squint (hims a big, big boy), an obscene amount of dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, jason has multiple orgasms (he’s got stamina, baybee), creampie, cum swapping, and, as always, declarations of love (barf). A/N: I wrote this for my sweet baby angel @heli0s-writes in a little fic swap we’re having because we like to scream at each other about all the fictional men we want to rail us into a pulp. I love you! I hope this makes your brain melt. Tehe 😈 (Reposting from my former blog)

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.

Jason Todd is a menace. The absolute bane of your existence. 

Who does he think he is banging on your door at 3:45 in the morning? As if your neighbors needed another reason to gossip about you. Nevermind all the probing questions that were poorly masked as casual conversation when you were using the on-site laundry room or grabbing your mail. If you had to hear “So, you and Red Hood, huh?” one more time, you were going to rip your hair out. 

But Jason has always been brazen—not much has changed since the day you found him bleeding out in an alley between your apartment building and the pet shelter next door. He had a gunshot wound, lacerations over damn near every square inch of him, his mask all but shattered and exposing most of his face to you as you did your best to haul his massive frame up from the ground to drag him inside and patch him up. He had grinned at you the entire time, flirted with you while you fished the bullet out, asked you to dinner as you wiped the grit and grime off of his neck and chest. He hasn’t left you alone since.

You love him, of course. How can you not? He’s 6’4” of muscled steel, all wrapped up in a handsome, roguish bow with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. Any woman alive would be hard-pressed to resist his charms and you’re no exception, but it’s difficult to remember those warm, fuzzy feelings when he’s pounding on your door hard enough to wake the dead.

With bleary eyes, you unlatch the locks and yank it open, hissing at him as you fist your hand into the lapel of his jacket and tug him inside, ignoring the wide-eyed look on your neighbor’s face from across the hall. Your annoyance is overshadowing the rest of your senses, so you don’t see the tent in his pants, don’t notice his lust-blown pupils when he shucks his helmet off and throws it aside. Instead, you whirl on him, an accusatory finger pointed squarely at his chest in preparation to scold him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why couldn’t you just come in through the window? I keep it unlocked for this exact reason, Jason! You stubborn fucking ass—mmph!” His mouth is on you instantly—demanding and desperate as he crashes his lips into yours, uninterested in hearing your lecture. His gloved hands lift you off the floor in one fluid motion that has you instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips. You feel it then, the heavy, hard length of him trapped between your bodies and you gasp, an action that he capitalizes on by shoving his tongue past your teeth and into the back of your throat.

The tang of coppery blood fills your mouth and has you retreating, pushing back on his chest to look at him, but he’s right there chasing your mouth, walking blindly towards your kitchen table to set you down. “Jay—honey, wait. Are you—fuck!” His teeth are sharp against your throat, silencing your protest with the harsh sting of pain, grunting as he grinds his hips between your spread thighs. 

“Shut up,” He growls, voice low and dangerous, sending your synapses into overdrive, drowning out what little restraint you have left. “Need to be inside you. Need to hear those sweet sounds, baby, just—let me.”  Jason’s fingers are shaking when he moves to peel your shirt off, and you know it’s the adrenaline, that he’s high from the violence of his nightly patrol, teetering on the edge of losing control. These nights, you think, are the ones he needs you the most—seeking salvation with your body, tunneling his way to absolution with powerful thrusts of his hips, because if you can love all the fucked up parts of him, can love him even after all of his mistakes, then maybe, in his mind, he’s worth something afterall. 

So you nod, your own hands making quick work of the kevlar and leather he’s covered in, helping him shed layer after layer of it off until he’s bare chested and heaving with labored breaths. It’s then that you notice the gashes that cut diagonally across his collarbone, the skin ripped in a way that makes you shudder. Claws? A serrated knife? You can only imagine the kind of monsters he grappled with tonight. His chest is smeared with congealed, drying blood, a trail of it leading down his stomach, seeping into his briefs and tactical pants, staining the tuft of coarse, dark hair that leads to his pubic bone an ugly shade of rust.  

His eyes have turned shark-like—a depthless obsidian that makes him look possessed, the usual crystalline blue almost completely eclipsed by his blown out pupils. You should be terrified by the sight, the danger lurking within that endless dark, but your demons have always called to his, so all it does is stoke the flames now licking their way down your spine to pool between your legs. His gaze shifts the second your hands fall to your panties, exhaling a shaky breath as you try to wiggle out of them, to grant him access to the part of you that only he gets to explore.   

Jason snarls then, swatting your hands away to rip the flimsy strip of cotton clean off, tossing it over his shoulder where it floats delicately to the floor in shredded ribbons of fabric. And then he’s on his knees, dropping to your floor with a loud thud that has the knick knacks hanging on your walls tinkling with vibration from the force of his herculean frame hitting the laminate. He scoots closer, boots scuffing your floor, the heat of his stare now focused on your puffy slit. Every exhale is a rumbling growl, hot breath fanning out against your pussy as he inches closer and you bite your lip, ready to muffle the sound you know he’s going to tear from your throat the second he puts his mouth on you.

Warm, calloused hands skate up the insides of your thighs, throwing them open even wider to accommodate the width of his shoulders when he leans in. Jason’s nose settles against your slit and he inhales, breathing in the musky scent of your arousal. It leaves you frozen in place, barely breathing when you watch his eyes roll back with pleasure. It sends your pulse straight to your clit and you whimper, the sound acting as a catalyst for him to dive in tongue-first and lick a wet stripe through your folds. He moans at the taste of you, a deep, salacious vibration of sound that rattles your bones. It has you hooking your hands around the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, mouth slack when Jason’s deft tongue and plush lips begin to work you over.

He’s precise and purposeful when he eats you out—applying just the right amount of pressure, finding the perfect moments to snag that bundle of nerves with his teeth, gumming at your velvety cunt with his mouth, his tongue attuned to your every need. It takes him no time at all until you’re whining, begging like a god damn harlot, your fingers wound harshly into the roots of his hair, pulling him in, fucking yourself on his face. His girl. Perfect and needy, just the way he likes you.

But, again, Jason Todd is a fucking menace, glancing up at you with that wild look in his eyes, clocking the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the way you’ve got him pressed so deeply between your legs that he can barely breathe—he knows you’re close, can feel your thighs trembling against his ears. He waits, feasts on you until your eyes roll back into your skull, until he knows you’re about to rocket into a release—and then he stops, withdraws his mouth—a mouth that’s glistening with evidence of your pleasure, and offers you a sadistic smile.

“You thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?” He goads, swatting at your pussy hard enough that it sends you reeling, your body jerking with a yelp. “Nah…Tonight you cum on my cock and nowhere else.” Jason rocks back on his heels and stands, towering over you, crowding your space as he takes your jaw in his hand, his grip hard and unforgiving. “Do you understand me?” 

There’s a war happening in your mind, because you know he needs this control, know he’s standing on a very dangerous ledge and you have to tread carefully, but fuck if you don’t want to cop an attitude, push him right off that cliff just to see what he’ll do. Seconds tick by like minutes, his eyes bouncing between yours, expectancy evident on his handsome face while you contemplate how much you value the use of your legs and whether you’ll need them tomorrow. 

“I don’t take orders from you, Todd,” You spit, jerking your chin free from his hold. Curiosity has clearly gotten the better of you, and the fire your response sets ablaze in Jason’s eyes has your stomach flipping. His mouth curls into a wicked little smirk, and then you feel that same hand of his wrap around your throat and squeeze; hard. 

He bends forward, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear, tongue tracing the edge of the cartilage. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, hmm?” Your breath hitches at the gravel in his tone, and now you know without a doubt that you won’t be doing any walking tomorrow, let alone moving. Thank god you have some PTO saved up. 

Jason’s spine straightens when he yanks you off the table, the movement so fast you don’t have enough time to process what’s happening until your ass hits the floor and you wince. “Well, would ya lookit that.” He mocks, palm slapping against your cheek before he’s hooking two fingers into your mouth to suppress your tongue. “Since you’re down there already—might as well make yourself useful, yeah?” 

Fuck. Sometimes you forget the cruelty he’s capable of, the way he can talk so mean, degrade and embarrass you for the sake of your shared pleasure. It’s exactly what you asked for, and he always delivers. With blush stained cheeks, your face pinched in a glare, you reach for his pants, popping the button open, tugging the zipper down, and shucking the blood-stained bottoms and cotton briefs to his knees. What you’re met with has your jaw working, saliva pooling behind your teeth because goddamn is he hung. 

Jason is fucking massive everywhere, so it goes without saying that his dick would carry some weight, but it still astonishes you every single time you see it. Bobbing invitingly in your face, angry red at the tip and oozing precum, veins prominent and pulsing along the shaft just begging for attention, his cock sits proudly above an even heftier set of balls, and you clench remembering just how good they feel smacking your sensitive clit when he pounds you out from behind.

His fingers are still playing against your tongue, sliding over the wet muscle until he breaches the back of your throat and you choke. There’s drool seeping past his knuckles, dribbling onto your chest, and he hums his approval, eyes glittering with the promise of what’s to come. One last pass of his calloused digits before he’s angling his tip and pushing his length into the wet heat of your mouth with a grunt. “This is a much better use for that mouth of yours, don’t you agree, princess?” Jason coos at you, pressing forward until your eyes screw shut, tears trickling down your cheeks when his cock seats itself deep in your esophagus. “That’s a good girl—open up that throat for me. Yeah, just like that—fuck.”

Soggy, spit covered fingers curl against the crown of your head as Jason begins to thrust, fucking your mouth. Your eyes are blurry, crossing each time he bottoms out, breathing harshly through your nose with every withdrawal, your palms digging into the meat of his thighs to keep you steady, to keep you rooted enough to take his assault. Over and over again he drives his hips forward, the slippery sound of the suction of your lips is so fucking obscene it makes you moan. That filthy, wet squelch ringing out as more saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth, bubbling up in sloppy arcs that web between your chin and his cock, matting into his pubic hair, commingling with the remnants of his blood. 

You’re sure your face is stained pink from it by now, and you couldn’t care less, not when Jason’s face is twisted so beautifully above you—jaw slack and cheeks red, sweat marring his brow, hair curling at his temples and the nape of his neck. He looks so goddamn pretty when he loses himself in you like this that it makes the ache in your throat worth it, makes tomorrow’s hoarseness a welcome battlescar if only for the vision of him lost in the throes of violent passion above you right now. “Shit—m’gonna cum, princess. S’too good, I can’t—”

You slip your hand beneath your chin, between your bodies, cupping his balls, teasing them, rolling them in your palm, and he roars, bottoming out to cum down your throat. His cock pulses against your tongue and you wiggle it against his length appreciatively, humming while you swallow down spurt after spurt of milky semen until he’s pulling out with a hiss. Jason’s big hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up while he huffs. “Best little cocksucker, baby, but I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

Before you can blink. Jason hauls you up and deposits you right back onto the kitchen table, throwing your legs open. Letting out a low whistle, he drags the pad of his thumb up through your folds, swiping over your throbbing clit with a chuckle. “Such a pretty little pussy, hm? So eager, so fuckin’ desperate, clenching around nothing at all. You just wanna be full, don’t you?” He goads, slotting his hips between your thighs, letting the heavy weight of his dick slap against your sensitive pearl until you’re mewling, fingernails biting into his forearms.

“Jay—please,” You whine, your voice scratchy and rough, and he shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes make a slow trek up to meet yours. 

“After your little performance? Not a chance, sweetheart. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready, but for now? For now you’re gonna put on a show for me. Let me see how you stuff that needy cunt when I’m not here.” He smirks viciously down at you, wrapping his fist around his length, pumping slow and languid while your face heats with embarrassment. 

The weight of his stare presses down on you, hot and heavy, as you guide a trembling hand between your legs, fingers dipping through your slick, peeling your lower lips apart with a breathy sigh. Despite his bravado, you know how bad he wants to be buried in your heat, cock shoved so deep that the tip batters against your cervix. It’s that thought alone that spurs you on, two fingers pushing into that wet, hungry hole with a moan. You hook them upwards, seeking, pressing against that tender little spot that makes your back arch, fucking yourself while he watches, his muscles coiled in waiting like a predator about to strike. It’s maddening—no matter how fast or how hard your fingers work into your pussy, it’s not enough, it’s never enough and he knows it.

“Feels good, huh, princess?” Jason huffs, pumping his dick while he watches you, taunting you with his words. “But you want more—can see it on that pretty face. Those little fingers just don’t cut it, do they? Course not, you need more. Need this fat cock, don’t you?” The whine that pours out of your throat is meek and pathetic, because he’s right and you can’t hide from him—not when you’re splayed out so beautifully like this. 

How many nights have you spent lying on your sheets chasing an unsatisfying release at your own hands. It’s never as good as it is with him, because Jason knows you. Knows all the ways to make you keen and writhe and burst. “Go on,” He says, “let me hear you say it. Beg me real nice and I might give you what you want.”

God damn him, you think, because he never makes it easy, not on nights like this when the battle is still fresh in his mind, when the adrenaline is still plowing through his veins. And god damn you if it doesn’t light you right up, heating the already charged air between you both. Your head falls back with a thud against the table and he tuts at you, pulling your gaze back where he wants it—on him. There’s a lump in your throat despite your fingers still working your cunt, the shame of having to beg both igniting your desire and stoking the fire of your petulance. Gritting your teeth, you spit the words he wants to hear at him with indignant venom. “Please, Jason. Want—need your cock. Fuck me, baby, just—” He chuckles darkly, free hand moving to grip your chin, his thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw.

 “Oh, I think you can do better than that.” Jason sucks a breath in through his teeth, his handsome face scrunched up with pleasure, and you catch sight of his other thumb swabbing over the tip of his cock, still rock hard and leaking between his clenched fist. “Try again.” 

“Fuck!” You spit, fingers soaked as they dive in and out of your pussy with delicious friction. Swallowing what remains of your stubborn pride, you gaze at Jason from beneath your lashes, your eyebrows furrowing, features turning soft and pleading. “Please, baby,” Your voice lifts an octave higher—whiney, simpering—and it works. Jason groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Fuck me, baby. Please fuck me. Need you, need that cock—please? M’so empty without it. Wanna cum all over you, Jason. Please!”

“That’s my girl,” He croons, tilting his head to capture your mouth in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else, distracting you enough that you cling to him, fingers carding through his hair while the head of his cock prods through your slit until it catches on your opening and he drives his hips forward, stretching you apart in one powerful, rough thrust.

It forces a scream from your throat that he swallows, bottoming out until his pelvis rests flat against the pocket of fat above your pussy. “Fuck—give me your fingers, baby. Put ‘em in my mouth.” Jason commands, and you know exactly what he wants, bringing your damp middle fingers up to his face, letting him suck the remnants of your efforts from your skin. You watch, hypnotized, as his eyes roll back and he starts to move, his teeth sinking into the digits while he fucks you. 

There’s nothing quite like having a cunt full of Jason Todd. The sting that comes from the sheer size of his dick, the way it stretches you to your very limits, those gummy walls forced open wide to accept every angry stab of his length. He bullies his cock into you, pounds hard enough that your kitchen table slides across the floor with each stroke. But he follows right along with it, hammering into you while his tongue slides between your fingers, sucking on them like a damn pacifier. It’s sinful, filthy, and raw—makes you absolutely feral, crying out for him over and over again, free hand dragging harsh lines down his muscled back so hard you’re certain you’ve broken the skin. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, letting your fingers fall from his mouth. “I know, baby. I fucking know—swear to god you were made for me. Take my cock so fucking well—shit!” He growls, righting his posture and reaching for your ankles. Jason locks both of them in one hand, closing your thighs together, making you even tighter, the fat lips of your pussy peeking out between your legs. The sight has Jason grunting like a wild animal. “That’s my pussy, huh?” He asks and you nod, completely lost to the mind-numbing pleasure he’s supplying. “Know it is. Always gonna be mine, baby. Gonna ruin this little cunt for anyone else. Gonna wreck it.” 

The world shrinks until it’s just you and Jason, no concern for your neighbors who can undoubtedly hear the way your kitchen table knocks against the wall every time he pounds his dick into your pussy, not a single care other than him and the way he loves you—the brutal way he fucks you. Resting both of your legs against the side of his chest that isn’t cut open, he hugs them close, looks down at you, and god, you’ve never seen him quite like this. It’s mesmerizing. 

And then he’s spreading your legs, pushing your shins up and into your chest, folding you in half. The new angle sends his cock even deeper, and you let out another rapturous cry, each stroke pummeling your cervix. He shushes you, fingers mashing your cheeks together in a tight grip. “Eyes on me, princess. Wanna see you fall apart.” 

So you watch, helpless and at his mercy, when his free hand wedges between your legs, fingers seeking out the place where you’re stretched around his dick, stroking it lovingly before moving his attention to your stiff, aching bud. Jason tilts his head, dropping his chin to his chest, letting a drizzle of spit cascade down between you. It hits its mark, splashing against the hood of your clit and rolling down until he catches it with his thumb, sluicing it up and over your pearl. 

“Don’t you dare hold back.” He commands, and all you can do is nod, tits practically tucked under your chin, body jolting from his incessant, endless assault. And then his fingers start to move and you wail. The friction is a welcome respite from the brutal way he’s handling you. Jason plays your clit like he knows what you’re feeling, flicking and tugging, applying enough pressure that the heat beginning to bloom in your belly burns hotter, a blazing inferno that’s about to consume you. “That’s it, let it out. Come on, angel, give it to me. Soak my fucking thighs.”

There’s always this brief moment before you cum—the universe stilling for the tiniest of seconds right before you unravel. You lock eyes with Jason in that instant, lip pinched between your teeth to try and muffle the noise you’re making. He nods at you, encourages you to let it go, tells you that he’s got you with just the look in his eyes, and it’s the truth. When time catches up to you in the next blink of your eyes, you fucking explode. Your back arches, knees slamming into your chest while you scream and quake beneath him. Jason wrangles you through your convulsions, pins your limbs to the table, coos and hushes you, lavishes you with praise while your cunt gushes around the intrusion of his cock. And what a fucking mess you’ve made. 

