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[steroidmurphy]

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[v-o-i-d-p-u-n-k]

Mia told her

[turnaboutarchives]

Gyakuten Saiban 3 4Koma Kingdom- Full Raws

Find the files here! Size is around 650MB.

[miru-has-thoughts]

ALPHA ACADEMY >>> AMERICAN MADE

[skyefeys]

everyone look at this pin i got rn!!!

[planet4546b]

i JUST realized there is no magatama in this show really funny

[beevean]

You can't judge someone's morality from their ships, but you can probably make an educated guess on their emotional needs.

bonus: when the gloomy man turns out to be adorably polite and devoted to the one person who treated them with decency. "it gives me cause to wonder if your meeting has a deeper purpose/you are a lawyer of absolute integrity/I believe you have saved my life/you are a lawyer of boundless talent" vs. "I will give you my life without forgiveness or recompense" 🥺

[lingeringscars]

to piggyback on layla being self-aware... she also notices the negatives way easier than positives. this is a natural human thing; we ruminate on negative situations that it becomes harder to think about positive ones or moments where we have excelled.

layla sits down and writes out her list of struggles in 3 seconds. she doesn't need to really think about them. she was being thoughtful; they are real struggles that she is facing and dealing with (and i absolutely LOVE that taking on too much was number 1 on her struggles, and that it was something she really dealt with in this episode, too). but it was easy to create that list.

it was so much harder to create her list of successes because if it isn't 100% her success, if it isn't 100% a success (is anything?) she couldn't possibly put it on the list. layla sees all the help that she has received, and she is grateful for it, but because she didn't do something entirely on her own, she doesn't think it belongs there. layla is a perfectionist through and through, and she does not handle being on the sidelines well, but she also doesn't view a personal success as something that someone else can help with.

jordan really gets through to her this episode and makes her believe that it is okay for her to rely on other people (he's made that clear for years now that it is okay for her to rely on HIM), but also that it is okay for her to accept group victories. spencer is currently in the running for a top draft pick, but he did not make it to this level entirely on his own, either. neither did she. she doesn't think she can count the lounge as a success because she needed help (ryan, jaymee, jordan).

but she makes progress, and jordan helps, and she realizes that...she did do this, and now she can take a step back. one of layla's major successes, letting jaymee take over as manager, also directly relates to her major struggles, taking on too much and needing to learn how to balance. she realizes where her potential lies, what she is good at, and what she loves to do, and this helps her counteract some of those feelings of being overwhelmed.

and she TRUSTS jaymee to do it! it's not her saying no i need to do this, i need to figure it out, i need to make it work, if i just do this one thing, then i will be fine. she sees the joy jaymee has, knows that she hates her current job, recognizes that she does not enjoy it the way that jaymee does, and she listens to jaymee. even in this scene, you see her doubt; she hired the bartender that quit so how could her instincts be good? she doesn't see that everyone else stayed and helped and made it work, just the one failure in it all that she's attributing to herself.

but jaymee's words stick and she wants to hire her on the spot because jaymee is the right person for this job, not her. jordan telling her for years that it is okay to rely on other people is in her head. jordan reminding her that there can be shared successes is in her head, and she is able to do what is best for her and jaymee in that moment.

[coldcanadianwinters]

Feeling a little too much about the original Ace Attorney game on a Sunday night, hope you all are doing fine

[princedevitt]

Wait a minute. Where is my technical twink Chad Gable at?! WHERE is he?!

[maxsourcekira]

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[v-o-i-d-p-u-n-k]

Problems

Alt version under cut

[8n53]

they randomly show off that athena is strong enough to throw a police officer to the ground and then i think they never bring it up again . ok 💛

[pursuitseternal]

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

[libbybee]

FEEDING THE HUNGER — AA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 2.2K ◜cw: vampire ascendant, predator/prey, piv, bite kink, blood, bodily fluids, masochism, dirty talk, cock riding, overstimulation, creampie.

▹ summary. a guttural groan vibrated against your neck just as his cock drove into you with wild intensity. the cruel rhythm of his thrusts mirrored the raw hunger in his feeding, but you weren’t his lamb—you were his equal, and you were to remind him of that.

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST ┊ IMG

‎

You straddled him with abandon, making the sound of skin meeting skin resonate through the bedroom. Astarion’s cock was filling your cunt completely; each thick vein pulsed against your tight walls, and every thrust felt so deep it made you see stars. You gripped his waist, and your nails left red trails across the pale beauty of his skin, while his crimson eyes devoured every inch of you.

“Just look at you, riding me like this,” he growled harshly, sliding his hands down your thighs to grip your ass and squeeze it as he directed you more rigidly onto him. “Gods, your cunt feels like heaven. So tight, so fucking perfect for me.”

The hunger in his stare was matched by the soft groans that escaped from his lips—low and rough, like a melody only meant for you. But you? You couldn’t match his restraint. Your moans were utterly shameless, as every thrust forced your core to accommodate his full length. It stirred a deeper fire in your lower belly as you rubbed your folds against him, making the coarse white hair at the base of his cock grind against your clit, hitching your breath.

His lips twisted into a wicked smirk at your reaction. “Ah, there it is,” he purred. “That delicious moan from those lips. Don’t stop, beautiful; give me more.”

You undulated your hips faster and more fervently at his request, and your head went back as the pleasure coiled tighter within you. And Astarion didn't waste a single second; he surged forward to brush his lips against the column of your neck, yanking your hips down and thrusting his up into you, drawing a gasp from you.

“You’re irresistible,” he rasped, scraping his teeth along your neck to tease you before biting down on your pulse vein and stealing a quiet, tortured moan from your lips.

The sharp point of his fangs gave way almost instantly to a burning ecstasy as his lips sealed over your skin. The bite made you shiver and warmed every nerve with pleasure as he drank your blood. Each pull of his lips was like fire, an intoxicating blend of pain and rapture that left you trembling.

A guttural groan vibrated against your neck just as his cock drove into you with wild intensity. The cruel rhythm of his thrusts mirrored the raw hunger in his feeding, but you weren’t his lamb—you were his equal, and you were to remind him of that.

You tangled your fingers in his silvery hair to tug hard enough to pull his head back and expose the line of his throat. His eyes blazed with desire and surprise as you leaned in, brushing his skin with your lips before your tongue traced the pulse of his vein. Then you sank your fangs into him.

Astarion’s reaction was instant and feral—a delicious growl ripped from him and made your walls clench involuntarily around him. His hands intensified their grip on your hips, digging into your flesh as he drove you down onto his cock, still grinding your sensitive cunt against the rough hair at his base.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word rolling off his tongue like sin. “Savour it, darling. Sink your teeth deeper. I'm yours.”

The taste of his blood was rich and stimulating, like the finest wines. Each drop seemed to emanate an otherworldly vitality, seeping into you and making your pulse race. Every touch of his hands and every thrust of his hips became sharper and more electric, as if his scarlet magnified all sensations.

You took more of his addictive elixir, relishing the way it warmed you. He groaned low and guttural while he kept driving into you; each piston-like thrust made you tremble in his grasp, overtaken by the dual ecstasy of feeding from him and being well fucked.

A need to share this intimacy and give as much as you were taking surged from you. And without pulling back, you lifted your wrist to his lips to silently invite him to feed, too.

His eyes now flashed with a feral hunger, and he took up your offer, grasping your wrist gently at first to caress with his lips the delicate veins under your skin. “You spoil me with such a precious gift,” he uttered. “My perfect consort...” He purred before sinking his fangs into it without hesitation, drawing a sharp exhale from you as the bite provoked a new layer of pleasure.

Astarion’s groans became rougher and more primal, gripping your ass to guide you down harder and grinding your swollen clit against his pelvis. The combination of pain, stimulation, and intoxicating feeding sent you rushing towards ecstasy.

When you pulled back, his blood left a trail down your chin from your lips, and he released your wrist, immediately darting his fingers to your chin to grip it firmly. Crimson smeared his lips as well, and his lustful gaze locked onto you with a yearning that bordered on vicious, pulling you into a kiss so passionate and lascivious it stole the breath from you.

His tongue plunged into your mouth, eager to seek the precious elixir you had just shared. The taste of mingled blood was nothing short of intoxicating—sweetened but complex, with notes reminiscent of a full-bodied red wine aged to perfection. It carried the richness of a smoky undertone that lingered on the palate and a metallic sharpness that cut like the icy texture of iron. The flavour was vibrant and lush, like a symphony of death and lust that coursed through your senses, leaving you light-headed and irresistibly eager for more.