His teeth grit when he feels your cum wet his stomach and thighs, dribbling down his balls, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for Jason. With a roar of your name, he pumps into you a final time before he, too, loses himself. Jason cums hard—so hard that he damn near goes blind and deaf, vision whiting out, ears ringing as he empties himself into your swollen, fucked out pussy. It’s endless, the thick ropes of spend that now paint your insides. So much that you can’t contain it, a few errant, creamy strands dripping out of the place your bodies are joined. 

When he blinks his eyes open again, he catches as much as he can on his fingers, licks it into his mouth, and yanks you into his arms to kiss you. You’re barely conscious, but you kiss him back anyways, and Jason can’t stop the smile that curls his lips as he feeds you his cum from the tip of his tongue. Brushing your sweat matted hair off your forehead, his smile widens, peppering your reddened face with kisses. “You still with me, baby? Or have I fucked you stupid again?”

A halfhearted swat to the side of his head is your answer, and he laughs, the sound warm and infectious. There’s something so sweet about his laugh, it’s always made your chest swell, deep and gruff and perfect—just like him. You both stay locked together, his arms around you in a tight embrace, until your mind finally floats back into your body enough for you to remember how to be a person again. “Hey—as incredible as that was, and don’t you dare get an ego about it—you’re still very fucking injured, Jason.” 

Another laugh, his lips smacking against yours in a final peck that has you grinning right back at him. “Yeah, alright, I hear you, boss.” Jason teases, right before easing his softening cock from inside you. There are wounds that need tending, but he’s not quite ready to let go of this moment, feeling whole with your body wrapped up in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours once more, warm breath fanning out against your heated skin. “I love you, baby.” He whispers it, soft and sweet, your heart melting at the declaration. 

It’s a sentiment you return without hesitation, arms moving to cup his face—your whole world now held between the palms of your hands—and tilt his face back to level him with your stare. “I love you,” you answer, conviction heavy in your voice as you brush your nose against his “always.” Jason’s breath hitches in his chest, because nothing on this earth could have ever prepared him for the peace, the utter tranquility that loving you and being loved by you has brought him. Despite the lump in his throat, the tears misting his gaze, he echoes “always,” right back to you, kissing you tenderly until you’re both dizzy, until the world around you fades once again, until all that���s left is you and him. Just the way you like it.

[trendywaifus]

gif credit. @ 121231212i

i know she cries while getting her dick sucked. cw: transfem! caterina, oral sex, cursing, mild face fucking, she cries towards the end, reader lowkey the throat goat, gn! reader

your tongue licks the prominent vein up along caterina’s shaft before teasing the swollen cockhead with kitty licks. fingers tangled in your hair, she hastily tugs at it, urging you to stop teasing her and suck her off. “ hurry it up already. .” the redhead impatiently groans, her half–lidded honey brown eyes glaring down at you. smirking, you kissed the head, in response, it twitches back.

“ you’re really in that much of a hurry to cry like a baby, ‘rina? i’m not complaining, you’re even more pretty when you cry. “ you remark slyly, sending her a roguish grin. flustered, her cheeks turns into a dark red that matches the color of her hair as she spats, “ quit your yapping and suck my—nngh! “

caterina’s hips instinctively buckles to the sudden welcome of her cock slipping inside your hot mouth. you slowly sink your head down while pressing your tongue flat against her. she bites her lip, feeling almost helpless as her tip deliciously graze the back of your throat. caterina hates feeling helpless but that mouth of yours already has her at your mercy. all she could do was hold on to your head while you happily pleased her.

each time you worked your way up caterina’s length, your tongue swirled against her drooling mushroom tip, mixing her pre-cum with your saliva. you’d focus your attention on sucking the head before going back down. she tilts her back, taking in a sharp breath of air between her teeth. “ d-damn, if you keep suckin’ me off like that, i–i might. .” she lets out a strained moan as your lips hit her abdomen, fully taking her inside your tight throat.

tears prick caterina’s eyes at the overwhelmingly tight sensation of your throat clamping around her. “ f-fuckin’ tight. .! “ she nearly whines, now moving her hips to sloppily fuck your throat. her stomach visibly tenses when your tongue brush up against a sweet spot. “ fuck mee, m’ gonna cum! “ she throws her head back, tears spilling down her cheeks as ecstasy washes over her body. caterina grips your hair tighter, causing you to wince and thrusts into your mouth one last time before her hips stutters.

hot loads of cum shoots down your throat. “ st-stay still and take it all, d-don’t you dare move. .” she whimpers, horribly failing to make it sound like a demand. if her cock wasn’t stuffed in your mouth, you would of outright laughed.

[pursuitseternal]

“Surprise me,” an update to “The Rogue You Were” for more NSFW Ascended Astarion romance…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.5K Spice

Summary: A party, a massive affair and feast for all the powerful of Baldur’s Gate. But you crave only one thing on which to feed… your love and maker. With so many around you, you will have to be creative… find ways to… surprise him…

CW: Semi-public sex (twice), oral sex, vampiric sex on the ceiling, dom/sub undertones (the usual with Astarion), praise kink… oh and Astarion like it loud… even in semi-public.

Read on AO3 if you prefer

Continue for a scene that is full of surprises…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Your palace was full. Brimming with dignitaries, the wealthy, the powerful. Every single being with money or military might was in your palace. Guests of every race and class, as long as they had something that would be… beneficial… to your rule.

To that of your maker. He glides through the masses, his silken voice and frequent laughter piercing through the din intermittently. You have kept your distance, however, watching from your seat on the dais. Your padded, gilded chair beside an empty one, matching but more grand and opulent.

Thrones. Though no one calls them that quite yet.

“They will. In due time,” he had said, practically salivating into your mouth as he had held you on his lap, the first time he rested on that gold and crimson seat.

Now, you rest in your throne, elegant black gown draping around you, cut just revealing enough to enhance your curves, but not so much as to tempt anyone. For that would end in only one way, as Astarion had laughed darkly, mentioning it as you had slipped it on. It would end…murderously.

You can almost imagine him giggling to say, “And that does so spoil a dinner party…”

You grin, raising the edge of your golden goblet to your painted lips. The red liquid sloshes a bit. Wine, wine that is supposed to be heady and fragrant. The best Faerûn has to offer. But it meets your tongue with bitterness, filling your stomach with sour bile.

You hunger.

It’s clear, as time passes, you are not some spawn, there is more to your powers than even Astarion had thought possible. For the more power he gains, the more you seem to, too. Strength, agility, scent. You do not hunger blindly for the blood of thinking animals. Not some vague predator.

But each day, your hunger does gnaw at you. Hungry for only one being, one creature. Astarion, your lover, your master, your everything.

You can’t resist it, the need for him inside you, be it his blood coating your throat or his cock buried to his balls between your thighs. You keep trying to make pleasant conversation when you are approached, but it turns to a dismissive wave the moment you see him cutting through the crowds. Silver hair, flawless and unruly, eyes bright and crimson.

This gathering is most important, he had said… a sign that he was better than Cazador ever was. More fun. More powerful. More charming.

He certainly is. All that and more. But tonight, it seems he needs to convince himself as much as all of Baldur’s Gate. His smile is shallow, demure. His giggle is a bit too sharp, too shrill. Meant to call attention and prove how happy he is.

Not that any remained that would have known him as a slave, a spawn. Those were all dead.

Now, Astarion, Ascendant Vampire Lord mingles as if he is running for office or brokering deals at the docks. In many ways, both are true. Only now, if he wills it, he can scramble up the walls, burst into black mist… but for now, you can see the traces of the 200 year old magistrate, manipulating and flattering everyone around him. A bending to his will, subtle but distinctive. Charming, and entirely… roguish.

You struggle to take another small sip of your wine, only to stick your tongue out in total disgust.

“Not to your liking, darling?” his voice whispers in your ear, even as you see him a hundred paces away. “The best wine money can buy this side of the sea, and you look like you swallowed sea water itself.”

“Astarion?” you whisper, eyes wide for any sign of a trick.

“No tricks, my treasure. Simply power,” he purrs in your ear. You stare at him, his head nodding as some tall Drow blathers on and on. His full attention bores into the speaker before. Until his eyes flicker at you, making you catch your breath. So intense, so wicked in his delight. “Well?” he pushes again. “The wine is… unsatisfactory? Ugh. I’ll have to have a word with the merchant… a word or a murder…”

“No,” you raise the cup to your lips, hiding the fact from prying eyes that you speak to the air as if you were insane. “It’s just that… I do not wish to feed on… wine, my love.”

“Darling…” he coos, attentive, placating, concerned, “my poor, thirsty, little consort, longing to feed from her master…”

“Yes,” you sigh, squirming on your chair ever so slightly. That catches his eyes again. “And…”

“Oh, my queen, one day I will fuck you on that throne for all to see,” his voice seems to caress beneath your chin, circling to your other ear. “But perhaps it is a bit soon for these ignorant fools.”

“Then when?” you moan into your goblet again, the thought of riding his cock, your bodies pressed against the gilt and crimson finery. Your mouth waters and your fangs itch. “When can I have you, my love?”

“When it is convenient for me… for us…” he hisses in your ear. “Not too long, I promise you.”

“Do not make me wait, Astarion, or maybe it’ll be more than your neck I’ll bite…”

“Promises, promises,” he bursts in a giggle. You can see his mouth smirking even as his eyes focus on others. “Don’t make any you don’t intend to keep, darling…”

“Oh, I won’t.” And just to prove your point, you down the rest of the foul tasting wine in two gulps, tossing the metal chalice to the floor beneath you. It clatters, but you can barely hear in the chaotic chorus of voices.

But he hears it. His head snaps up. Crimson eyes stare at you, disapproving.

His mouth opens, as if he is going to chastise you. His feet begin to weave his way through the masses, eyes locked on you. His goal. His prize. His destination.

He doesn’t even need to touch a soul to part the crowds around him. You can see the blaze in his eyes, the power throbbing between you, the need for him to show you that you must toe the line, to be wonderfully obedient, especially in front of all these people.

The bright clang of a gong reverberates loudly. The call for dinner. The banquet about to begin. You see Astarion draw himself straight, forcing that composure of refinement as he slides up the lower step of the dais. Pale fingers unfurl, reaching for your hand— your escort to the dinner, with a subtle smirk flitting around his lips. You extend your hand, feeling all eyes watching you as he bends his head to kiss you in greeting, his lips gently lingering on the back of your hand. His eyes flutter shut. As if, he too, savors the slight contact of your bodies. As if, he too, craves more.

He tugs you from your seat, your black gown flowing its train behind you as you make your way to the next room. You feel conspicuous, those observant eyes watching the way Astarion’s hand holds you close, the sweep of his thumb over the inside of your wrist.

You give him a devoted smile, one that flashes your own fangs at him. He stops you both at the entryway of the banquet hall, “Pucker up, my sweet. Make it look convincing.” His voice caresses your mind. “Even if your eyes tell me you’d like nothing better than to pin me down and make me bleed…”

You place a hand on the rich brocade of his jackets, fingers lacing into the collar to press into the soft silk of his shirt. His palm cups your cheek, cold to the touch, but on fire with his possessiveness. He claims your lips, and you feel it, taste his own hunger. His pride at having you, his consort, his queen, on display for all of Baldur’s Gate to see.

It lasts a minute, but in that moment, your eyes shut tight, leaving you with nothing but the pressure of his touch on your face and the working of his lips with yours. The intoxicating, heady dance you do each and every night, the one that always begins with this. The stealing of your breath and the tangle of your tongues.

He pulls away far quicker than you would have liked, careful not to let you nip or draw blood. Oh no. That would not do with so many people here. That smirk on his lips tells you he will keep you dangling for more, not forever. But enough to let you burn for him a little while. The veil of his power clearly tinting his view. That pulse of his presence covers your mind, sending you a vision… Thousands stand before him, where he is seated and crowned. Magnificent and powerful, eyes glowing in his triumph. All of Baldur’s Gate, Faerûn, the world. kneels at his throne, and he wants you kneeling too… between his thighs, his cock freed and pulsing in your hand as your head bobs and sucks over his length.

You snap out of it, watching as his brow raises slowly, his smirk deepening as he leads you into the now crowded and spinning banquet. The high table faces everyone from its perch at the end of the hall, covered in decadent red cloth and set with pieces of purest gold for dozens. Your nose fills with the heavy scents of wine and roasted meat, all manner of dishes slathered in spices and butter.

Your stomach turns but not in hunger. Not for that anyway.

Astarion stops short, the end of the high table before you, his hand resting on the back of a gilded chair. You frown, hurt and enraged. His seat, and yours by rights, are always to the center, presiding over the festivities. But now, he denies you even that. Seating you so far from him.

He tuts his tongue, scolding you even as his eyes skate down the dip if your cleavage. “Don’t give me that, pet, not in front of all these people. I need you to take this place, I need you to submit yourself tonight, to free up those seats near me that I might… continue our very important work.” His eyes glow, his hunger obvious only to you, his consort, his mate.

“And should I refuse?” you sling the dare, a look of pure demure adoration masking your face.

“Don’t make me bend you over my knee to reprimand you, darling… not in front of all… these… people…” he growls so quietly.

Your stomach is on fire with need, your mouth watering at the image and the desire it conjures. You can sense it does the same in Astarion, the growing bulge of his cock clear to your eye in those black velvet trousers of his.

You smile sweetly, lifting on your toes to whisper in his ear, a message for him alone, “I’ll make you pay for this, Astarion.”

“In what way, darling? Or are you going to… surprise me?” his voice is a caress, his hand lingering on yours as you center yourself before the chair.

Your folds ache, engorged and slick and so painful. It hurts your body to obey, to make yourself sit on that chair at the edge of the long table. You want to whine and whimper as you watch him walk away. To watch that magnificent profile cut through the crowd at such a distance. Smirk plastered on his lips. Eyes scanning the crowd, reveling in his court. Looking everywhere except for you.

Servants laden your plate with food, meats and sauces, the scent is rich enough to make anyone drool. Except for you. No. Your desired feast sits in the middle of the table, a dozen dignitaries between you. Other ladies try to make idle gossip around you, they giggle as they speak of handsome merchants, valiant warriors, speculating on the sizes of their weapons.

You fight the growl in your throat. Keeping one ear open, just in case they decide to speculate about your master. But from the way you clutch at the gold knife in your hand as you attempt to saw into the pieces of mutton on your plate, they undoubtedly know better.

No, you can only poke at the food on your plate, eyes devouring every movement of that silver haired head, every reach of his elegant, dramatic arm.

He’s hungry, you narrow your eyes to focus. Another reach of his arm as he spoons another serving on his plate. Enjoying the benefits of his ascendant abilities to taste and savor foods once more.

Must be nice, you sneer to yourself grabbing your goblet for more wine. Nice he can ignore the hunger he has for her to indulge in mortal foods, dismissing the raging erection you know is most certainly still straining in his breeches…

You smile. An idea… a little delicious revenge. One where you could serve it so easily, and savor it to sate your hunger.

You wait for the entertainment to begin, bards singing, the hall echoing with lutes and drums and dancing. Half the ladies near you leave to find themselves some dancing partners.

But even as the company at the high table thins a bit, you keep your gaze fixed on Astarion, on how he lounges back in his chair now, idlily chit-chatting and sipping his own wine.

Quickly, you slip to the ground, letting the cloth of the table drape to cover you, tucking the train of your gown around your hips. Your vampiric stealth comes in handy now, scuttling your way beneath as you avoid feet and legs, barely making out muffled conversations though the thick skirt and rhythmic beating of music.

You can smell him, his scent of bergamot barely covering the musk of his arousal. You stop at those bent knees and manly spread legs, clad in crushed black velvet breeches. You breathe in that fragrance of your lover, the bond of your powers grows taught as you nestle yourself between his thighs, careful not to touch him yet. Slowly, you take the pads of your fingers, tracing up the inside of his thighs.

Surpsied, he stiffens, the muscles of his legs clenching at the contact. One hand darts at you under the table, finding your face in his lap as he cradles your cheek.

He knows you. Invites you in. “You’re… still… full of surprises aren’t you, my love? Is this your idea of catching me off guard with revenge?” His voice caresses your mind as his thumb presses along your lower lip. “I’m positively delighted…” his hips cant forward, sliding those lower regions completely under the table. Always so thoughtful when it comes to his pleasure. And yours.

Your fingers trace over the rise of his arousal, feeling it twitch and pulse even beneath the soft velvet that encases him. You reach for the laces of his breeches, quickly, quietly freeing that engorged length. His hand still strokes into your hair, beckoning you to pay him the homage of your revenge.

But it is not for his cock alone you hunger. You take a single nail, scoring it into the crease of his thigh. You feel the rush of his blood, thick with his power, coating your fingers. You raise it quickly to your mouth and lick it clean. His hand clutches in your hair painfully hard. A warning, but one you ignore.

Your hands pull down the fabric of his trousers, your face burying in his lap. Tongue licking at the blood, letting even that little trickle coat your tongue and send an immediate bloom of need between your own thighs.

His hand tugs at your hair, trying to pry you off, but not so hard. Just a little resistance. A little fun. “Clumsy me and my nails, my love,” you whisper against his lap, letting your tongue lap at the blood one more time.

“You’ve had your revenge, darling, now give me what I’m owed for my troubles,” he purrs into your mind. His hand shifts the back of your head, centering you over his straining, twitching cock. You take him, slowly, teasing that blunt head with little laps of your tongue. You wish you had swallowed more, making all his blood fill you. But this will have to do.

You run your tongue up that seam on the underside of his length, working from base to silken tip, making him jut against your face. His other hand slides to join your worship, holding his cock, wrapping his fingers around himself as his grip on the back of your head works your insolent mouth towards that seeping head.

You take him, sucking as you bob forward and back, thankful that music is pounding and loud enough to cover the pops and slurps you make. You close your eyes, picturing all the times you have pleasured him, meeting that glassy, enamored stare of his crimson eyes down at you.

His own hand works to pleasure himself into the wet workings of your mouth, the clenching of his thighs on either side of your head goads you on, making you suck harder, faster. It is your own dance to the evocative music of the party. And you would have your partner no other way.

You feel the rumble of his voice through his belly, his words muffled, but the pattern of speech starts to falter. His hand around his shaft stills and grips harder, the only sign you get before he fills your throat with his seed. The bitter fluid sating your hunger, mingling with the sweet tingle of his powerful blood that still coats your tongue. You lap it, greedily, cleaning him so that not a drop will offend the pristine black of his trousers. He would never accuse you of being inconsiderate. Lustful? Perhaps. Willful? Most definitely. But you wouldn’t want your mate and master to traipse around with any offending stains to speak of your… vengeful indiscretion.

And he knows it. The way his fingers knot gently into the curls of your hair is gratitude enough.

For now.

There is still the matter of your own arousal and its required tending.

You slink your way back to your seat, letting his hands slip himself back into the band of his breeches. With perfect stealth, you slide yourself back into your chair. And all of that just as the drums beat their last and the music crescendos to its own climax. You grin, seeing him lean in his chair to watch you, eyes a glowing vermilion, his own tongue licking his mouth as you take your napkin to clean your sticky lips.

You see his fist clench on the table top, the only hint he is burning with need. His perfectly charming smile returns, he nods his head at those dignitaries around him, clapping his ivory hands slowly with the rest of the applause. You can almost hear him, his silken voice bidding for those around him to excuse him.

Then he raises from the table, still smiling. A smile that shows his teeth, but doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that looks perfect but filled with sharpened ice. He extends his hand, gentlemanly, polite, all except that burning in his gaze. “Stand,” he orders to your mind. “My obedient love, it’s time to return the favor.”

You raise a brow, face bright with his attentions at last. “My love,” you purr, mimicking the way he speaks to perfection, as every lady near you looks with envy at the male from whose arm you now hang. They covet you, and you simper at them, still licking the bitter tang of his cum from your lips.

A wave of his hand, a merry order to continue to the bards, and Astarion begins to lead you down the edge of the great hall. Candles flicker, smoke and fragrant dishes still fill the air. To the casual eye, the host is but taking a moment in privacy with his love.

But to you, you know better. The way his hand grips at your waist, the way his eyes dip into that subtle cut of your neckline. You’ve made it impossible for him to keep that veneer of restrained refinement. And now, you will pay the price to the vampiric monster that lurks beneath.

Your belly clenches with excitement, your thighs so wet, they slip and squelch beneath yards of black fabric as you walk. Drenched from your own festering need. Soaked from your sucking.

“Proud of yourself, my love?” he taunts, as he grips harder on your body, tugging you into a servants corridor. The party still goes on just beyond the door frame, the music and voices just as boisterous as if you were in the room. “Delighted that I am at your mercy as all of Baldur’s Gate is now at mine?” His hands are everywhere on you, skating down your back, clawing at your throat, tussling in your hair. “Because… I am…” he breathes as he presses you against the stone wall behind you.

“You’re what?” You taunt, a toss of your head, jutting your chin up to meet the intensity behind his eyes.

“Proud of you,” his voice is no more than gravel in his throat. “And you shall be rewarded for your surprises.” His tongue runs over your neck, the pounding of your heart deafening your ears.

“Anything to please you, my love,” you breathe, barely more than a moan. “Now, I’ll take my reward…”

“In good time,” he speaks, his voice reverberating into the crook of your neck. “It is my turn to grant you your own surprise, darling…”

“Fucking me against the wall in sight of the servants would hardly be a surpise for any…”

Your words cease, the rush of his power overcoming you and stealing your breath. You gasp, wind rushing around you, your feet lifting off the ground as you fly. You look down, the tiles of the floor so far away, his body heavy on you, magic tingling around you, pressing you into the ceiling.

“Surprise, darling,” he whispers between your lips before taking them with his own. “I’ve been saving this trick just for you… for the right moment.”

Your world spins, the languorous rhythm of his caress grounds you, as does the little thrusts of his hips between your thighs. His hands ruck up your skirt, his magic floating to keep you pinned to perfectly. “Now…” he purrs, fingers grazing up against your bared thigh, straying over the curve of your mound, “for as quiet as you were pleasuring me, I expect you to turn the tables, darling. Let those mindless pions know how much pleasure I give you…”

Quicker than breath, his teeth sink into your neck, the rush of your blood coating his tongue sends you into bliss already. The bond between you thrums, your blood in his veins, and his in yours. His hand slithers into your folds, stroking you, relief finally flooding down your nerves as he touches you with such command, such knowledge. The carnal kind he has been most diligent to study.

Your hips buck, a strange surge of gravity fighting your body, his magic still pinning you all the harder to keep you in place. He laughs as he presses up from you, those eyes shining bright, observing as he licks his lips ever tweak of your face. His fingers still diligently slip into your cunt, widening it. Preparing you for him. You buck again, catching his nail on your clit, releasing a strangled cry from your throat you try to swallow.

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth with a rakish tilt of his head. “I told you to make some noise, darling…” Then he scratches at you again, the delicious edge of his nails scoring into your folds, clawing at your clit. And scream you do.

“Better,” he praises in his silken voice. “But you know better than to hold back from me, my treasure,” his voice rumbles into your own chest. His hand slips from your legs, wet fingers pressing in between your lips. You suck them clean of your own slick before he even can command you. The groan from his grinning mouth is reward and encouragement enough to continue. “You tortured me, you know, your mouth offering me worship as the riff raff prattled on. I never dreamed to be so worthy of a consort, a queen, as ravishing as you.”

His words alone make you come, let alone the way his hand now slinks into the cut of your dress, your breasts freed as he works them. Lips descend upon them the instant he sees their pale fullness, their straining nipples. And you give him a low throated groan of pleasure.

You are at his mercy, nowhere to go, only to lose yourself in the punishing reward he has in store for you. Pressed by his cold, unyielding body and pinned by his ever-increasing power. He begins to slink down your belly, you breath catching as the safety of his chest, his arms, his whole self leaves you splayed upside down on the ceiling to nestle between your legs.

“One greedy turn deserves another, my love,” he croons, fingers already returning to your folds to slicken them and spread them. “I have feasted already, but not on anything half as divine as you…”

Oh, that tongue, so silken and honeyed in his words, so incessant and demanding in your own honeyed cunt. Your hands reach for his head, those silver curls soft and stubborn as you grip him tight. Just like him.

You ride his licks, bucking on his fingers as they stoke deeper and deeper still. But it won’t satisfy. Not yet.

“Please,” you beg, reduced to a whimper. Words catching inaudible in your throat.

“What was that, darling? I can’t hear you….” He glances up for the smallest second. Enough to flash his crimson eyes at you with all the mischief and lust that drives you wild.

“Please, Astarion,” you whine louder. “Please, take me.”

But he only laughs into your mound, fangs scraping against your folds as he grins wide. “Come now, I expect better, my love,” he ends his silken chastisement with a run of his tongue up your whole seam.

“Argh,” you cry, “Astarion, please… I can’t anymore… pretty please….” Your begging pours from your lips, trying to pull his head over you, to bring him back, to satisfy the craving that rages to have him on you. And in you. “Fuck me, please….”

Instantly, he covers you, his hand pressing into your belly, the snap of leather laces unwinding.

“Better,” he purrs into your mouth, “keep up the good work, darling, and you’ll drip with my seed for the rest of this godsforsaken party.”

Then, he fills you to bursting, burying that long shaft of his deep into you with one stroke.

You mewl, hips rising to take him all. Your hands grip into his shoulders, pulling him tightly to you, as if you can’t get enough of him inside your body. His hunger burns as brightly, his mouth devouring you again, snapping shut on your lips and cutting his fangs into your kiss. Your blood tingles the tip of your tongue as it dances with his. His thrusts are deep, deliberately, ensuring you feel every inch of him dragging and pulling through your walls. Every thrust, every clench of his ass and every dip of his tongue is meant to drive you into oblivion with him. But it’s not enough. Not yet. Not after he left you burning for him for so long.

You clutch him in your thighs, digging the heels of your slippers into the backs of his legs. You feel him smiling wickedly, his thrusts picking up the pace until it is punishing, the loud slap of his flesh into yours is deafened only by the constant keening that comes from your throat. You writhe, you flutter. Back arching and thighs shaking for more. Always more.

He slows his pace, lifting from your body, eyes drinking in the glorious sight splayed beneath his body and wrapped around his cock. “Such beautiful sounds, better than the dribble the bards churn out,” he preens, eyes half veiled, his tongue licking the rest of your blood that trickles from the corner of your mouth. “But I think you can do better than that yet, my treasure…”

“You want them to know…” you growl, it is not a question. “Want them to…”

“Of course, darling. I want everyone to look at your beauty and know only I will ever bury myself up to my balls in you.” He flashes his teeth, taking you all the deeper until you feel him slam against the end of your channel. “And I want them to know that you, my dark…” he thrusts agonizingly slowly, “beautiful…” again, deeper this time, “treasured consort, are the only one I will ever take for my own.”

He pants, his silken praises weaving that web of bliss, riding you past the edge of your senses for that wall of climax. It tears through you, splitting you in two, into a million shattered, moaning pieces as you come.

You feel his body grow rigid in time with yours, his hips gyrating with irregular rhythm. His own voice a deafening growl above you, his lips sneering back, his eyes half-lidded as he watches your own waves of orgasm rend you apart.

He stills above you, your body weightless, limp. You groan to feel him pull that intoxicating fullness from your folds. Your world tilts on its axis, held by nothing but the iron embrace of his arms, your body floating back to the ground.

Feet resting on the floor. His cum dripping down your thighs. You steady yourself against him, and you feel his breath in your hair, a kiss on your temple. You shake, unable to move… to speak… to think straight. His hands fix you, slipping your breasts back inside the black of your dress, tugging your skits and flouncing them. His eyes scrutinize without mercy. Ensuring you look every bit his perfect, desirable consort before he tends to his own vanity.

“Very… good,” he comments, his praise warmed by the rasping honey of his voice. “No more surprises, then, my love. Not until I can bed you properly once this is all through.”

“May I?” You smirk, raising on your toes, as if to place a kiss on his smirking cheek.

He eyes you, looking down in lustful approval, cocking his head with that mischievous smirk twitching his lips. “You’re… not asking for a kiss, are you?”

“Close your eyes and find out…” you whisper, craning your neck closer as you lick your lips.

He laughs low and slowly, clutching you against him, the slight angle of his head brings that strong, pale column of his neck to brush your lips. And you bite, just enough to bring a mouthful of his blood to coat your tongue.

You moan as you drink, the slight pressure of his hand woven into your hair, cradling you as you feed, it makes your body arch with need again. You can taste his pleasure, a rich bouquet of sated and unsated desire, a hint of obsession and love mingling with the rich blossom of his power. You feel it filling your body, tingling through the pit of your stomach and wetting your thighs again. Licking his wounds one more time, you hum, a sound of pleasure as his mouth descends on yours. His tongue caresses over every crevice of your mouth, consuming the drops of his blood, stealing them back with unquenchable hunger.

“You are delicious, every time,” he rasps into your mouth, “especially when your tongue tastes of… us.” His fingers grip your chin, tilting your face to look into his, the fog of your ecstacy beginning to clear as you stare into those pleasured, crimson eyes. “Hold your head high, my beautiful queen,” he purrs into your mouth. “Try not to smile too much as you struggle to walk from the sound fucking I just granted you…”

“Of course,” you dip a small curtesy, reaching for his proffered hand, “my king.”

His smile of approval, his whisper of “my love,” warms your belly more than his blood, more than his cum seeping down your thighs.

Music crescendos as you reenter, the crowd’s eyes flit away, the festivities still going strong, as he leads you towards the dancing.

He wants them all to see you, your mouth bloodied, his neck still wounded from your own feeding. He wants you to walk, unsteady and swaying your hips, hips he fucked, loudly and mercilessly for them all to hear.

His arms sweep around you as you move in patterned steps, lilting to the music. And even as all eyes gaze upon you, you don’t care. Can’t care. Not as long as that rakish smile and roguish stare is only on you.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Part 1: Welcome me…

Part 2: Cleanse me…

[astarionfreak]

Right now, you're mine

Words have been difficult lately so here's a quickie before bed. I bring you some lyrics from Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage presented as a 1K word Astarion x Fem!Reader smut (oral sex, bondage, possessive Astarion, Tav's a good girl) Song lyrics are bolded:

“Are you still comfortable, darling?” Astarion says, walking around you to check his work.

You nod. You’re on your knees and completely naked, save for the ropes that Astarion elaborately bound you with. His fingers were quick, and gentle, sapping up your warmth as he worked.

This was your idea, but after a few days Astarion seemed even more excited about it than you. He’d even practiced with the ropes quite diligently. As it turns out, he was a quick study.

“Good. And you remember the safe words we agreed upon?” He bends down to your eye level. There’s something more than just lust in his crimson eyes, there’s excitement — and — gods, love. All this time and his love for you still has not faded. Nor has your love for him.

Your arms are bound behind your back, knees on the floor, legs spread. You nod again. “Red to stop. Yellow to slow down.”

“Good girl.” Astarion stands, towering over you. He’s been shirtless for some time, but his trousers have remained on. “And if your mouth is . . . occupied?”

“I’ll use my teeth,” you tease.

“You absolutely will not use your teeth.” Astarion balks at the idea, and stares down at you with just the slightest hint of horror on his face. 

“I let you use your teeth on me all the time, Astarion. How is this any different?” You are aware that this is very different.

“My . . . member is not something to bite. An agreed upon nibble perhaps, but certainly no biting.”

“If your cock is in my mouth and I want to stop, I will grunt three times in a row. You'll know.”

“Thank you. That is much better. Now, where were we? Oh, yes.” He smiles, it's that same roguish grin that you’d fall for a hundred times. “You look so good, down there on your knees.”

You bite down on your lower lip, heart slamming against your chest, as you stare up at him. You are his, for tonight — and for as long as he’ll keep you. Unable to move. “Use my mouth now, please, Astarion.” Your pleading comes out as barely a whisper.

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you,” he teases.

You swallow thickly. “Use my mouth, please. I won’t bite, I swear.”

He laughs, flashing you his fangs. “Such a good girl, surely you know how to please.”

His palm meets your cheek and his thumb presses against your lips and into your mouth. His thumb is salty, calloused, and warm from your skin.

You stifle a moan as he pushes it down against your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut and you suck, diligently, a promise of what you can offer to more intimate places.

You graze his thumb with your teeth, still teasing. Always teasing. But he trusts you and you trust him. Completely.

Your eyes are still closed as you listen to him work his trousers down and free his cock. The thought of him claiming your mouth sends a spark of desire through your body. A moan rolls up your throat and is muffled by his thumb.

Just when you’re starting to feel impatient, Astarion speaks. His voice is rough and coated in lust, “Look at me, look me in the eyes, my love.” He removes his thumb from your mouth.

When you open your eyes you’re greeted with his cock, so close to your face. Your mouth is open, wide, and wanting. You follow the path of his hips, his abdomen, his chest, to finally meet his eyes.

“If you obey my next command, I just might give you a treat.” Astarion tangles his fingers in your hair, he holds his cock with his free hand. You pull against his grip, trying to move closer — always closer — you want him. You need him.

His soft cock slides into your mouth with no resistance. You open wide for him, taking him as best you can. Like the good girl you are.

"Gods, that mouth of yours," Astarion whimpers. "It could destroy a man."

It has, you think but can't say. You whimper around his width. His fingers in your hair help guide your head to slowly bob along his length. He tastes like him. Like home. A taste that’s as sweet as every sin you’ve ever claimed and every crime you’ll ever commit.

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. The heat in your core, your desire for him, deepens. You know he can smell it, your arousal. This is something you’ve done countless times before. He knows your limits. He knows how much of him you can take before it’s too much.

He groans softly, hips thrusting as he pushes deeper into your mouth. Until his cock is hard, and wet from your saliva. Until you can taste pre-cum as he bumps against the back of your throat.

“Forget yourself,” he groans. “Surrender your mind. Right now, you’re mine. All mine.”

Drool drips from your mouth, slides down your chin. You’re a mess, for him. His mess. His. All his.

I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours.

A particularly rough thrust and you gag around him. But it’s good. Delicious. Your jaw aches, but you want this. You need to please him.

You breathe when he allows you to, gasping with wide, teary eyes whenever his cock isn’t filling your mouth.

He's close. You can hear it in his moans, that familiar softness, the need for you.

He’s so fucking close.

You moan wantonly around his cock the next time he thrusts into you. You pay attention to your tongue, licking when you can — swirling when you find that spot that elicits the most debouched of moans from him.

"That feels -- hells, you feel so good," he chokes out.

You know his body just as well as you know your own, perhaps even better. It’s not long before he’s lost. Cock twitching in your mouth, thrusts losing their rhythm as he spills across your tongue and down your throat.

"Such a good girl. Gods. I love you." Astarion watches you with a reverent expression.

He untangles his fingers from your hair and stumbles slightly, staring down at you — his crimson eyes dark and hazy in the afterglow of his orgasm. You swallow, drinking down every last drop. Like the good girl you are.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

you’ve already done the mechanical bull hcs, but i’d really like to see them in drabble form (not sure if repeat requests for different formats are allowed, feel free to ignore if not ^_^）

The Arcana Drabbles: M6 vs Mechanical Bull

"... is she okay?"

"Who?"

Muriel gestures to the other side of the bar, where Portia approaches the ring for the eleventh time. Her freckles stand out against her paling face as she wipes the sweat from her forehead and climbs onto the mechanical bull. You burrow further back into the comfort of the corner booth you're hiding in.

"Oh. I ... I don't know."

Your fellow hider turns to look down at you with a frown. "Shouldn't we check on her?"

You look back up at him with a sly smile. "Did you mean 'we' should check on her or 'I' should check on her?"

He blushes and turns back to his soda. Asra giggles in the seat across from you, nearing the bottom of their disconcertingly bright blue cocktail and clearly beginning to feel it. It's the only drink he's had so far tonight, but he's always been a lightweight.

"Way to call you out, hmmmmmmMuriel?"

"Shut up. You're tipsy."

"And having a marvelous time, thank you very much."

Nadia clears her throat. "I don't see an immediate need to secure her well-being. Portia has an indomitable spirit that is not easily crossed. Besides," she samples another mouthful of the fine white wine she's ordered a bottle of, "her older brother seems to have all the fussing taken care of for the night."

You peek out at the bar from the Introvert Table again, and sure enough, Julian's standing at the edge of the ring, yelling at her in a language you've only heard him swear in as she gets bucked off for the nth time.

"Pasha, please!"

"Don't you dare try to stop me, Ilya!"

"That can't be good for you!" He's fussing over her as she lets the next patron take their turn, bending down to close the height difference so he can peer at her pupils. "You've already thrown up twice!"