Astarion groaned against your lips, his pleasure raw with each drag of his tongue against yours, delving his tongue deeper to draw out every trace of the nectar. It was as if the mingled blood fed not just his hunger but his soul, and each flick of his tongue, every fervent press of his lips, was a testament to his insatiable thirst.

His reddish irises burnt when he pulled back for the barest moment, with a faint hint of the mixed blood on his lips. Then he surged forward again to kiss you, leaving no doubt that he was utterly lost in the taste of you—utterly lost in you.

His lips curled against yours as he slid one of his hands between your bodies to find your puffy clit and rub circles against it that matched his pace. And your cunt tightened around him, causing you to break the kiss when your moans turned into desperate, broken sounds just when your climax was about to collapse within you.

“There is nothing sweeter than this,” he said, a filthy growl against your lips. “And you’re mine—completely, eternally mine.” He dragged his sharp fangs along your bottom lip to draw out more of your blood and soothe the fresh cut with his tongue.

“I’m yours,” you whispered between desperate gasps against his lips, gripping his hair with one of your hands and his nape with the other as you rocked yourself against him. “Every part of me belongs to you.”

His eyes darkened as he looked at you, a wicked smile spreading across his lips. “My beautiful treasure,” he purred, delighted. “I never tire of hearing you say it.” He groaned against your neck as he trailed hungry kisses along it.

“Keep riding me like the good girl you are,” he said, his tone thick with lust. “Let me feel that sweet, tight cunt soaking me while you milk my cock, darling.”

You planted your hands against his chest, feeling his body tense beneath your palms while you rocked your hips against his. Rolling them in a way that allowed you to feel every thick vein pulsing along his shaft as it dragged against every sensitive spot within you, his hips snapping up to match your pace. Seizing your waist with his hands to guide you rougher and stretching your cunt with his cock, being almost too much while it fed the fire in your belly until you thought you might combust.

The pace ripped a deep, primal groan from him, and you heard it as if it were a spark that started a wildfire inside you, raising your desire to fuck him faster and harder. The slick and obscene slaps of your bodies colliding through the room created a symphony of passion that made you flush and your core clench with each thrust.

“Astarion,” you moaned as if his name were a last-ditch appeal on your tongue while your fingernails swept across his chest in a fruitless effort to anchor yourself. All he could do was smirk maliciously in enjoyment as you streaked his skin with bright red.

As his fiery gaze ate up your quivering body, a savage snarl escaped his lips. “So fucking tight,” he grunted. “Taking me so beautifully.” The head of his cock hammered your cervix as he drove up violently, his hands tightening on your hips. “I can feel how badly you need this, how desperate you are to be filled by me.”

His words sent you out of control, making your thighs shake and the knot of pleasure in your core growing more and more intolerable. Your body acted on its own, grinding against him with impulsive abandon, stoking the inferno within you.

Astarion's grasp became bruising as he sensed your unwinding, his sharp fangs grazing the tender column of your throat. “Drench my cock, my treasure,” he growled against you. “Don’t hold back, love. Let me feel you.”

You came completely undone by the tidal wave of ecstasy that erupted from the tone of his voice, feeling a dazzling explosion of pleasure as your walls clenched around him with an intensity that seemed to pull him even deeper within you. The heat of your release surged through you, carrying you higher until you felt as if you might dissolve in the sheer force of it. Your moans were a sound of unadulterated bliss, uninhibited and pure.

Astarion's climax followed yours due to your pussy's intense, frantic hold on his cock. His growls became savage as he used a bruising grip to pull you down onto him and settle himself completely inside of you. As his cock reached its maximum hardness, you could feel the distinctive throbs of it. Then it happened—spurts as he came into you.

The sensation was intense, your already sensitive body responding to the warmth of his climax as it spread deep inside your walls. It was electrifying—an intimate bond shared between you that left you trembling. You could feel every pulse of his tip against your cervix and each involuntary twitch of his hips as he grounded himself deeper, ensuring no drop was spared.

His abrupt groan was your name falling from his lips, a sound raw with satisfaction and lust. You shivered against him, slumping forward to rest against his chest, both of your breaths mingling as you fought to steady yourselves.

His hands softened their hold, sliding up your sides in a tender caress as his eyes bore into yours, dark with lust. “My perfect little consort,” he rasped. “Milking me dry like you’re starving for it.”

Your bodies remained intertwined, his cock still nestled deep inside you, as if the mere thought of separation were cruel in your bond. He roamed your body with his hands lazily, tracing the swell of your hips as if cherishing your body anew. His lips sought yours, capturing them in a kiss that was no longer driven by hunger but by a slower, more profound need. Something achingly sensuous.