"Twice? HAH!"

Your three boothmates sink their heads into their hands with a groan at the sound of a loud, fireball-confident voice.

"I bet up I could throw up three times!"

Nadia snorts into her glass. Asra lies down on their padded bench in a fit of giggles. Muriel, stone sober, watches with increasing dread as the three extroverts make their way back to your table.

"Oh yeah? Well I've been on that damn thing TWELVE TIMES!" Portia's voice is loud and increasingly thick with her accent as she yells back. "Let's see you hang on for more than half a second!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!

"Wait -!"

Julian's frantic voice cuts through the argument as he hustles Portia into the booth, where she promptly takes a seat on Asra's legs. He pauses for a moment, assessing the people in front of him, and then adopts his characteristic roguish grin when he makes eye contact with you.

"Why stop at just the two of you? I say we all take a spin on the mechanical beast."

Muriel and Nadia frown in unison. "No."

Asra pulls his legs out from under his seatmate and drapes himself over Muriel's shoulder with a mischievous smirk you know all too well.

"C'mon, why not? It could be fun. We didn't come all the way out here to sit in the corner. Let's try opening our minds to something new, hmm?"

Nadia sighs and sets down her goblet. "Very well. If this is, truly, what you do for fun, I'd be remiss to remain narrow-minded."

"That's the spirit!" Julian grins while Lucio lets out an enthusiastic whoop. You turn to where Muriel's gripping his soda, frowning at the ring.

"... feels too much like animal cruelty. I'm not doing it." He glances down at you guiltily and flushes. "But I guess I'll come watch."

"Hell yeah!" Portia pops up from the table, miraculously rejuvenated. "Let's do this thing!"

Several pairs of hands reach out to pull you up from your seat, and before you know it, you're standing at the ringside. Portia insists on taking her thirteenth try, landing on the mats in under three seconds, before allowing your friend group to proceed.

Julian goes first, too hyped up on the atmosphere to get a steady grip, and gets spun around and promptly flung off in less than a second. There's a moment of tense silence where he looks like he's about to lose his stomach, but he gets his round of applause when he rights himself unsteadily with a rakish grin. He does lean just a little heavily on your shoulder for the rest of the night.

Portia climbs on, again, and gets flung off, again, marking her fourteenth time.

Asra hops into the fray next. You'd almost think they weren't trying with how casually they sling a leg over the seat and slouch back, until the machine makes its first wild buck and they roll along with it with a smirk. He manages to hang on for a full five seconds before a particularly vicious spin sends him tumbling onto the mats.

"Nadi, you should go next!" They're hanging happily off both of your shoulders, laughing up at your elegant friend and holding out a shot. Nadia glances at Portia getting flung off for the fifteenth time and stiffly accepts the small glass. She fortifies herself twice more before walking determinedly into the ring and mounting the machine.

It takes less than half a second. She tips forward, hair flying, designer heels arcing through the air before she lands flat on her back with a thud that knocks the wind out of her lungs. You rush over to her in a hurry with her concerned friends.

"Nadia, are you okay?"

"Quite fine, my darlings, quite fine, I assure you -"

To your relief, she's giggling from the rush of it, and very happy to join the snuggle pile hanging from your shoulders with her hair in disarray.

Portia goes, again, and gets flung off, again, marking sixteen times.

"It's about time I showed you all how it's done!" Lucio leans unsteadily into your space with a sharp grin. "If I win, do I get a kiss?"

Asra pipes up from one of your shoulders. "How about, if you win, I don't tell MC about the confetti incident?"

Lucio flinches back reflexively and barks with laughter. "Good luck trying to prove it happened! I don't even remember that night!"

The three friends leaning on you burst into disbelieving giggles as he swaggers into the pen and plonks himself unceremoniously onto the seat. You watch him as he wraps his arms and legs around the machine, clinging to it manically as it whirs to life.

He looks like he's going to go flying off with every movement, but each time his body goes airborne, he somehow manages to scrabble back on and get a grip before the next lurch. Much to your surprise, he manages to hang on for a whole nine seconds.

"HAH! Take THAT!"

Nadia graces him with a rare smile. "I suppose MC won't be finding out about the confetti incident, then."

Julian turns to look at her quizzically. "What confetti incident?"

You look at the blonde in front of you. "Well?"

Lucio slouches and pouts. "I don't know. Like I said, I don't remember."

Just as you're about to question your informant further, you hear an ecstatic whoop behind you. When you turn around it's to Portia launching at you and tackling you in a hug.

"I won!"

"You won?"

"I broke the bar record!" She squeezes you triumphantly and then turns to the gathered crowd. "Drinks are on her!!"

Nadia stares wide-eyed at the finger Portia points at her. Julian whoops at the generous promise, clearly unnerved by Muriel's unmoving frown behind him. Lucio completely disregards the announcement, still trying to pester what the confetti incident was out of an elusive Asra. Well, you think, at least they've forgotten about trying to make me do it.

[trohpi]

killerqueen microfic [cross-posted on ao3]

@marauders-rarepair-fics • september 18: dragon • 996 words • CW: age gap (barty is 18, sirius is 22)

“Why, Sir Black,” Barty drawls, sleazy grin just as crooked and bloodied as his freshly broken nose. His eyes slowly trail down the length of Sirius’ armour before darting back up, uncanny green meeting steely grey. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Sirius ignores the flutter in his chest and takes his helmet off, tucking it under his arm as he shakes his hair out. He levels an unimpressed look at the boy on the floor. “I would ask if there’s something wrong with you, Lord Crouch, but I already know the answer to that particular question.”

“And I would say ‘Lord Crouch’ is my father, but I’m afraid ‘Barty’ is also my father so it appears I’m rather short on options.” The younger pointedly tugs at the binds around his wrists. “Now, if you would be so kind as to untie me, darling.”

“Yes, please do,” Rosmerta, the old barmaid who is the reason why Sirius came all the way here with Padfoot in the first place, says with a huff. She shoots a look at the knight that would put the fear of death in Magic herself. “Escort that scoundrel the Viscount calls a son out of my tavern. Now, please.”

“Of course, Madam,” Sirius says with his signature polished high-born smile while he grips Barty by the upper arm and yanks him to his feet. The abrupt movement pulls at his bound wrists and he grimaces, recoiling with protests on his lips. A warning kick to the back of his leg cuts him off.

“I apologise for him,” Sirius continues smoothly, ignoring the slight indignant squawk from Barty. Rosmerta watches on with a raised brow, expression somehow both amused and exasperated. “He lacks good form, despite his noble upbringing.”

“As if you were any better at his age,” she says dryly. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the mischief you and Potter got up to. Would still be getting up to if his father wasn’t passing on the crown soon.”

“Oh, you know you miss us, Roz,” Sirius says, voice slipping from the courtly tone he’d put on to something more roguish and playful. The older woman rolls her eyes.

“I can assure you I do not, Mister Black. My tavern is far better off without spoiled youths starting fights within its walls.” She shoots a pointed look at Barty, who flashes her a shameless grin in lieu of a reply. Sirius has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back an inappropriate snort. Shockingly, his little brother’s annoying best friend can occasionally be funny.

Only occasionally, though. He still gets under Sirius’ skin like no other, and most of the time their interactions are thick with tension. James says it’s because they’re so similar, and that they would most certainly get along if they spent more than five minutes together without picking a fight. Sirius dutifully ignores him.

He clears his throat and puts his helmet back on. “Right, well, apologies again. We’ll be on our way.”

“You’d best be,” Rosmerta warns before leaving the corner of the tavern she’d banished Barty to, tied like a prisoner while she waited for someone to collect him.

She’d contacted the palace looking for Regulus, but James— the traitor— had taken his brother out for the day and refused to allow Sirius to come with. Teasingly said he could manage without his knight for a few hours, and if anything were to genuinely happen, well. Regulus could handle it with his magic.

Perks of being Blessed, Sirius had thought sardonically. You can publicly court your brother’s princely best friend without needing said brother’s protection.

Sirius makes quick work of the ropes on the young Lord’s wrists and drags him outside, into the bustling streets of Hogsmeade, the outermost village in the kingdom.

“What is the matter with you?” he hisses as they make their way through the crowd, periodically shooting a charming smile at the townsfolk who stop and stare. “Starting tavern brawls? Seriously?”

Barty rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend you care, darling. We’re not friends. Don’t you have your precious Prince Potter to be guarding, or whatever it is you two do?”

“Stop calling me darling,” Sirius shoots back, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks. “And James is with Reggie, so it seems you’re stuck with me. You’re lucky I didn’t just leave you there when Rosmerta called.”

“Oh, lucky me. The handsome Sir Black came to save the damsel in distress. However may I repay him?” Barty faux-swoons into his side. Sirius bites his tongue.

“Padfoot’s just over here,” he says instead of the acerbic reply he’d wanted to, tugging Barty through an alley away from the throng.

“And you left your dragon here, why?

“Well, it’s not like she can fit in the streets,” he huffs as they round the corner and catch sight of her.

Padfoot’s magnificent, her iridescent black scales shimmering softly where the sun hits her. She’s curled up like a cat in the empty backstreet, massive head resting on a pile of old crates like a pillow. Big yellow eyes blink sleepily at their approach, only to widen when she sees who they are. Padfoot chirps happily and clambors upright, exhaling a soft puff of smoke.

“Hello, love,” Sirius croons, letting Barty go in favour of running his hand along her side. Her dense body begins to rumble with crackling purrs.

With a heavy clang, Sirius carefully undoes the chain around her back leg and double checks the fastens on the saddle.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “Hop on. Do be careful, though. Padfoot is known to have an appetite for insufferably gauche bastards.”

“Why, I wonder how you’ve evaded being eaten this long, then,” Barty comments lightly.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Crouch.”

“Make me, Black,” Barty grins, a mixture of mirth, enmity, and some third thing Sirius can’t quite name swimming in those striking green eyes. Sirius swallows, throat dry.

“Just get on the damned dragon.”

[sophie1973]

Seven Several sentence Sunday

I was tagged over the last few days by @onthewaytosomewhere @stellarm @magicandarchery @firenati0n @anincompletelist and

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf (just wow)

Haven't posted in a week but I come bearing gifts with two snippets, the first from chapter 3 of my WIP Bloodstream, and the other from a angsty but mostly very fluffy oneshot I just posted a few minutes ago called 'I choose you and me (religiously)'.

Everything and tags under the cut

So here he is now, at the backdoor, eagerly waiting amongst a few other people for Arthur to appear, exchange a few words, and even - if Alex is lucky - shake his hand. He is surprised there is not a bigger crowd, but well, all the better for him to maybe get a few extra minutes with the great actor. Discreetly, he wipes his damp palms on his pants. The door opens, and Arthur appears, all golden hair and a roguish grin. Alex has never been sold on the eternal life schtick, but if it allowed him to live an extra 40 years to enjoy this moment, it was probably worth it. He stays back at the end of the line, thinking that this way if he’s last, he might have a few extra minutes with the actor.  When it’s finally his turn, Arthur greets him with a firm handshake and a dazzling smile, asking for his name. It takes all of Alex’s strength not to giggle like a virgin debutante.

And the second one

The last few days have been incredible. Hours of blissful happiness, lounging in the sun, napping to the sound of the mockingbirds singing, and Henry’s eyes laughing, as blue as the Texan summer sky. Today, the sun hurts Alex’s eyes, the birds' song is loud and obnoxious, the sky is still the same color as Henry’s eyes, and it feels terribly wrong. Henry left. Realization hits him like a tidal wave, and a whimper is ripped out of his throat, turning into a sob, and he crumples, holding his chest, a sudden pain so visceral and unlike he’s ever felt before, a gaping wound as big as the ocean that now sits between them.

No pressure tag for those who tagged me initially, as well as @theprinceandagcd @inexplicablymine @piratefalls @underthefigtree777 @pridepages

@orchidscript @happiness-of-the-pursuit @ash-morrison @fckngyrs

@tintagel-or-cockleshells @itsmaybitheway @anchoredarchangel

[cocoabubbelle]

Going on that whole pet name post of yours:

Scott and Rogue staying up late - could be going over mission reports cuz it’s their turn for it or maybe a late night study session since their both in College/University now (Rogue’s a Freshman and Scott’s a Sophomore) - and shit it’s late!

Rogue: *winces at seeing the clock* “Well shit…” *nudges Scott who laid his head down for a bit* “Sugah, wake up and let’s go ta bed. Ah’m goin’ cross-eyed here and your askin’ for a stiff neck in the mornin’ if ya stay lahke that.”

Scott: *muffled groan in his arms, gets up with her, and stretches before covering a yawn* “Yeah,” *yawns* “good call, Honey. I’m beat and bed sounds way too good right now.”

*He makes to leave the room with her, but pauses when she’s not coming with. He turns and sees she’s just standing there with a surprised yet thoughtful look on her face.*

“Wait… Did ya just call me Honey?”

“Uhh yeah - no good?”

*she hums, shrugs, and walks up to lean into him a bit.* “Nah… just… never thought Ah’d evah be a ‘Honey’

Scott draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked out the study, Rogue flicking the lights off. “Really?” He asked. He opened his mouth to say more, but quickly closed it. Rogue noticed, but said nothing. She patiently waited as they made their way up the stairs. Finally, as they entered their hallway, Scott cleared his throat, lowering his voice to a…nervous(?)…whisper.

“So…Remy…never called you Honey?”

A-ha. So that was it. Rogue tried to keep a straight face, but the way Scott’s ears turned pink and his lower lip almost pouted told her she had failed. Grinning, she shook her head. “Nope. But if he did…” she playfully nudged her boyfriend’s side, making him choke on a surprised laugh that almost escaped him when she grazed a ticklish part, “would that’a made ya jealous, Summers, knowin’ my ex called me Honey before you did???”

Scott scoffed and shrugged. “*Right, me? Jealous of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Cajun who just so happens to be really—what’s the word?”

“Charmin’? Handsome? Roguish?”

“Oh yes.”

His deadpan response was what made Rogue burst out laughing, and they both rushed into the bathroom before they accidentally woke anyone up.

Inside, they both gasped for air as their bodies shook from laughter. Scott slid the box of tissues towards his girlfriend, and she pulled out a few to dab at the tears of mirth making streaks in her makeup. She sat herself upon the countertop, pondering Scott’s question, before counting out her fingers. “With Rem, it was mostly ‘Cherie,’ his ‘Lil’ River Rat’ on special occasions, and just ‘Rogue.’ Never ‘Honey.’”

“Ah.”

Scott folded his arms and leaned on his elbows on the counter, facing the mirror, right next to her against the counter. He looked at her for permission, then rested his head along her arm when she nodded. Rogue placed her gloved hand next to his, their fingers grazing.

“…what about Jean?” She ventured, softly.

Scott thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “She made it clear when we began dating that she wasn’t a fan of any couple-related nicknames. Thought they were cute, but old fashioned.” He looked up at Rogue with a bittersweet smile. “If she were still here and had heard me call you ‘Honey’, there would have been no end to her teasing.”

For a moment, Rogue was able to imagine the red-headed Marvel Girl there: accidentally eavesdropping on them while making sure they weren’t pulling an all nighter on their study session, scolding Scott for being so cheesy while laughing and embracing Rogue. She bit her lip as an extra tear escaped her eye, and hugged Scott. They held each other in silence, forgetting or uncaring that the current hour was shortening a comfortable night’s rest. Only when they heard some shuffling of one of the younger students exiting their bedroom did they reluctantly part and sneak out the bathroom before the student could bump into them. Scott walked Rogue to her door, and she turned to him after she opened it.

“…she wouldn’t have minded if Ah disagreed with her.” She finally said. “Ah don’ mind being a ‘Honey,’” she brushed his hair away from his shades, “if ah’m your Honey.”

After a lengthy pause, Scott reached up his hand to hold hers against his cheek, before giving a soft goodnight—er, eaaaaaaarly morning— kiss into her palm. “Alright…Honey…” he whispered, a tad shyly. …Rogue fought back the urge to reach up and kiss him square on the lips, as she was too tired to summon reasonable control over her mutation. So, she resigned herself to simply giving him an extra snuggly hug, rememorizing his gentle heartbeat, before retreating into her room.

Before she closed the door, Scott paused its path to the doorframe with his hand and frowned incredulously at her. “Hold on. Remy called you a River Rat? On special occasions???”

Rogue grinned and gently pushed his hand back out. “Anotha’ story for anotha’ time, Sugah. Now go ta bed.” She winked and shut the door.

[trulybetty]

Ooo, we’ve got another instalment! I’m a day behind in my reading, but I’m so forward to this.

I don’t know much about our next Pedro boy, but I know it’s going to be as delicious as the last three!

You glance towards the door to see if you can spot the source of the commotion and see a tall, proud looking, man closing it behind himself.

Oh hello! He knows how to make an introduction, that’s for sure!

no, it’s not healthy just because it contains peanuts

*pauses while shoving millionaires bars in my mouth* Wait, what?

“Please, my lady, I would be offended if you insisted on waiting behind me.”  He has an accent that you can’t place, vaguely Mediterranean maybe, and clearly very good manners. 

*sigh* he’s a gentleman - what did our friend Whiskey say?

“But Mrs Pike’s son is single, recently divorced, I’ll make sure she sends him here to buy something, he’s such a lovely boy.” 

Eeee! Let’s hope for someone’s sake he doesn’t come looking for doughnuts 🍩😆

At your words you see his mouth quirk in a wicked grin and his eyes wander over as much of you as he can see behind the counter. Ordinarily you’d be somewhat offended by such blatant staring but…considering your own struggle to not gawk at him, if feels admissible.

I’m melting into my chair and we’ve barely started.

“I have this,” he says, pulling a bottle of wine from the satchel he has hanging at his side, “it’s cold and delicious on this warm day, but I would like to have something to eat with it. And I saw that you have these,” he points to one of the bags of lemon and almond biscotti in your display case.

He brought wine? This man knows the way to my heart.

“Dorne is a beautiful country, warm, much warmer than here, surrounded by turquoise blue ocean, white beaches and fragrant lemon groves,”

I want to go there. I want to go there and drink wine and eat biscotti. 

“The biscuits are to be dipped in the wine, to soak up its delicious flavor and blend with the sweetness.” 