The press of his mouth against yours deepened, sliding his tongue against yours in a longing dance. When he finally pulled away, a thin trail of saliva connected your lips.

Then his pelvis surged upward to drive himself deeper into you once more, and his lips twisted into a smirk as he felt the aftershocks of your climax on your cunt. His eyes, half-lidded, locked onto yours, their intensity softened by adoration.“Oh, you’re not done yet, are you, darling?”

His hands slid from your hips to your waist and your breasts to graze your sensitive nipples with his thumbs, drawing a soft sigh from your lips. A low hum of satisfaction escaped him. “You’ve been so good for me,” he praised. “And yet... you keep me wanting.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, and you cupped his face with both hands. “And I’ll always give you more,” you whispered sweetly against his lips.

His smirk altered into something softer as he leaned in to brush his lips against your jaw and trail kisses down your neck. His hips shifted slightly to press more deeply into you, making you both gasp softly at the overstimulation. But this time, there was no rush, just his slow thrusts that spoke of his need to prolong your pleasure.

Your hands slid down to rest on his chest, feeling the faint thrum of his pulse beneath one of your palms. “You’ve ruined me, Astarion,” you claimed. “No one else could ever—”

“Good,” he interjected smoothly, curling his lips into a pleased smile against your skin. “I’d hate to think of anyone else touching what’s mine.”

‎

[incorporealbombchelle]

Friend of the Family

Mr.Reed × Fem!Reader(Mid-20s) [18+]

Synopsis: Part 1 - (y/n)'s boring family Christmas vacation to Colorado doesn't exactly go as anticipated...

⚠️TW: Boring Family Dynamic, Age Gap, Alcohol Consumption (all parties of age), Oral Sex (Male & Female Recipients), Raw P in V Penetration, Breif Mutual Masturbation, General Smut. ❄️

"So do I even *actually* know this guy?" I interrogate, unsure why we're staying there instead of some mountainside Airbnb. "Of course! (y/n), you've met Mr. Reed plenty of times, you were just, y'know...smaller." Dad explains, cheery. "Okay... but when you said 'Colorado Christmas Vacation' I thought we'd be like... snowboarding, or hanging out in a cute mountain town, or at least renting a cool cabin in Telluride... not like... the middle of nowhere part of Boulder with some guy I haven't seen since I was a kid..."

He sighs, defeated by my expectations yet again. "Listen. He's my best friend, a few years back he lost his wife, and its true, I haven't gotten around to seeing him in person since you were four, Bug."

He drones on,

"He's a really nice guy, and super cool. He loves that Lana Del Rey girl you're always talking about, and he's got a really nice collection of records and books, its like a mini Barnes & Noble in there! You might find you have more in common than you think!" He offers.

And I decline : "With a 64-year-old retired engineer from England? Yeah thanks, I'll pass. I'm just gonna stay out of the way, keep my headphones on, and let you two reconnect."

I pull out my phone, pop in my earpods, and open Tumblr, pretending to care at all about the latest posts on the Spencer Reid tag. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell I've hurt his feelings, but fathers never say the right thing, and he can withstand a little sting every once in a while. It's what he deserves for not telling me where we were staying til halfway through the plane ride.

Our plane finally touches down and we funnel through Boulder Municipal into a cab and I won't be the first one to speak. I take one earpod out just in case, which Dad takes as an invitation. "Just got a text from Mr. Reed, and I hope you're hungry Bug, because there. will. be. pie." He beams as though this is some great revelation, elaborating "He's got this wild recipe with earl grey in the crust and lemon zest in the filling, it's award-winning. Seriously! He enters it in the local contest every other year and it's only lost once!"

Despite how riveting my father finds Mr. Reed and his Great British baking exploits, I do not, and apparently it shows as his smile tamps down to a simper. "Sweetie, I'm really trying here. I can't convince you it's gonna be the best Christmas ever, hey, we'll probably both have altitude sickness the entire time, but let's just make an attempt, okay? Nothing has to be perfect." He's an idiot but he's right and I agree. "Okay, yeah. I'll be nice." I sigh "That pie does sound pretty good, I guess..."

The cab rolls through the city of Boulder as Lana lilts gently in my earpods about 'haaa-aa-ow toooo disappear~' and maybe this trip won't be so bad after all.