Okay, writing this down. Because when I make this biscotti, I better have some wine on hand if I don’t have some prince knocking on my door with a bottle.

With a small smirk he puts the biscuit in his mouth, closing his soft looking lips around it, sucking lightly while he lets his eyes linger on you.

Just a moment please.

His eyes finally leave yours, only to very slowly move down to your lips, holding his gaze there for several seconds before he looks back up again. His face transforms into a more roguish smile and he drops his hands from your face, moving to pick up another biscotti and dipping it into the wine. 

Is it hot in here?

But he doesn’t bite it in half, instead he leans forward and closes his lips around your fingertips, his tongue licking at them as he takes the whole thing into his mouth. It’s warm and wet around your fingers and he gently sucks on them as he pulls back, a low hum escaping his throat.

I’m going to need another moment, please.

Without knowing how you got there, you find yourself sitting on his lap, his hand finding your thigh and pulling your leg over. When he puts his hands on your hips and slides your body closer to his, your mind goes blank and you moan into his mouth.

*hyperventilates* 

He opens the front door and steps through it, before turning and smiling back at you, “And I’ll keep your delicious moans even closer on lonely nights.” 

Jeeeesus… any chance I can get the address for this bakery? For the biscotti of course… yeah, biscotti… 😳

Wowza, what a great update to this series Mel! It just keeps getting better and better! Even if you’re not really familiar with Oberyn (no never read anything on him like me), this is a true delight to read and as buttery and sweet as that wine and biscotti, yum!

Looking forward to the next update!

A Baker's Dozen - Four

Hello!

I kinda figured you all would like Joel's visit to the bakery! Handy man Joel with his green plaid flannel shirt and tool belt... 🥰

This week's Pedro boy is actually forcing me to adjust the warning level, things get a bit spicier than usual with this one around and I think you'll understand when you see who it is....

Series Master List

The little bakery is buzzing with customers this warm summer evening, you’re serving everyone as fast as possible, cursing the stomach bug that had put the kid who worked extra out of commission for the week. As you ring up two slices of lemon meringue pie for Mrs Callahan from down the street, you notice the buzz increasing in the shop, almost like a wave of excitement. You glance towards the door to see if you can spot the source of the commotion and see a tall, proud looking, man closing it behind himself. His rich yellow jacket is all you have time to notice before you’re pulled back to Mrs Jones asking about the amount of sugar in the Millionaire’s Shortbread (a lot, you assure her, no, it’s not healthy just because it contains peanuts). 

You lose track of the stranger as you work your way through the long line, finally looking up to realize he’s the only one left in the shop, except for little Mrs Levinson who is just stepping through the door. The man gallantly takes a step back and indicates with his outstretched hand that she should be served before him. 

“Please, my lady, I would be offended if you insisted on waiting behind me.” 

He has an accent that you can’t place, vaguely Mediterranean maybe, and clearly very good manners. Mrs Levinson gives him a pleased smile and steps up to the counter to buy her regular weekend dark rye loaf, six chocolate chip cookies and one whole apple and cinnamon crumb coffee cake. 

“The grandchildren are visiting on Sunday, and they love your cookies, dear,” she informs you, “the mother just doesn’t know how to bake, why my son married a woman who can’t cook or bake I will never understand.”

“I’m sure she has many other good qualities and skills, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, this is a weekly complaint. 

“He should’ve married you, dear, how you are still single is beyond me, such a talented girl in the kitchen,” she pats your hand as she hands over her purse for you to count out what she owes. “But Mrs Pike’s son is single, recently divorced, I’ll make sure she sends him here to buy something, he’s such a lovely boy.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, but I don’t need to be set up, I barely have time to run this bakery, I don’t have time for dating.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find time, my dear,” she winks at you and gives the dark haired man behind her another wink as she turns to leave. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say to him as the door closes behind Mrs Levinson. 

“No trouble, my lady, I was more than delighted to enjoy the view of such a talented girl,” he says with a confident smile, sauntering over towards the counter. 

Now that he’s not hidden by the crowd you can see that he is in fact wearing a long robe, reaching down below his knees. But that’s not where your eyes are drawn, instead you find yourself actively trying not to stare at the deep v of bare, tan skin visible where his robe sits open, adorned by an expensive looking necklace. You pull your eyes up to his face, putting on your customer smile, and mentally slapping yourself. 

“What can I help you with today, sir?” 

At your words you see his mouth quirk in a wicked grin and his eyes wander over as much of you as he can see behind the counter. Ordinarily you’d be somewhat offended by such blatant staring but…considering your own struggle to not gawk at him, if feels admissible.

“I’m sure you can help me with a great many things, my lady,” he says, the lilt in his voice fitting his strange clothes, and the double meaning isn’t lost on you. You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. 

“Really?” you challenge, “And what else but baked goods do you enter a bakery for?” 

“Depends on the girl, or the woman, working in the bakery,” he smirks, “when the lady of the bakery is as beautiful as you, I’d like to buy a great many other things than her cakes.” 

This line makes you roll your eyes so far back into your head you think they might get stuck there. 

“You really think coming into a bakery and suggesting prostitution to the woman who works there is going to win you any favors?” 

Now it’s the man’s turn to raise his eyebrows and look surprised for a moment, then he bends his head, bowing deeply to you. 

“My lady, I did not wish to offend you at all, I was not suggesting that I would buy any such services from you. Rather I was, badly I’m sure, suggesting that I would like to buy such a beautiful lady gifts, rather than just buying her cakes.” 

He looks up at you, his handsome face giving you an apologetic smile, “Please, truly, I did not mean to offend you.” 

“Alright, I believe you for now,” you reply, accepting his apology with a slight scowl, “So what can I help you with? In the baked goods department,” you emphasize, waving over towards the display cases. 

“I have this,” he says, pulling a bottle of wine from the satchel he has hanging at his side, “it’s cold and delicious on this warm day, but I would like to have something to eat with it. And I saw that you have these,” he points to one of the bags of lemon and almond biscotti in your display case. “They remind me of the small cakes we have back in my city, Sunspear. Will you please let me buy a bag of them?”

“Of course,” you reply, reaching for the biscotti, “Anything else?” 

“An hour of your company?” he says, smoothly, with a smile, “But I won’t offer to pay for it, just beg that you will join me with this wine, and your lovely cakes, as a small apology for offending you.” 

You look at the man standing on the other side of the counter. His confident smirk has been replaced by an apologetic smile, his arms outstretched as if he’s holding himself open for you to review and decide upon. You glance at the clock on the wall, fifteen minutes to closing but the foot traffic outside on the street has trickled down to nothing, everyone is on their way home to enjoy the last of the warm sunshine. It won’t be the end of the world if you close up a few minutes early today. And this man does intrigue you, with his accent and his strange clothes. 

“Ok, fine,” you say, “An hour, but I have no wine glasses.” 

“My sweet lady of the bakery, I’m sure I will survive without glasses, as long as I have your company to keep me distracted,” he winks at you and his demeanor changes back into confidence once again as you wave him behind the counter.

“C’mon then, we can sit out back, but only on the stairs I’m afraid.” 

“I have sat on much worse in my days, I assure you,” he chuckles, “even a prince of Dorne can’t expect to sit only on feather pillows every hour of his life.” 

“You’re a prince?” you ask but it really doesn’t surprise you. He looks every bit like a prince from some exotic country you’ve never heard of. 

“Prince Oberyn Martell, my lady,” he says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “It is my pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise, I’m sure,” you smirk, his over the top chivalry is making your inner rebel come out, and you gladly direct him to the somewhat crumbling back stairs, fishing a bottle opener out of a drawer on the way. Drinking wine from the bottle on the back stairs, overlooking the trash cans and patchy grass that lines the dingy alley behind your bakery, is probably not something a prince usually does. 

Oberyn is looking around the area outside the door as you bring the bottle opener and the biscotti. 

“Wait a moment,” he says, holding up his hand to you before he unbuckles the belt that’s holding his robe together, and dropping it on the ground. He shrugs out of the robe and shakes it out, spreading the luxurious looking fabric out over the steps and then holding out his hand for you. 

“Please, my lady,” he says, “it will be a little bit more comfortable for you than sitting on the cold stone.” 

“No, but your robe, it’ll be ruined,” you protest, but he shakes his head, “It’s nothing, just a little dust. Do not think me such a feeble prince that I am above getting a little bit dirty.” With his last word he winks at you with a smile, and you can’t help but smile back, taking his hand. 

“I don’t know what kind of prince you are, I’ve never even heard of Dorne.” 

He lets go of your hand as you settle on the top step and he sits himself on the one below, taking the bottle opener from you. 

“Dorne is a beautiful country, warm, much warmer than here, surrounded by turquoise blue ocean, white beaches and fragrant lemon groves,” he says, “And my home, the city of Sunspear, is the world’s most beautiful city, colorful, richly decorated, cooled from the hot sun by our water gardens and palm trees. It is ruled by my brother, the king. I am my father’s second son, fortunately enough for me, for I would’ve made a terrible king.” 

He smiles as he speaks of his home, a warm smile, as he pulls the cork from the wine bottle. 

“Ladies first,” he says and holds the bottle out to you, you accept it, taking a sip of the cool white wine. It really is delicious; crisp, fresh and an undertone of a rich, buttery flavor. 

“This is very nice wine,” you say, giving the bottle back to him and he smiles. 

“Made all that much better by the company.”

“Cheesy, but I appreciate the effort,” you grin and he looks confused, lowering the bottle that he was just about to drink from.  “Cheesy?” he asks, his eyebrow raised in question. 

“Yeah, you know, ‘cheesy’, when something is lame, or over the top, corny?” 

“I assure you, my lady, I did not intend to be over the top with my compliment, if anything, it was not enough,” he smiles warmly at you, and you feel butterflies in the pit of your belly. Either the wine is working very fast, or this strange man and his flirtatious way is getting to you. 

“I could say so much more about your beauty and the joy it is to spend a warm summer evening in your company with good wine and delicious cakes,” Oberyn’s eyes are glinting as he watches you squirm and he takes a sip from the bottle. 

You feel your cheeks heat up and you drop your eyes to your hands, suddenly feeling very flustered by his flattery, distracting yourself by picking at some dry dough caught on your nail. 

“Oh, the biscuits!” he exclaims suddenly and stands up, “We need just a…” he disappears into the kitchen and you look up as he turns around, scanning the shelves before he finds what he’s looking for, “Ah! Just what we need!” he says and returns to the steps, sinking down next to you again with a small bowl in his hand. “The biscuits are to be dipped in the wine, to soak up its delicious flavor and blend with the sweetness.” 

He demonstrates by pouring some of the wine into the bowl and taking the bag of biscuits from you, opening it up. He takes one of the biscotti and dips the end in the wine, letting it sit for a few seconds before taking a bite. 

His eyes hold yours as he slowly chews the biscotti, humming slightly under his breath.  “My sweet lady, this is exquisite,” he says, awe in his voice once he’s swallowed. “I would hire you as my own personal baker any day, would you wish to leave these premises.” 

“Thank you for the offer, that’s very generous,” you say, taking one of the biscuits and dipping it in the wine, copying Oberyn, “but I like running my own business.” 

As you bite into the biscotti you hold back a moan, you’ve never tried this before but now you understand why he insisted, the crunchy biscotti has softened slightly and been filled with the crips flavors of the wine, the lemon and almond adding to the complexity. 

“This is really good, Oberyn,” you smile, taking the second half, “Thank you for introducing me to it.” 

“It was all my pleasure, my lady,” he replies, leaning back against the stairs and taking a sip of the wine from the bottle. When he tilts his head back, his long neck is exposed, even more now when he’s only wearing his shirt, a smattering of freckles on his tanned skin, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. It occurs to you that the man exudes confidence in everything he does, even the way he brings the bottle back down, handing it to you with a small, crooked smile, the way he’s leaning on one elbow against the step just above him, long legs stretched out comfortably in his soft looking leather boots, utterly relaxed even on the crumbling back stairs. 

You take the bottle from him and take another sip, the cool wine slipping down far too easily. From the corner of your eye you see Oberyn take another biscotti and dip it into the wine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. With a small smirk he puts the biscuit in his mouth, closing his soft looking lips around it, sucking lightly while he lets his eyes linger on you. You feel heat creep up your throat, there is such promise in his eyes, such a challenge in his flirting. It’s like he’s daring you to flirt back, to push him just a little to see how he reacts. You feel a familiar heat spread through your core, a temptation to entice him. But his confidence, just the way he takes the bottle from your hand, his long fingers caressing yours with intent, almost intimidates you. If you flirt with him, even just a little bit, you think he might challenge you even more, see how far you’re willing to go, and you’re not sure you can trust your body to resist. His easy assertiveness, the way he leans back against the stairs, his hand now resting just an inch from your waist, it both unnerves you and makes arousal thrum under your skin. 

With a slight tremble to your hand, you take the bottle again and take another sip, bigger this time and it goes down the wrong way, your nerves getting the better of you. With a cough you splutter into the crook of your elbow, your eyes watering. The prince shoots up and immediately puts his hand on your back, patting you lightly a few times before he begins to rub circles between your shoulder blades. 

“Careful there, my lady, are you all right?” His eyebrows have pulled together in concern and he leans forward, looking at your face. You feel the tears that formed spill over and roll down your cheeks as you cough a few more times. 

“Y-yes, yes, I-I think so, thank you,” you finally say with a croaky voice, “it just went down the wrong way.” 

Taking a deep breath, you almost choke again when Oberyn gently cups your face with his large hands and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, softly running them under your eyes. 

“Can I fetch you some water?” he asks, his voice low and concerned, but you shake your head. 

“No, thank you, I’m ok now,” you say, taking a steadying breath. He’s so very close now, looking into your eyes with a soft smile and you notice how one of his eyes is made amber by the evening sunlight, the other dark chocolate brown, half hidden in shadow. You feel like your brain is spinning in place, wheels turning but not moving forward, as you’re unable to tear your eyes away from his intense gaze. His hands are still on your cheeks, warm and soft even though you can feel the rough calluses on his palms. 

His eyes finally leave yours, only to very slowly move down to your lips, holding his gaze there for several seconds before he looks back up again. His face transforms into a more roguish smile and he drops his hands from your face, moving to pick up another biscotti and dipping it into the wine. 

“My lady, please,” he says, holding it up to you, one hand cupped under it to catch any drops of wine, as he offers it to you, holding it by your lips. 

You don’t know why, but you obediently open your mouth, letting him feed you the biscotti, tasting the tang of the wine and the sweetness of the sugar as you break it off in the middle. The tip of Oberyn’s tongue comes out to wet his lips as he watches you swallow it down, and then he dips the second half in the wine again, and places it between his own lips. All the while his eyes never leave yours. 

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile, and he leans back against the door frame, crossing his arms over his lap. 

“I would kiss you, if you asked me too,” he says, matter of factly, “if you want me too.” 

You reach for the wine bottle to distract yourself while you calm your beating heart, keeping your eyes on him, that smirk still lingering on his lips as he watches you take a small, controlled sip, this time. 

You pour some more wine into the bowl and place the bottle on the top step, reaching for another biscotti and making up your mind. Dipping the delicate biscuit in the wine you look up at Oberyn, holding his gaze while you bring it up to his mouth, mimicking his gesture of cupping your hand under it. A wicked smile flickers across his face as he obediently opens his mouth and takes the biscotti. But he doesn’t bite it in half, instead he leans forward and closes his lips around your fingertips, his tongue licking at them as he takes the whole thing into his mouth. It’s warm and wet around your fingers and he gently sucks on them as he pulls back, a low hum escaping his throat. The touch of his tongue shoots a jolt of electricity through your body, settling firmly between your legs and your breath hitches. 

Oberyn swallows the biscuit and takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth again, with his eyes locked on yours he takes each finger between his lips and sucks them clean. When your pinky leaves his lips he moves forward, taking your chin between  his thumb and finger, holding you steady, your heart beating its own erratic rhythm in your chest. 

“I would kiss you, if you asked me too,” he repeats, looking from your eyes to your lips and up again. 

You don’t trust your voice, so instead you inhale, his warm scent; oranges, cinnamon, sandalwood, filling your nose, and you lean forward. He doesn’t smile this time, instead he mirrors your movement until your lips brush, your heads tilting ever so slightly to come closer together, mouths angeling as he presses a soft, gentle, explorative kiss to your tingling lips. Warm hands slip up your neck, into your hair, large enough to cup the back of your head as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. 

His next kiss is more insistent, his lips parting to taste with the tip of his soft tongue, licking the seam of your mouth. Your body seems to have lost all will to follow your head, it just moves as he moves you, pulling you closer to his lips, opening up to his tongue, letting him slip inside and explore, tangelling together as he tangles his hands in your hair, making you lean closer into him. Without knowing how you got there, you find yourself sitting on his lap, his hand finding your thigh and pulling your leg over. When he puts his hands on your hips and slides your body closer to his, your mind goes blank and you moan into his mouth. He’s distinctly hard underneath you, the thin fabric of his trousers doing nothing to hide the firm length of his cock, and he groans with delight as you roll your hips over him. 

“Sweet thing,” he whispers, his lips momentarily leaving yours, “sweet, sweet lady, I knew your kisses would be as sweet as your cakes.” His fingers dig into your hips, his mouth pressing firmer against yours as he sucks on the tip of your tongue, pulling back just a fraction and trailing kisses and bites over your jaw, down your throat, pushing back your t-shirt to suck a mark into your collar bone, making you keen and whimper under his warm mouth. 

“I wonder if you’re as sweet everywhere,” he mumbles, fingers digging into your hips and dragging you over his heavy length, straining against his trousers, “I would very much like to find out.” 

You lean your head back, exposing your throat to him as he continues to kiss and lick the soft skin of your neck, heat is building rapidly in your body and for a second you feel as if you’re looking down on yourself from above. Straddling the handsome prince on the stairs, sitting on his golden yellow robe, his face buried against your neck, his hands rolling your hips over his erection as you pant to the darkening sky above. With a groan you put your hands on his shoulders and push away, stumbling back onto your feet. 

“You’re dangerous to be around, Oberyn,” you pant as his hands slip away from your hips. His mouth hangs open as he reaches for you. In the dimming light you can see the prominent bulge of his trousers, it makes your mouth water, the image of sliding down over it coming unbidden to your mind. 