We're finally dropped at the gate to Mr. Reed's house and -you're fucking kidding me- his driveway, long and winding, is gravel. I wince inwardly at the realization that I'll have to lug two wheeled suitcases up that path and flash Dad a fake 'I'm so glad We're doing this' smile before yanking them out of the trunk and making my way up to the stoop. This pie better be incredible.

Once Dad and I are situated on the stoop, out of breath and travel-weary, I assault Mr. Reed's doorbell. It's cold and I need a shower.

ding. .... nothing. ding-ding. nope. dingdingdingdingdingdingdingding-

The door opens, finally, and a sweet-looking older man in a well composed cardigan-button down combo and jeans answers the door, smiling bright as his eyes fall on Dad.

"Jonathan!!"

"Reed!!"

Laughter ensues as I observe their embrace, holding back a heavy eyeroll. Somehow I am already third-wheeling.

"Oh my god, Mr. Reed, you remember (y/n)? She's just finished a semester at Oxford!" Dad smirks, gesturing to me and I give a shy wave as Mr. Reed's eyes scan over me, widening in surprise.

"(y/n)? As in, little (y/n), (y/n) who was- ?" He holds his hand flat, bringing it down by his knee as he looks between me and dad in disbelief.

"The very same, can you believe it?"

I purse my mouth into a smile, just completely overwhelmed by how awkward this interaction is.

"Well look at you! You've certainly grown up, haven't you?"

"I suppose so!" my best fake laugh.

Mr. Reed's eyes trace my form again and he pulls me into a quick side hug. He's warm and smells like lemon zest with a hint of vanilla.

"Let's get you two in then, supposed to be a blizzard tonight."

He grabs one of my suitcases and we follow him as he shuffles back inside.

His house is simple and a little cramped, but I do smell pie. 'Bless This Mess' reads a framed piece of embroidery on the wall, and if there is a God, I hope he does.

We toss our bags into our respective guest rooms at the top of the stairs and I finally get to take my shower before making a way back downstairs to the dining room.

We sit through a meal -shepherd's pie, what is it with this guy and pie?- and my dad and Mr. Reed discuss people they both know who died or lived or have moved or haven't moved and I am in hell until-

"Little after dinner drink then?"

My eyes snap up from my plate to meet his, a small smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. His eyes crinkle at the ends when he smiles and his smile is warm and comforting and it occurs to me for the first time that Mr. Reed is...handsome... If he were 20 years younger he'd definitely be my type, in fact...

"Alright! So that's one, me makes two, Jonathan, little shiraz with your pie?"

"Well how could I say no to such a generous offer?" Dad beams.

We move back into the living room and sip and I pick at the pie. It is good and after a glass and a half of shiraz Mr. Reed looks just as appetizing, but I decide I'm not going to eye-fuck this old man in front of my father, or at least not in an obvious way.

So I sit, tepid, on my phone and pretend not to be bothered by the lack of service while I half listen to their conversation, looking up strategically to ogle Mr. Reed every now and then. His eyes find mine and I watch him nibble at his lip and does he know?

"So then (y/n), Oxford, hm?"

"Uhm, yeah, I'm in their creative writing masters program right now... its... interesting."

"Interesting boring or interesting incredible?" He crosses one leg over the other and leans in, attentive.

"Uh, I mean it's going well, people in my classes are a little...er.. pretentious..?" I giggle, nervous.

"Exactly as I remember it, then!" He laughs loudly, and dad joins in, snickering along. His laughter is infectious and this wine is making me blush and I smile.

"You're an alum?"

"What, the accent didn't give it away?" A chuckle, "Yeah, yeah, I was lucky enough to take about an eon of courses in engineering sciences there, immigrate in the 90s, build this place, blah blah blah, but enough on me, it seems we may just be in the midst of the next great American novelist, eh Jonathan?" A wink.

"I don't know about that," I tear my eyes away from him, focusing in on the details of a floorboard.

"Oh (y/n) don't be modest, Reed you'd love her stuff, she's got some of the most well-metered prose, and-"

"Dad." I warn, eyes wide with embarrassment.

"Oop, sorry bug," He cringes "Didn't mean to dad-out on ya."

"I'd love to read some of your writing sometime, granted you'd be comfortable enough to share." Mr. Reed interjects.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe. Sometime..."

"Can I top you up?"

"Sure." He fills my glass just to the midpoint and does the same for himself.

"Jonathan?" He smirks playfully at dad.

"Ah, I dunno, I should probably be getting some shut-eye actually."

"Aw come on,"

"No, no, these days if im up past 10 with a drink in hand I'll be totally useless the next 24 hours." He stands, patting my shoulder. "Night, y'all. Don't have too much fun without me!" And there go the finger guns so now it's my turn to cringe.

He finally leaves the room and I'm alone with Mr. Reed. There's a heavy silence in the air and I take a small sip of my drink.

"So, (y/n), big on Lana Del Rey I hear?" He smirks.

"One of my favorites." I breathe, forcing a smile.

"Norman Fucking Rockwell or Blue Banisters?"

"NFR."

His eyebrows raise "it's okay to be wrong."

"But I'm not."

"Lust for Life or Born To Die; Paradise Edition?"

"... you ask hard questions, Mr. Reed."

"And you... answer them."

"And if I give you another 'wrong' answer?"

"Why would it matter? Are you trying to impress me?"

"...Paradise." I squint at him.

"Mm, see? We agree on something."

I'm powerless to the smile that forms on my face.

"Yeah?"

He lets out a low laugh. "Yeah,"

"What drew you to her, originally I mean?" He looks me over.

"Well, like a lot of young women I do have the obligatory depression diagnosis and Tumblr account combo, and things spiraled out from there I guess..."

"Ah, and here I thought it was just your ill-suited attraction to old men!" He lets out a warm chuckle at his own joke and I must've misheard him.

"What?" I shift a bit in my place on the couch, called out.

He scoffs. "Come on, (y/n). Let's not play this game. You've been eyeing me up since dinner, sitting there and sipping your drink and sucking berries off your fork in the most salacious way, letting your gaze linger, innocent and doe-eyed yet so apathetic to it all," he rolls his eyes like he might be as well, "when in reality, it seems, correct me if I go wrong, but you've been looking at me all night like you want me to touch you. Is that accurate or am I projecting a fantasy?"

The tip of his tongue trails his lip and my eyes follow its path and I'm warm. His eyes search mine, that was supposed to be a question.

"Uhm... no that... that sounds...accurate..." I admit almost silently, eyes boring into the floor as I sheepishly take another sip of my wine.

"Hm. I see. And in front of your father too...tsk, naughty girl. Lucky for you the man's terrible at reading body language or subtext of any variant,"

Mr. Reed rises from his chair across the coffee table and plants himself on the edge of the sofa next to me. "I, however, do not have that problem." I look up at him and his eyes are two blue marbles behind those wireframed glasses and his cheshire smirk is enough to melt me, it's overwhelming.

My face is hot and my body is tight as he delicately removes the wineglass from my hand, sets it down on the coffee table, and leans down to kiss me.

He's tender and gentle and his lips are soft, his tongue stained with blueberry filling as it finds mine, and he strokes my cheek. I place a shaky hand on his knee and one of his covers it as he presses his forehead to mine, breaking the spell. "Are you certain this is something you want, (y/n)? I wouldn't want to impose-" I cut him off with another, more assertive kiss because I need this.

The holidays are stressful and I'm horny and he's here. Fuck it.

As we continue making out, Mr. Reed scoots onto the couch beside me and I find his zipper. His dick jumps to meet my hand through the fabric as one of his hands slips under my sweater and he moans at the softness of my breast.

I pull away to unzip his pants and stroke him a couple times before moving to kneel between his legs. I look up to him, reverent, then back down to his cock, throbbing in hand. Giving him a few steady strokes, I lean forward, parting my lips.

"Can I?" I blink.

He nods eagerly, transfixed.

I take as much of him into my mouth as I can and swallow as his tip hits the back of my throat.

I hear him suck in a breath and his hands find my hair as I start to bob my head over the length of him, holding his balls with one hand and methodically stroking his base with the other. His breath catches, ragged and I feel him spasm in my mouth. I need him. I finally come up for air with a gasp and wipe a tendril of spit off my lower lip as I look up at him. "Mr. Reed, I want to fuck you," I breathe.

"Well all you had to do was ask," he sighs and I pull myself up off the floor, undoing my jeans and tugging them off my legs as quickly as I can before tearing off my sweater and within seconds I'm standing before him in just my panties and bralette. His eyes trail over me. His teeth sink into his lower lip as a hand wraps around his dick and I place a knee on either side of his legs, straddling him. Fair is fair and my fingers slip under the hem of my panties so I can work myself for him as he takes me in.