“It’s just pleasure,” he says, his voice dark and mischievous, “no guilt to be had over feeling pleasure.” 

“No, but I’m not about to have sex with a stranger on the back steps of my bakery,” you say, taking a deep breath, running your hands over your head, down your face, to ground yourself again. 

“Well, then the question beckons to be asked,” Oberyn grins, “where would you have sex with a stranger?” 

“I don’t have sex with strangers,” you say, shaking your head and quickly stepping past him, into the kitchen again. Behind you, you hear him get up and pick up the bottle, the remaining biscuits and the bowl. Placing them on the counter inside the door he follows you out to the shop as he slips his robe back on, where you unlock the door and wait for him to approach. A big part of you doesn't want him to leave, but you know that if you let him stay, he’ll have you naked on one of the counters within minutes, your body will betray you and let him do whatever he wants. 

“If you let me, I would like to not be a stranger to you,” Oberyn says as he reaches you by the door, “Would you let me come back and take you out, maybe show you Sunspear, my city?” 

“Show me the life of a prince?” you ask, you doubt you’ll see him again once he leaves, “Sure, come back and show me another side of yourself, and I’ll consider whether or not I want you to be a stranger.” 

“You don’t think I’ll come back,” he replies, a crooked smile on his lips, “have I made such a flighty impression on you, such a poor representation of who I am?” He chuckles, taking your hand and bowing low, pressing a feather light kiss to it. 

“I promise, my sweet lady of the bakery, I will come back and I will show you the true colors of a prince of Dorne. Until then I will keep your honeyed kisses close in my memory.”

He opens the front door and steps through it, before turning and smiling back at you, “And I’ll keep your delicious moans even closer on lonely nights.” 

You feel heat rise in your cheeks again as he winks, a mischievous smirk on his face, before he bow lows again and disappears down the street. 

Part Five

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

[scottybrock]

The Show - Beck/Jade/Reader

A/N: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING A FIC THAT HAS A POLY COUPLE IN IT, PLS DON’T ROAST ME

“Move,” Jade ordered, slamming her lunch tray on the table. Tori glared at her, but Jade was unfazed. “You kissed Beck during your first week here,” Jade reminded the thin brunette. Beck scrunched his nose at the reminder, subconsciously lifting a hand to wipe at his lips. “That was because you poured coffee on my head!” Tori whined. 

You glanced at Jade, who smirked. “Be glad it was iced coffee,” Jade responded, roughly shoving her way between you and Tori. “If you ever try to put your dry lips near my girlfriend, you’ll have to worry about more than a cup of coffee.” Tori yelped as Jade slammed her hip against hers, but you welcomed the contact, leaning closer to your girlfriend. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Hey,” You grinned. Jade’s bright blue eyes lit up, and her expression softened. “Yeah, hey,” She grumbled. Beck shifted closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Hey babe,” He greeted. Jade rolled her eyes at him, but a soft smile spread across her face. “Whatever.” She grumbled.

Tori tilted her head, her brows furrowing. “How is it that Jade has not one, but two significant others, and I’m single?!” She whined. You exchanged a look with Beck, then rolled your eyes. Jade glared at Tori. “What’re you trying to say, Vega? That I’m hideous, so therefore I deserve to die alone?” She snapped. You nuzzled your face into the crook of her neck, pressing a light kiss to her neck. 

Her glare softened as she turned to you. “Excuse me, I’m trying to scare the wazz out of Vega,” She murmured, trying to stop the giggles that were building up in her chest. You pressed another soft kiss to her neck, and she sighed, her tense posture relaxing, leaning against you. Beck leaned over and brushed his lips over Jade’s. “Yeah, but there are more… pleasant things that we can be doing with that time,” He smirked. You lifted your head from its comfy place to turn around and kiss him, your tongue pressing against the seam of his lips. 

His response was immediate; he gripped your hips with bruising force, pulling you onto his lap. Jade leaned over to scatter rough kisses along your neck, biting lightly at your soft skin. “Guys,” Tori cleared her throat. You ignored the waifish brunette, running your hands along Beck’s back, pulling him impossibly closer. Jade’s kisses and Beck’s tongue were doing things to you that weren’t entirely appropriate in a school setting.

With great reluctance, you slid off of Beck’s lap. His hands gripped your hips as if to hold you there, but seeing the determined expression on your face, he relented and gave your hips a final squeeze. Jade’s kisses tapered off, and you finally looked at the table. While you’d been occupied with your boyfriend and girlfriend, Andre, Robbie (plus Rex, but you couldn’t stand the puppet), and Cat had all found their way to the table. “Whoa,” Rex said. If he could, he’d be grinning like the little leper he was. “That was hot, babe.” 

Jade’s brows furrowed, a thunderstorm of emotions flickering over her flawless face. “Call my girlfriend babe again and you’ll lose an arm,” She snarled. Robbie shielded Rex protectively as Andre snickered. Tori looked on with an amused expression, a subtle smile curving her lips. Cat let out a high pitched giggle. “One time, my brother…” She started, then adopted an offended expression when your friends all groaned, nearly at the same time. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” She exclaimed. Jade ignored her, turning to Beck. “Get me coffee,” She demanded. You perked up, giving your boyfriend a hopeful look. Beck caved almost instantly. “What’s the magic word?” He asked playfully. 

Jade’s glare sharpened. “Now!” She snapped at the same time that you shouted “Please!” and offered your boyfriend a charming smile. Beck rolled his eyes at Jade, but bent down to press a firm kiss to her lips. Her expression softened, and she looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes and uttered in a soft, sweet tone that she reserved only for you and Beck. “Please?” She requested. 

Beck’s handsome face lit up, a toothy grin settling on his lips. “Be back in a minute.” He acquiesced. As he walked away, Jade shouted after him, “Two sugars!” He turned back and gave her a thumbs up. Jade turned to her salad and began violently stabbing it as hard as the plastic fork would allow. You didn’t bother reminding Beck of your coffee order; after all, he’d been your boyfriend for almost three years. He knew what to do. 

You were broken out of your reverie by Tori asking Jade if she could have a cucumber from her salad. Jade glared at her frenemy. “No,” She snapped. Tori pouted, sticking her lower lip out. “C’mon, I just want an itty-bitty piece of cucumber,” Tori whined. Jade rolled her eyes, then picked up her entire salad, aiming it at Tori. Tori shrieked, ducking for cover. Andre immediately grabbed his backpack, ready to make a run for it. Cat was oblivious, eating her pizza without a care in the world. Robbie let out a whimper. You just watched, waiting to see what your beautiful girlfriend was going to do. 

Much to your amusement, she didn’t throw the salad at Tori. She chucked her half-eaten salad directly at Rex, and by extension, Robbie. The salad hit the two of them, landing with soggy splat. Robbie’s jaw hung open, his eyes wide. Jade glared at him. “That’s for calling my girlfriend babe,” She snarled. Robbie glared back at her, then immediately cowered away from her when he realized what he’d done. Without another word, he grabbed his backpack and his puppet and hightailed it away from the table. 

Andre and Tori laughed. You snickered, which brought a small smile to Jade’s flawless face. Jade raised an eyebrow at them. “I think you should leave,” She said, her tone matter of fact. Andre was well aware that when Jade used that tone, she wasn’t asking- she was telling. “Alright,” He acquiesced. “See you guys in Sikowitz’s class,” He stood, but Tori stopped him, furrowing her brows once more. “Why do we have to leave?” The songstress complained. Jade’s smirk sharpened. “Because,” She drawled. “While I no longer have a salad to throw at you, I have these,” With that statement, she whipped a pair of scissors out of one of her boots. 

Tori had a look of absolute horror on her face as she fled the table, with Andre following close behind her shouting, “Why’d you hafta ask why?!” Cat followed behind them, gleefully proclaiming, “Weee! I love running!” You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to Jade’s lips. “Wanna tell me the real reason you scared everyone away?” You asked, your voice teasing. Jade’s perfect lips curled into a soft smirk. “Maybe I just want to spend time alone with my boyfriend and girlfriend,” She replied, shifting so that you could pull her closer, your legs brushing against hers, then finally entwining. You pressed a hand to your chest, your voice playfully mocking. “Jade West, whatever do you plan on doing with me?”

Jade’s gorgeous face lit up, her smile roguish. “Oh, I plan on doing a lot with you,” She murmured. Your cheeks flushed, and you nudged her. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You teased, your lips brushing gently over the shell of her ear. She shivered. “Maybe when Beck gets back… We can go to the janitor's closet and ditch fifth period,” You suggested. Jade’s cheeks flushed, the redness contrasting quite lovely with the paleness of her skin. Her smile was uncharacteristically shy. “I’d like that,” She replied softly. 

Beck returned, balancing three coffee cups. “Where’d everyone go?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at the blush on Jade’s cheeks. You reached for your coffee, taking a quick sip. “That’s not of importance right now,” You replied, a devilish smirk appearing on your face. Beck’s other eyebrow rose; he knew when you had that look on your face, trouble wasn’t far behind. “Oh yeah?” He asked, handing Jade, who looked rather flustered, her coffee. “Then what is of importance right now?” 

Your smirk grew and you glanced over at Jade, who was squirming in her seat. “The important thing right now is that our girl has some needs that need to be taken care of.” You replied. A matching smirk flashed over Beck’s face. He turned to Jade. “Is that so?” He looked unbelievably smug. How could he not be, when he knew that he was about to fuck two of the most gorgeous girls? “Well, babe. How about we move this somewhere else? Wouldn’t wanna give anyone a show, would we?” 

You shrugged, your eyes glinting playfully. “What if I would?” You teased. Beck’s eyes darkened, and Jade whimpered in the background. Beck set his cup of coffee down and pulled you to him, his hands gripping your hips tightly once more. “Fuck the janitor’s closet,” Beck’s voice was low and gravelly. “We’re ditching for the rest of the day. I’ll give you and Jade a show you won’t soon forget.” 

Jade stood on shaky legs, and you and Beck pulled her in close, so that you formed a small circle. Jade’s fingers ran up and down your leg, causing you to shiver. “I don’t doubt that,” Jade smirked. “Never had a reason to complain before.” You nodded in agreement. Beck growled lowly, moving one of his hands to grip one of Jade’s hips as well. “I’ve got no complaints on my end either,” Beck remarked, his dark brown eyes practically pitch black with lust. “Now get your sweet asses to the truck so we can get to the RV, and I can fuck you both into the mattress until the sun comes up.”

You grinned slyly at him, then glanced at Jade. “Can I fuck Jade into the mattress, too? You can watch.” Jade shifted slightly, letting out a soft whine. She loved that idea, and it was obvious Beck did too, as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. You nipped at his lower lip, eliciting a low moan from him. “Get to the truck now,” Beck growled. “I’m gonna call us in sick. I want both of you in the truck and ready to go by the time I get back.”

“I’m already ready to go,” Jade grinned. Beck let out a soft groan. “Let me go call us in sick, stop tempting me.” Jade’s grin sharpened, and she collected the abandoned coffee cups. “We’re most certainly going to need energy to go until the sun rises,” Jade shrugged innocently. Beck grinned, then hurried back to the school. The lunch period was long over, but the fun was just about to begin. 

“Don’t take too long, or we’ll start without you!” You called after him. Jade laced her fingers with yours, and the two of you began walking to the truck. Her smirk would have made the devil proud. “I like the way you think.” 

You grinned at her. “And I like the way you taste.” Jade’s cheeks flushed once more. “Ditto. I like the way you taste. Now stop talking, or we’re really going to have to start without Beck.” She grunted, opening the door for you. You pressed a soft kiss to her lips in thanks, then slid into the car. Jade joined you seconds later, resting her head on your shoulder. You wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. She inhaled deeply, then snuggled closer. 

The driver’s side door opened, and Beck slid in. “We’re all set,” He told you and Jade. His dark eyes glinted with the promise of pleasure and love. “Are you ready?” Jade made a soft noise of affirmation. You grinned back at him, your eyes twinkling. “Always.” You replied. 

Beck’s smile widened. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

[sillyrabbit81]

Thrill Me, Chill Me

Summary: Your best friend invites you to a The Rocky Horror Picture Show Halloween party. Dressed as Janet you feel a little vulnerable, until you meet the guy dressed as Rocky and then the evening takes an exciting turn.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 5.4k (this was supposed to be a fucking drabble!)

Warnings: fluff, very mild angst, smut, p in v sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), mild dirty talk, a bit of silliness, Sy being a cheeky bastard.

Authors Note: Thanks to @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for Beta reading.

This fic is a duel request sort of. @cavillsthighs (why can't I tag you) requested a birthday drabble HAPPY BIRTHDAY! (I know I’m posting it early) and we decided on pumpkin carving with smut (she said she didn’t think I could make it smutty!) and on a conversation I had a long time ago with @nashibirne about one of our favourite movies and would Sy dress up as Rocky. So here we are. I hope you enjoy.

Edited by me, there will be errors.

Title comes from the song Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

For those who haven't seen the film I have added a picture in the story of Janet and Rocky.

Masterlist

Thrill Me, Chill Me

As you ring the doorbell, you pull your coat closer. Despite being late October, the night isn’t too cold, and the coat is unnecessary. However, it is necessary to hide your revealing costume. You like dressing up at Halloween, but you aren’t one of those girls who uses it as an excuse to wear something a little revealing. You are more like Cady in Mean Girls, the kind of person who dresses as a zombie or a witch for Halloween instead of a Playboy Bunny.

Tonight, your costume was assigned so you have no choice.

Your best friend’s new boyfriend, Joel, has a themed Halloween party each year. This year he let Carmen decide the theme and of course she chose The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It had been her favourite movie for years. When she told you which costume you had to wear, you were cool with it at first.

“Janet, yeah, I can do that.”

“Well…” Carmen says. “Don’t kill me, but your costume is specifically Janet during the scene she hooks up with Rocky.”

“What? Just the bra and tiny slip?”

“Yeah. But it could be worse! You could have gotten the finale where they all wear corsets and stuff.”

You roll your eyes. “That would only be slightly worse. Who are you going as?”

Carmen grins, “Janet in the finale.”

Giving yourself a shake, you try and wait patiently but your foot taps with nervousness. It’s loud inside and you think they don’t hear you until you hear a booming voice call out, “Want me to get the door?”

Moments later the door opens to one of the largest men you have ever seen in real life. He is dressed as Rocky, only wearing little gold shorts, his whole strong and fit body is on display. You swallow hard, trying not to look at his broad chest, flat stomach with the faintest hint of abs, and most alluring of all is the perfectly placed woolly hair across his pecs and the thicker, darker hair that trails beneath those tiny shorts.

Forcing yourself to look at his face you realise you can’t look there either. Beneath the obvious and tacky blonde wig he wears, he has a thick and a bit unkept beard that can’t hide his handsomeness. And his eyes, bright, blue, and full of roguish intent seem to know exactly what you are thinking. He smiles, you nearly gasp and forget to breathe, you have never felt such an instant lust.

“Hi,” he says. “Come in, let me take your coat.” You are not going to get over this guy, not only was he as attractive as sin, but he also has an accent, a southern drawl that seeps like honey into your brain.

Struggling to find your voice, you clear your throat. “Nah, that’s ok. I’ll leave it on.”

The man crosses his arms and nods seriously. “Well, that means we’ve got a problem here, Sugar.” You barely hold barely supress a moan. He called you Sugar, no one but old ladies at the store have ever called you that, and it never hit you deep in the guts like when he says it. “I’m under strict orders not to let anyone in if they ain’t wearin’ a costume. So, it’s gotta come off.”

Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, you take your coat off and hand it to him, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“There ya go, Sugar. I’m…” the guy gets interrupted by your screaming friend who quickly envelops you in a hug. She looks amazing with her hair all slicked back, overdone make up, and sexy lingerie.

Carmen tells you you look great and you return the compliment while she drags you down the hall to where all the noise is coming from. As she pulls you away, you turn back to look at the guy. He’s looking at you too. His arms are crossed over his chest again, and his legs are slightly apart. The raw dominance in his stance makes your eyes widen as he smirks at you. You quickly turn away before you are hauled around a corner, your cheeks burning. He’s so hot.

The party is in full swing, and you are introduced around to all the new people. You feel slightly less naked as you see the vast array of costumes and when you see Joel, completely at ease as Frank-n-Furter, you really start to relax.

Carmen knows you well and sticks by your side. She knows you need a bit of time when you meet new people and so she takes you off to the side, handing you a premix drink and you settle together in some chairs.

“So, what did you think of Sy?” Carmen asks.

“I don’t remember you introducing me to a Sy,” you reply, a bit confused.

“I didn’t. He’s the guy who answered the door.”

“Oh,” you say. Feeling heat return to your cheeks. “He seems nice.”

Bursting out laughing she says, “He’s hot right?”

Relieved, you giggle and admit with a tiny squeal, “I know, right?”

Carmen laughs. “He’s single too. Recently retired from the military,” You nod, trying to take it all in as she spills everything she knows. She tells you he’s Joel’s roommate, they’ve known each other since high school, and he seems like a great guy. “Well, except for last night when the two of them got drunk and didn’t finish carving the pumpkins. That’s where he is now, all alone in the kitchen, carving pumpkins. Alone. Single. Hot as fuck.” She wriggles her eyebrows at you.

“So, what you’re trying to say, is that I should go and offer to help?”

“Yeah. Or a hand,” Carmen chortled. “Or a warm, wet…”

“Stop!” You say covering your eyes. “Oh my God! Now that’s all I’m going to think about.”

Sighing you put your head on your knees. What are you thinking? Are you really going to go in there and talk to him? You can’t. What would you talk about?

“Go on. Don’t be chickenshit,” Carmen encourages.

“He’s too hot.”

“I saw the way he was looking at you. He thinks you’re hot too.” Carmen laughs when you turn your head to look at her and she sees the disbelieving look on your face. “Trust me, his eyes…” she waves a hand over her breasts, “he liked, he liked a lot.”

“Oh God.” You cover your face again. “You did this on purpose didn’t you.”

“Yup,” Carmen says brazenly. Then her voice softens as she says, “Just go talk to him. Tell him I told you to see if he needs help. If it’s weird or you don’t like him, just leave.”

Sitting up you look at her, she’s giving you an encouraging smile. Taking a deep breath, you stand. “Ok. I’ll try. Don’t laugh at me if I come running back out here.”