"How do you want me?"

"Turn around."

I follow his blunt instruction and as I do his fingers hook into either side of my panties, pulling the dampened fabric down my legs.

"Now, you're going to squat down for me... slowly."

I do as I'm told and he guides my hips, lining himself up with my center. Mr. Reed rests his hands on the tops of my thighs, pushing me further down into his lap and I gasp as I feel him begin to penetrate me. I knew it was big, I mean, he could barely fit in my mouth, but christ. I swivel my hips in an attempt to adjust to him, and hear him draw in a breath.

"(y/n), I want you to bounce for me, and you will. not. make. a sound. understood?"

"Y-yes Mr. Reed."

I start to raise and lower myself slowly on him and gasp sharply as I feel myself tense. He holds me steady by my biceps and guides me up and down.

"Good, that's- ohh that is good, just keep going... mm, mhm, just. like. that. you. Are. Brilliant..." he murmurs, squeezing my ass and I bite back a moan

"Shhhh-shh..."

"Ssorry Mr. Reed," I manage quietly.

He continues to guide my movements, faster now, and lets his head tip against the back of the couch. I feel him twitch inside me and gasp sharply.

"(y/n), stand for me?" And I do.

He turns me around by my hips and I blink down at Mr. Reed and he's panting, glasses perched on top of his head, looking me over hungrily.

"Lay back on the couch here, pet."

He sets a pillow down for me to rest my head on and I do as he says, watching him part my legs, settling between them as he presses gentle kisses up my inner thighs, staring intently into my eyes as he does.

He hovers over my core and I gasp at the warmth of his breath. I watch Mr. Reed's eyes close for a moment as he inhales the scent of my sex and smirks to himself.

"Does your pussy taste like Pepsi Cola then, (y/n)?" He lets out a low chuckle at his own corny little quip, bringing his mouth closer "Shall we find out?"

He pins my thighs open and slowly licks a wide stripe up my vulva from entrance to clit. I can't hold back the whimper that slips from me at the heat of his tongue, and it's even harder to silence msyelf when he dips two fingers into me, curling the pads of his fingertips just slightly as he steadily works me, his tongue moving in a synced rythym against my clit.

The sensation is almost too much and I gasp as I feel myself spasm a couple times around his fingers. He hums into me and the vibration sends a shudder through my body. He tilts his head up, panting as he continues fingering me, and my hips arch up to meet his hand.

He removes his fingers, pressing them against the plush of my lower lip and into my mouth. I suck and lick impatiently, and before long his mouth is on mine again as I feel his cock slip into me. I can't help the soft moan that escapes my lips as he begins to slowly rock his hips into mine.

"Mister Reed?" I breathe

"Mm?"

"It's... you're just...so big...." He smirks.

"Oh, I'm aware dear." He picks up his pace some "You're taking me so well, though..." he presses a kiss into the side of my neck and I gasp.

"Being so good for me..."

A loud creak interrupts us from overhead and Mr. Reed stops moving, eyes glued upwards as he clamps his hand over my mouth.

Heavy footsteps make the floorboards groan above us as he slowly starts to fuck me again and I take in a sharp breath through my nostrils, looking up at him, panicked.

"Shhh, shh-" another low creak.

Mr. Reed quickens his thrusts and I involuntarily whine against his hand which finds it's way to my neck instantly, holding firm.

"I said. Be quiet." He whispers sternly.

I bite my lip in an effort not to cry out, nodding and I begin to feel that familiar tension coiling inside as he bucks into me, my mind going totally blank at the way his hand feels wrapped around my throat.

The footsteps and floorboards finally stop and his grip on my neck releases some and I feel warm and hazy as he continues to forcefully piston into me. I feel myself starting to tense up and I struggle for breath as I unwind completely under him.

Seconds later, Mr. Reed lets out a low groan and I feel his orgasm pulse out acutely within me as I weather my own.

We lay there for a few minutes and as we come down together, the weight of our indiscretion settles in some.

I've just fucked my dad's best friend. Three days before Christmas. And I liked it. A lot.

"I needed that so badly."

"I could tell," he chortles.

Mr. Reed slips out of me, grabbing one of the discarded linen napkins from the coffee table to clean himself off with, before gently tucking it between my legs.

"Oh, and... it does, by the way."