Carmen squeals and claps her hands. “Ooh, I’m excited!” She pats your ass as you walk away. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

“Oh my God,” you shake your head at her. But she’s already bounding away to see Joel.

You have met Joel several times and he seems like a good guy. Surely that’s a good sign, he doesn’t seem the type to be friends with assholes. Maybe this Sy guy will be like him. You square your shoulders, stand up tall and take a deep breath. You can do this, you tell yourself and you step into the kitchen.

Sy looks up when you walk in. You see the tiniest twitch of his brows before he drops his head back to his work. He’s scooping the insides of a pumpkin, the juicy slop going into a large bowl next to him on the island counter in the centre of the kitchen. His bare arms leave nothing to the imagination as his biceps curl and his forearms strain as he scrapes the inside thinning the walls.

“Can I getcha anything, Sugar?” he asks. “Most of the drinks are outside, there’s only beer here.”

“No thanks,” you say, proud of yourself that your voice comes out steady. Sy looks at you again as you hold up your half empty drink. “Carmen sent me to see if you need any help.”

“Did she now?” Sy smirks. Dammit, was it that obvious? “Takin’ pity on me or is she just impatient?”

“She’s impatient,” you reply with a smile.

Sy puts the pumpkin down and reaches for a bottle of beer and brings it slowly to his lips. His eyes rake you shamelessly while he takes a swig. He licks his lips when he’s done and lets out a soft “ah” sound.

“I’m on my last one,” he says, picking up his scoop again. He uses it to point to the stools on the other side of the island bench and gives you his full 1000 watt smile. “Why dontcha take a seat and keep me company while I finish up. Might make this last one a little more bearable.”

Forcing yourself to smile back you take the few steps to the tall stools that sit below the countertop, praying that your knees don’t buckle. The force of his grin is like a sledgehammer, and the worst part is he knows it. You normally feel repulsed by men who know how attractive they are, but something about Sy’s easy nature makes you feel comfortable, like he’s not arrogant or creepy, just a little cocky and secure in himself.

He doesn’t talk straight away, instead works the tool inside the pumpkin for a while. You try and avoid staring at him, but you can’t help it. His brows are low and drawn together as he looks down and you watch as his stomach clenches, shoulders tighten, and his arm flexes as he scrapes. The longer you watch him, the more you can’t stop thinking of the scene in Rocky Horror where Janet and Rocky get together. You want to get up and scream, just like in the song, “Touch me! I want to be dirty!” The thought makes your cheeks feel hot again and you stifle a giggle.

Sy looks up at the noise, and you look away, hoping he doesn’t see the embarrassed look on your face. You can feel his eyes on you as you become very interested in the bowl of fruit at the edge of the counter and you pick up an apple to keep your hands busy. When you think he’s looked away you glance back at him. His eyes are back on his work, and they stay there until he gives a small grunt and starts scooping out more pulp.

“What’s your name?” Sy asks, taking another sip of his beer. You tell him yours and he puts his hand out to shake. “My name’s Sy,” he says as his hand encloses over yours across the table. You notice his gaze quickly drops to your chest before he corrects himself. His lips jerk as his he tries to hold back a smirk when he realises he was caught looking. He doesn’t say anything about it though and goes back to scooping.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Carmen told me.”

“You two been friends long?”

“Nearly all my life. Like you and Joel I suppose.”

Sy nods and grabs the bowl of pulp and takes it to the trash. His back is to you, and you lick your lips as your eyes wander down his broad tanned back to his shorts, the tiny tight cloth hiding almost nothing as you can see how thick and tight his ass is. You tear your eyes away and roll the apple over the counter between your hands, so you don’t get caught looking.

“So, have you seen Rocky Horror or will tonight be your first time?” you ask as Sy comes back.

Sy grins and wets the stencil before laying it on the pumpkin. “My older sister loved it. She used to watch it all the damn time.”

Knowing Sy had not only seen the movie but must know it pretty well made you a little jittery. He would know the scene between Rocky and Janet, and the song too. “Really?” you ask, softly.

Standing back from the counter he gestures at his costume, your eyes follow the movements of his arms. Your eyes widen as you notice the not so small bulge in his pants. Jesus Christ, he’s big everywhere.

“You think I just had this lyin’ around. This ain’t my first rodeo, Sugar,” he says laughing.

“You’ve dressed as Rocky before?” you ask, incredulous.

“For some reason my sister’s friends always wanted to drag me to those midnight screenings they do where everyone dresses up and yells shit at the screen.” For a moment you think he’s too arrogant, too full of himself. Then he winks at you, his failed attempt is endearing, and you giggle.

“You’re the hairiest Rocky I’ve ever seen.”

Sy looks a little offended and peers down again. “Do ya think I shoulda shaved my legs?” He looks up at you smirking.

You laugh openly, despite feeling a little embarrassed. “You know what I mean, Sy,” you whine.

Rubbing his beard he says, “No way I’m getting’ rid of this bad boy.”

“It does suit you.”

He looks at you, his expression is one you can’t read. “You like it, huh?” his rumbling tone gives you a clue as to what the look on his face might mean.

“It suits you,” you repeat. You start to roll the apple over the table again. You hear Sy chuff, then he starts to carve the pumpkin, his fast sawing motions make his muscles ripple again. You roll the apple faster.

“Shit,” Sy says. His bottom lip is pulled into his mouth, and he sticks his hand into the pumpkin, trying to poke out the part he just carved. “I hate when it gets stuck, don’t you?”

“I’ve never carved a pumpkin before,” you tell Sy.

“Never?” You shake your head. Sy does too, “Unbelievable. Come ‘ere and have a turn.”

“Ok.” You go around and stand in front of the pumpkin and Sy stands behind you. His arms cover yours. “Now, whatcha wanna do is grab that little saw blade,” you take it and Sy wraps his hand around yours, “and gently push in ‘n out in a sawing motion. No need to hack at it or use much force.” You feel his breath on your ear and his voice drops lower and he seems to emphasise his drawling, seductive tone. “Just smooth rockin’ motions, in ‘n out.”

“Does this normally work?” you ask, turning your head to look at him. You assume it does, it is definitely working for you, but you aren’t going to let him know that.

“What do you mean?”

“Do girls really fall for this bullshit?”

Sy chuckles softly. “What? You tellin’ me this ain’t workin’ for ya?” You shake your head grinning. Sy frowns slightly to cover his amusement and raises his eyebrows. “Ok. Ok. How ‘bout I try somethin’ else, and you tell me if it’s workin’ for ya?”

“Ok,” you reply, trying to hold back your excitement.

Lifting his fingers to your chin he guides your face so it’s looking forward again. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. You bite your lip, you feel like you’re trembling, wondering what he’s going to do. You grab hold of the counter, the anticipation is killing you.

You gasp as you feel the rough pads of his fingers on the side of your hip, his touch is as light as a feather as they slowly ascend. Goosebumps break out over your belly and arms as he glides up your waist and over your ribs, while this other hand leaves your chin and rests gently on your throat.

“How’s that workin’ for ya baby?”

Dropping your head against his shoulder you smile. “No good,” you murmur, teasingly.

Sy grumbles, but you can hear his laughter. His hand tightens on your waist, squeezing as he pulls your hair back and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath is hot as he asks, “How’s this?”

“Still nothing,” you say.

“You’re such a liar,” Sy accuses playfully as his teeth sink gently into your neck. Your hips move slightly, you can’t stop them, and you feel Sy press his body closer to yours. “Anything, baby?”

“Maybe a slight tingle,” you concede.

“Hmm,” Sy hums. His teeth sink deeper, his hips press against you until your forced against the counter and you can feel him rutting his hardening cock against your ass. He feels so big, you wonder if those little shorts can contain him. You push your hips back into him, and you hear him groan into your neck.

Sy’s hand leaves your waist, and his fingertips trace the curve of your breasts. You let out a ragged sigh and he turns your head to his. “Open your eyes,” he demands. You do, and you stare straight into his. They are narrow, dark, and full of fire. You bite your lip to hold back a moan, and his eyes are drawn to the movement. He licks his lips, you let yours go, he leans closer, and you close your eyes.

Sy’s kiss is strong, confident, there’s no hesitation as his lips move over yours. You let yourself be drawn into his kiss, going with him, meeting his movements with your own. His hand covers your breast, softly palming you and you feel him press himself harder against you. Aware that you weren’t exactly in a private place, you pull away and Sy removes his hands and rests them softly on your upper arms.

“Too much?” Sy asks, gently rubbing his hands over you. The feeling of the hardened skin of his palms is nice and you sigh.

“No,” you say and Sy grins leaning in to kiss you again. As much as you don’t want to, you pull back and his brows furrow in confusion. “Anyone could walk in Sy.”

Sy’s face relaxes as he understands. He grins wolfishly. “My room has a lock on it.”

“Oh my God,” you laugh. “This escalated quickly.”

Shrugging, Sy kisses your neck, trailing wet kisses up until his teeth nibble on your earlobe. You giggle as his beard and warm breath tickles. “I’m just offerin’ a solution to your problem,” he whispers in your ear.

“What would we do in your room, Sy?” you ask feeling breathless. God, he kisses so well, and he is so seductive, you don’t plan on saying no but you don’t want to appear too eager.

“Whatever you want to do, baby,” he says simply. “We could keep doin’ this, or we could do somethin’ more, or we could just hang out and talk. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t have a preference?” you ask.

Sy growls and rubs against you. “Oh, I have a preference, sugar,” he says, his voice is full of cheek.

“I can tell,” you grin. You turn and face him putting your arms around his neck. He looks you up and down, his hungry look makes you feel hot, desirable, and electric. “Where’s your room.”

“I’ll take you there,” Sy smirks. He pulls your little shift up and wraps his hands around your thighs and lifts you onto his waist. You yelp in surprise, then giggle as he starts walking you to his room, already burying his face into your cleavage. “Fuck, you’ve got nice tits,” he groans.

Still laughing you lift his head off your breasts. He looks up at you with a big grin. “Sy that tickles!” you whine.

With a growl he bounces you in his arms then squeezes your thighs, his strong fingers dig into your flesh. “You’re fuckin’ cute when you giggle, baby.” You must be in his room because he closes the door with his foot then turns pushing you against it. He presses his chest into you, holding you there and you hear a lock click.

Your laughter made you breathless and now you can feel adrenaline pumping through your veins. You see his chest puffing too as you look at each other. You’re alone, you can’t be disturbed, but Sy holds you against the door. His hands are still on your thighs, his fingers now softly caress the sensitive skin just below your ass, but other than that he doesn’t move. For a moment you’re confused, then you realise from his open and undemanding smile, he’s waiting for a sign from you.

With fingers trembling with hot blood, you put your hand on the back of his neck and bringing him closer you kiss him. He kisses you back instantly but does nothing to deepen the kiss, as if for the moment he’s seems content to let you take the lead. You want more though, and you let your tongue lap at his lips and with a rumble from his chest he parts them for you.

Without breaking your kiss, Sy carries you to his bed, laying you on top of the blanket. He covers you with his body, and you let your hands roam, moving over his back, and down his sides to his shorts. With your heart thundering in your chest, your grab his ass pulling him closer and you feel him hard as he presses himself against your core. Your centre throbs as he moves against it, clenching, aching, feeling so maddeningly empty.

“I’m thinkin’ about all the things I want to do you, baby.” You look between you, and you can see the tip of his cock poking out the top of his shorts. You swallow hard, he’s bigger than you thought, thicker, and you wonder what he would feel like inside you.

“What do you want to do to me, Sy?” you ask.

Lips twisting into a near snarl, he leans over you again, and growls into your ear. “I want to touch you here.” You gasp as you feel his hand cup your pussy, the thin silky material of your panties doesn’t stop the heat from his palm reaching your drenched core. “I want to taste you,” he says, and you feel him pull your panties to the side.

“Oh God…” you murmur as the pads of his fingers part you and slide over your hidden skin.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice is almost shuddering. You feel a slight pressure as one of his fingers slips into you. “Oh hell,” he says, his voice half a laugh, half a groan. “Fuck, your cunt is so warm and tight. Then I want to put my cock here,” his free hand comes up to your mouth and his thumb brushes over your lips. You take it in your mouth, your eyes on his and you watch his nostrils flare as you suck on his thumb. “Shit baby, yeah. Just like that. Then, I want to fuck you.”

Your eyes flutter shut, Jesus, just his words take you close to your peak. Your body feels like its trembling, your heart pumping so hard you can feel it’s rapid tattoo everywhere, but your brain feels like mush, weak, stupid and lust crazed.

The heels of your feet dig into the mattress as he moves down your body leaving wet kisses over your breasts and belly. He takes his time, keeping you writhing by slipping a second finger inside you and slowly pumping them. Nestling between your legs, he uses his free hand to pull your panties away more, allowing him to see more of you.

You feel his breath roll over your clit and a tremor ripples up your spine. You hear Sy chuckle, and you look down at him alarmed pulling your legs together. He uses his shoulders to keep your legs open. “Don’t do that baby. I ain’t laughin’ at you. You’re perfect. I just like seein’ you shiver with antici…”

Your eyes go wide, he’s not going to say it is he? He pauses, smirking and you start to smile.

“… pation.”

You laugh and so does he. “Oh my God!” you giggle.

Chuckling, Sy says, “Keep those legs open for me, baby.” Closing his eyes, he drops his head, and you feel him remove his fingers before quickly replacing them with his tongue. He groans, you can barely hear his mumbled curses. “Fuck me, you taste so fucking sweet.”

Throwing an arm over your eyes you lean back and let Sy take his fill. He is good, so good, you know you aren’t going to last long. He seems to know it and teases you, licking and sucking on your folds inching far too slowly to where you need him.

“Please,” you cry. “Please, Sy.”

“Hmm,” Sy hums. “No need to beg baby, I’ve got you.” And his mouth latches over your clit, putting you out of your misery. He gently sucks you into his mouth, his tongue rolling over you, bring you closer to the edge with every soft flick.

Sy’s fingers slide easily inside you, you’re so wet with your arousal and his saliva, there is nearly no resistance. He hums against you as he fucks you, hitting your spot over and over. Your feel your body tighten, every part of you screams for a release of tension and when you come undone the blissful wave of euphoric heat makes you sink low into the mattress panting. You jerk your hips and push Sy away, too sensitive even for his soft kisses on your still shaking thighs.

Sy stops, realising you need a few moments and undresses you, pulling your wet panties off, then your slip, before rolling you to your side, unclipping your bra and sliding it down your shoulders. You feel a little exposed, but as soon as you are undressed, he gets to his knees and takes his shorts off too, leaving you feeling less vulnerable. You bite your lip as Sy reveals himself, relighting the fire in you that you thought your orgasm had doused.

Like a moth to a flame, you crawl to him, your gaze flicking from his cock to his face. You feel a wave of power rush over as his eyes widen. You look at him while you lick your lips, and he sucks in a breath, uttering a curse as your hand wraps around him.

You smirk as you lay a soft kiss on him, your lips barely brushing the throbbing head of his cock. Sy’s eyes don’t move from yours as your tongue flicks out, giving him a playful little lick. He growls, his eyes narrow as he pushes your hair from your face, gathering it in his hand. He pulls your hair gently, stretching your neck until you’re straining, looking up at him.

“Open your mouth,” his voice is rough, gravelly, and harsh as he commands you. You feel your core clench as his fingers glide over your cheek, an unexpectedly tender touch. You open your mouth slowly, and his hand leaves your cheek and covers your hand that’s holding him. You feel the silky skin of his cock against your lips, and he slips himself into you and you wrap your lips around his thick velvety shaft. He seems to know how big he is and doesn’t force himself too deep as he starts to guide your head up and down.

You watch as Sy’s brows draw together, his jaw tightens, and he starts to grunt with each breath. “Fuck, you look so fuckin’ hot.” He’s getting close, his eyes shut, and he groans, “And your mouth is so fuckin’ good.” With a growl he pulls you off him. His lips crush into yours, and he uses his kiss to force you back onto the bed. He hooks his arms under your knees and with a jerk pulls you close to him.

Sy pulls away and you see him quickly fit a condom over himself before he lays back over you. He slides his cock over your slit, lining himself up, holding a hand around the base of his cock, keeping his position. His eyes find yours and you see the question in them. You don’t give him the chance to ask if you’re ready, you nod desperately, pulling his mouth back to yours with a moan. You hear his soft rumble as he pushes inside you. He’s hardly past the head and you feel stretched nearly to your limit. You can tell he’s trying to go slowly, let you get used to his size and you’re grateful, but you’re also impatient. You want him now, you want to feel full, and you want him to ruin you.

Mewling as he kisses you, his hips rock slowly until you feel his body meet yours. He fills you just shy of the point of pain, and it feels electric. His kisses move to your neck as he starts to move within you and your hands wrap around his chest, feeling his surging back as his thrusts get harder and faster. “Fuck sugar, you’re takin’ me so well.”

Your hands paw at him, holding him tighter and as you catch his rhythm, you move with him. The sensation of his powerful body moving beneath your hands is so erotic, you can’t stop touching him. His back, his ass, his shoulders, his arms, the muscles rippling under his skin feels so good.

Sy hovers his face over yours, and he grins as you smile at him. He leans his forehead against yours and says, “You feel so good, baby.” You put your hand on his neck and bring your mouth to his.

“So do you,” you mumble before you press your lips to his. He groans into your mouth as you feel his rhythm start to increase, his strokes become shorter.

Suddenly he lifts his head and his hand goes to your hip, holding you still as you feel him push deep within you. His eyes close and his mouth opens. “Fuck!” he shouts. You watch as his body tightens, and he lets out a guttural groan. He pulls back and slams into you again, and again until his head drops back onto yours. He lays there a moment, breathing deeply, his eyes slowly open and meet yours.

His hand leaves your hip and rests on the side of your neck. He looks at you for so long you start to feel embarrassed and look away. He chuckles when you do and kisses your cheek. “You’re real cute, you know that?”

You don’t know if he expects an answer, so you hum noncommittally. He chuckles again and rolls of you before getting up and pulling a pair of sweats on. He goes to the door opens it a little, peeking through. He turns to you and grins.

“Stay there, I’ll be back in a minute.” And then he disappears.

Alone in his room, you look around for the first time. The first word that comes to mind is spartan. There is a tv with a playstation and a small laptop, but the only real decoration was a signed poster of Pantera and a full bookshelf. You go to the shelves and have a look. You smile as you run your finger over the spines of the fantasy books, you had read most of them, you had not expected that. The rest of the books were non-fiction, history books mainly, some biographies. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling like an intruder alone in his space and start to gather your clothes, getting dressed as you go.

When you’re dressed, you pace the room. He’s been gone a long time and you start to worry. Maybe you shouldn’t be here when he gets back. Maybe, he’s waiting for you to leave. You slip on your shoes and are about to leave when you hear him at the door.

“Can ya open the door for me Sugar, my hands are full.”

Opening the door, he slides past you, kissing your cheek as he goes. Your eyes widen when you see the bottles of beer, the bottles of the same premix you were drinking earlier and a bag of chips and dip. He puts the bottles on the bedside table and sits on the bed, resting his back against the headboard.

“What…” you start.

He shrugs. “I thought we might hang out here for a while. Maybe have that chat I offered earlier.”

You blink, you hadn’t expected this. A little stunned, you don’t answer for a moment and then you see he notices that you’re dressed.

“Or we can go back to the party, if that’s what you want.”

Slowly you smile and shake your head before climbing onto the bed sitting cross legged next to him. He hands you a drink returning your smile and clinking his bottle against yours. “Cheers,” he says.

“Cheers,” you reply.

[leiawritesstories]

prompt but Rowan sees Aelin wearing another cowboys hat and then has to tell her about the rule “you wear the hat you ride the cowboy”

i'm not even sorry. enjoy!

word count: 1,293

warnings: ummmmmm....*cackles* none.

Hop Right On

for an even better oneshot of this kind of prompt, READ THIS by @empress-ofbloodshed

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

Rowan Whitethorn, Wyoming’s finest cattle roper, had been staring at the woman perched on the fence for at least an hour. And he wasn’t planning to stop staring anytime soon. 

Because the woman was Aelin Galathynius, owner of the local Flamin’ Heart Diner chain, and she was sprawled on his fence with her hair loose and coffee in her hand, watching the sun rise, wearing cutoff jeans shorts, an old plaid flannel shirt of his, and her worn old leather boots. 

Oh, and Fenrys Moonbeam’s cowboy hat. 

Fen was his second in command; he headed Rowan’s land while Rowan was off handling the herds. He’d been friends with Aelin for years, having known her since the two of them were seven and eight years old and in the same class at the elementary school. Rowan met Aelin in high school, where her spunk and her sass caught the eye of just about every guy in the building, but her eye, somehow, had fallen only on him. 

Aelin had taken to spending more time out at his ranch, claiming she preferred the quiet of the open skies as opposed to the noise of Cheyenne, though both of them knew she was a city girl at heart. It was definitely because she was his girlfriend, and honestly? Rowan had absolutely no complaints against the woman he loved staying at his place. 

He did, however, have several (thousand) complaints about her boldly wearing another man’s cowboy hat. 

“Mornin’,” he drawled, strolling up behind her and leaning against the fence, one arm braced behind her back. 

“Morning, Ro,” she hummed, her carefully cultivated city voice in sharp contrast to his rancher drawl. 

“Someone’s up with the sun,” he commented, mischief dancing in his bright green eyes. 

“Only time I can get coffee without worrying there’s ranch hand spit in the pot,” she teased. 

Rowan chuckled, low and raspy. “I wouldn’t put it past Moonbeam to drink from the coffeepot and backwash, no I would not.” His eyes narrowed. “Speakin’ of Moonbeam...” 

“Yeah?” Oh, she knew. 

“That’s his hat, ain’t it?” 

She flashed him a roguish grin. “Yup. Sure is.” 

“Baby,” he drawled, leaning close enough for his breath to fan across the back of her neck in the way he knew drove her insane, “What’s the rule?” 

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” She batted her lashes innocently. 

“Aelin,” he spluttered, not having expected that. 

She snickered. “And speaking of riding the cowboy...here he is!” she chirped, hopping off the other side of the fence and going over to meet Fenrys. “Morning, Fen!” 

“Well hey there, Galathynius,” Fen greeted, smirking at his hat sitting lopsided on her head. “You askin’ me somethin’, Miss CEO?” 

“Give me a ride?” she inquired, all sweetness and innocence. 

Rowan growled low in his throat. Actually growled. 

“My pleasure,” Fen grinned lazily, patting his shoulders. “Hop right on.” 

“Meet me at the ranch house, darlin’!” Aelin called to Rowan. 

And she hopped onto Fen’s back piggyback-style, her legs bracketing his hips as he hooked his arms hands under her knees, to support her. 

“Gods burn me,” Rowan grumbled, loping off after his laughing girlfriend and his second as Fen jogged towards the house, making horse-ish sounds for full comedic effect. Gods above. Was the man five? He sure as hell acted like it. Almost every damn day. 

Fen dropped Aelin off at the porch. 

“My thanks for the ride,” she snickered, placing his hat back atop his head. And squishing it down, much to his outrage. 

“My hair!” he yelped, pulling off his hat and fluffing his hair back up. 

“Such a lil’ diva,” Aelin teased, perching herself on the porch swing as Rowan approached. 

“Aww, is your poor hair flat?” Rowan snarked, cramming Fen’s hat down on his head just for fun. 

“Ass!” Fen shrieked, yanking off his hat again to re-fluff his hair. “Y’all are awful!” 

“We really are,” Aelin smirked. 

“Moonbeam, don’t you have fence to mend?” Rowan leaned against the front door. “Ain’t mending itself, boyo.” 

“Fine, fine, I know a dismissal when I get one,” the blonde man complained. “I expect food, though, y’know.” 

“One favor at a time, Moonbeam.” Aelin blew him a little kiss, then waltzed into the ranch house, swaying her hips more than strictly necessary as she passed her boyfriend. 

Then she snagged Rowan’s hat off its peg behind the door and settled it jauntily onto her head. 

“Much better,” Rowan purred, his eyes lighting up when he saw her don his hat. “Why you had to put Fen’s on, I’ll never understand.” 

“I just had to rile you up,” she grinned. “Y’know there’s nothin’ like a li’l jealousy in the morning.” Slipping back into the ranch drawl of her childhood. 

“Certainly makes a man hungry,” Rowan agreed, striding towards her, the light in his eyes darkening. 

“Which is why I’m making waffles!” she declared, dodging his arms and going into the kitchen. “And bacon, just for you.” 

Damn, but he couldn’t be too irritated when she promised her famous waffles, the dish that had propelled Flamin’ Heart Diner from her side venture into the highly successful chain it now was. 

After breakfast, Aelin barely had time to kiss Rowan goodbye before he took off for the section of his land where the fence needed mending and she left for town to spend the day split between her office in downtown Cheyenne and the Flamin’ Heart locations in the city, the day-to-day of being the owner of the chain a familiar routine ever packed with new surprises. 

Like the freezer malfunction in the downtown location that resulted in half the walk-in being somewhat flooded with a couple inches of water and everything in there rushed into coolers and atop ice to keep it usable. 

That little adventure had resulted in several phone calls and a visit from the technician, who declared that a component in the cooling system had blown out and needed to be replaced. Luckily, it was a part that was easily found, one he happened to have in the shop, so he went and got the part and restarted the freezer, which started running again like nothing had ever happened. Aelin left the staff with strict instructions not to put anything back in the freezer until the next morning, since it had to get to temperature again, and went back to her office shaking her head. 

The things one found in the restaurant business, indeed. 

She drove back to Rowan’s knowing she’d probably beat him home, and sure enough, when she parked in the gravel drive in front of the house, his pickup was nowhere to be seen. 

Perfect. 

Plenty of time for her to set her plans in motion. 

Rowan heaved a deep sigh as he walked into his house, greeted by the comforting sounds of Aelin whipping up dinner. “I’m home!” he called. 

“Go shower!” she returned, the laugh in her voice evident. 

He chuckled. “I don’t smell that bad, baby.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, cowboy.” A spatula waved at him from the kitchen. “I don’t allow cattle smell at my table, darlin’.” 

Grinning, he trudged upstairs to shower, the hot spray soothing his tired muscles and cleaning away the dirt and sweat of the day. He toweled himself off, throwing on an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and headed back downstairs, the promise of dinner tempting his nose and mouth with all kinds of tantalizing scents. He strolled into the kitchen, intending to give his girlfriend a bit of a kiss before dinner. 

And stopped dead in his tracks, every thought flying right out of his head. 

Because Aelin sat atop the counter, smirking wickedly, wearing his battered old cowboy hat. 

And absolutely nothing else. 

~~~

TAGS: 

@charlizeed

@cretaceous-therapod

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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@claralady

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@backtobl4ck

[the-pale-goddess]

Halloween, book 1, post Miami, at Donahue’s. Tiffany is wearing a costume and Ethan can’t tear his eyes out of her. What is she wearing?

Tension rises between Tiffany and Ethan at the Halloween party. 

Rating/category: Teen+ /  angst-ish, AU

Warnings: whole lotta pining 💕

Author’s note: In my personal E&T canonverse, The Miami Conference took place right before Christmas, so I come here bearing a short AU scene 👀

____

The sight of Ethan Ramsey glued to his precious whiskey, frowning deeply at the cheerful lot surrounding him, his stern, unimpressed gaze sweeping the room as though searching for the easiest escape route, isn’t a surprise—but the timing most certainly is.

This must be an image torn out of his personal hell: watching his ridiculously dressed coworkers clown around as they indulge in the adult rendition of trick-or-treating. He’s the odd one out, wearing outrageously ordinary and just as expensive blue suit and displeased grimace twisting his majestic features. His presence at Donahue’s on one of the busiest nights of the year doesn’t make any sense, and yet…Doctor Addams seems to know why he’s here.

As if their minds were doomed to collide, he finds her silhouette in the crowd; the ocean of his eyes washes over her again and again, sending an overwhelming thrill down the length of her body. His demeanor instantly softens—he’s suddenly less frightening, more frightened. The way he devours her head to toe, deliriously roaming around every curve, makes her feel powerful.

Proves she is right.

Inspired by her second Bloody Mary, Tiffany sways over to Ethan, her hips boldly move to the sultry beat of She Wolf playing in the background. Her heart pulsates in her throat, stomach churns maliciously, ready to betray the pathetic whims, but she trusts her disguise—she’s skilled enough to survive the anxious wave surging up.

„They let you in without a costume?” Her roguish smirk greets him, and she’s certain he doesn’t miss the flash of fondness and longing mixed in her keen gaze as the very same shade couruscates in his dazzling sapphires.

His lips twitch slightly, but all she gets is a nod and a dry response flatly contradicting its unintended comedic purpose. „I smiled while passing through the door.”

She bursts out laughing, the roar so infectious the corners of Ethan’s mouth inevitably quirk up, forming into a sly grin.

„Clever.” Tiffany raises her glass. „No one would recognize a smiling Terminator.”

„What about you?” He asks, his eyes pierce hers, clearly intent on avoiding her deep cleavage inviting him for a not-so-innocent peek down the path his hands wandered with reckless abandon a few nights ago.

„What about me?” She replies nonchalantly with a raised brow, her heart rate increasing to a dangerous pounding.

„You’re not engaging in this lunacy?”

„Oh, but I am.”

Doctor Ramsey falls silent for a long, obscene moment, drinking her in, measuring her face. The probing intensity of his icy blue eyes almost melting her resilience.

Letting the air between them sizzle.

„What is this supposed to be then?” He points his finger at her all-black outfit, all but convincingly unstirred by the skintight material of her dress and its sole intention to bring him ruin.

Tiffany bites her lower lip as she quickly reconsiders her options, their eyes still locked and loaded.

There’s a she-wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

With a life-ruining smile fit for a wicked enchantress, she decides to aim for his head—it’s the night of horror after all.

„The risk you didn’t take.”

_____

*mic drops*

Then, I imagine that Bryce calls Tiffany and she waves Ethan goodbye as she retreats to her friends, the tension dragging around her 🥰

This aka the outfit: The gang has been excited about the Halloween party at Donahue’s for weeks, but Tiffany couldn’t share the sentiment. She’s been too absorbed in her secret life with Patient X and Dr. Ramsey.

Sienna decided to take the matter into her own hands and came up with a last-minute costume for Tiff. Their joint effort brought a modern day witch to life, AHS Coven style.

Like this, but with burgundy lips:

Anon, dear, you made me want to create an AU to my post-Miami fic Puncture Wound khdkhdkbk I’ll be thinking about this deliciousness for the entire week now. Thank you so much for the ask! ❤️❤️❤️

[daevastanner]

Nyx and Catrin Archeron Berdara - pt. II

Nyx can’t breathe when he sights Catrin Berdara. He can’t form words. His mind reels and he drinks in the sight of her.

She has skin like the moon of the Night Court and the hair piled high atop her head is the color of Autumn Court Ravens. And her eyes… Her eyes are like the pools of Summer Court.

But most beautiful of all are the shadows that skitter about her shoulders and twine around her tucked in wings.

Beautiful, is all he can think.

A shadow nips at her ear, and then… she’s looking at him.

Look, singer, they whisper to her.

And similarly, when Catrin spies Nyx, her breath is stolen from her. She can’t bring herself to look away, even as Emerie and Morrigan’s sons congratulate her. Even as Cassian hands her a glass of wine and presses a rough kiss into the crown of her head.

Gods, she thinks, he must be Nyx.

He has the blue eyes of his mother, and the golden skin and blue-black hair of his father. The cut of his jaw and cheekbones make him appear as though he is carved from stone.

He’s quite leanly built compared to his father. He has strong shoulders and powerful wings, but there’s a sort of boyish lankiness to his form. But Catrin suspects beneath his finery, she’d find much evidence of his past training in Windhaven.

But why is she imagining what’s beneath his finery? And why can’t she stop staring at him? Why can’t he stop staring at her?

Her feet carry her across the room, and it seems like the entirety of their family unconsciously parts to clear a path so she may reach him.

Nyx also feels like a puppet. His feet moving of their own accord towards her as well.

His throat is thick and he doesn’t know why.

Catrin’s eyes sting for some unknown reason and her shadows hum a song that she can’t quite make out.

And they arrive before one another, staring at each other in silence.

Catrin is rarely without a quip on her tongue.

Nyx is hardly ever lost for words.

So he holds out a hand. “You must be Catrin.”

She smiles at him, accepting his offered hand. “Yes, and you must be Nyx.”

Pull yourself together, he thinks, trying not to stare too closely at the shadows that dance about her bare shoulders.

He gives her a roguish grin. “Always nice to meet a fellow Carynthian.”

Catrin’s laugh is soft, she grimaces at him. “Mm, yes. But not quite a Carynthian in the same measure.”

Nyx arches a dark brow at her.

Catrin shrugs, teal eyes dancing. “I heard it took you two attempts to beat the Blood Rite.” She points a finger at herself. “First try.”

The laughter that spills from Nyx is not forced. It has been some time since he’s been spoken to in such a manner. Catrin chuckles with him and he notices how it scrunches her nose.

“You’re just as competitive as your mother,” Nyx grins.

“Mm, do I detect a hint of fear, my lord?”

Nyx blanches. “Oh, don’t. Don’t call me that”

Catrin angles her head. “Am I to believe the male who has spent nearly twenty years dedicating himself to learning what a good High Lord is, resents the title?”

“I resent it from my friends.”

“I’m a friend already, am I?”

“I make it a point to be friends with any shadowsingers I meet,” Nyx says smoothly.

Catrin scoffs. “And what’s in it for me? This friendship.”

And Nyx resorts to the casual arrogance he always adopts when he feels out of sorts. “You get unlimited access to my good looks.”

Catrin’s cheeks color, but her smile remains quietly amused. “And here I was thinking that no ego could surpass your father’s…”

“I am his son,” Nyx replies, picking at some invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of his jacket.

Catrin takes a sip of her wine and Nyx clears his throat, trying to dredge up more words for this stunning, witty, intimidating female.

“So Carynthian Champion. Valkyrie in training. What’s next for Catrin Berdara?”

Her eyes light up and Nyx’s heart stutters. He forces himself to blink through the haze and he makes himself listen instead of marveling at her beauty.

“I plan to apprentice for my father,” she says, lifting her chin a fraction.

Nyx hums in approval. “So you want to be a spy?”

“Spymaster,” she corrects.

Nyx’s brows raise. “Interesting. You’d steal the role from your father…”

“He would pass it to me,” Catrin corrects. “When he was ready. When I am ready.”

And he can’t help but undermine her… just a little. He sees his father and mother duel wits constantly.

“If you are ready,” he retorts.

She’s silent and Nyx feels his stomach plummet as he realizes he may have messed up.

But she squares her shoulders, and snorts. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ll be ready.”

The edge of Nyx’s lip quirks up as their silver tongues begin a dance. His quick and cunning. Hers measured and cutting.

“Are you always so braggadocios, lady?”

“Hm, is it bragging if it’s a fact, my lord?”

And he laughs again.

As they continue to exchange barbed remarks, Rhysand catches sight of them.

He notices that Nyx is wearing his father’s rakish smile, but he also recognizes another part of himself in his son’s eyes. The eyes he shares with Feyre.

Quiet fascination. Astonishment.

And the High Lord wonders to himself: Could they be…

But it’s a ridiculous thought. One born from him seeing his son again. Just because his son is enjoying himself with a female doesn’t mean they are mates.

But Rhysand feels a pair of eyes on him, and when he follows the source, he finds Azriel is looking at him.

His brother jerks his head at Nyx and Catrin, and Rhysand shrugs with a half-smile.

But Azriel doesn’t match his amusement. He regards his shadows, and his eyes flash.

Rhysand peeks inside his mind, tilting his head.

What? Rhysand asks.

Azriel replies: I’m not sure.

You don’t think…

No…

But there’s something uncertain in Azriel’s answer…

A loud snort followed by a burst of laughter, draws Rhysand’s attention back to his son.

Catrin has a hand pressed to her chest, as she snickers.

And Nyx is quietly beaming, into his wine glass.

No, Rhysand thinks. Friends.

And then he hears his mate in his mind: So were we…

It’s far too early for them to know anything. For all they know, after this night Nyx and Catrin may never speak again.

But there is something undeniably charged in the air around Nyx and Catrin. Something both ancient and new.

Part 3