#am I reading all of them while I wait for ao3? yes

[excitedbones]

Going to ffn while ao3 is down only to find 10 fics for the entire fandom 😳

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 1

Part 2

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, eventual smut, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i nearly decided on nuking this because it feels so fucking bad and aimless guess in the end I'M really the tormented spirit huh anyway if I'm glad i didnt and decided to wait it out. if you enjoy this please think of leaving a comment and/or reblog because i need the reassurance. | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

"Father," Alicent pleads, "she needs to see you."

Otto's jaw clenches as he lifts his gaze from his desk. He looks upon his youngest child's features. You were one in the same, his first daughter and last. He thanks the gods that she did not inherit the curse you bear.

Alicent picks at her fingers while awaiting a response. Though she draws blood, no sound leaves her lips. She did not know it, but her father catches this anxious tick. He mentally corrects himself: at least she did not inherit it at equal intensity.

"A man has no place in the dressing room of a bride-to-be," the Lord Hand dismisses.

Alicent knew about as much would be said, yet she still tries, "please. She is having a-"

"And when has my presence ever soothed her?" Otto interrupts, raising his voice to make his point clear.

It was enough. Alicent understood.

He turns back to his papers. He reads them but none of the words register. He says, "I am sure your brother is already there, coddling her as he does."

Alicent does not respond.

Otto lifts his gaze, "go," he speaks as though his daughter missed the obvious, "if she needs someone so badly, coddle her with Gwayne."

Alicent returns to your chambers. Her heart pinched in every which way at the sight of you. Here you stood, clothed in one the few precious dresses that belonged to your mother— a bride. Dark blue satin and gold jewelry embellished your form. Your brown hair was curled and plaited and pinned. Your face had a glow, only because it was stained with tears. It was terrible and magnificent all at once.

Rhaenyra goes to her best friend and the two girls clutched hands before walking towards you. Gwayne spots them and gives your hands a tight squeeze. Because of this, you turn from your older brother to your younger sister. Your eyes are pink with melancholy.

"Lord Hand," Alicent mutters, "is deep in his work."

On his daughter's wedding day, thinks Gwayne.

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw, loathing your father more than normal in this moment.

More than your own, you cannot stomach your sister's duress. You stroke her cheek, "I am well now. Worry no more."

Alicent catches Gwayne's expression and knows that is a lie. Still, she smiles and nods, "I am glad," she looks you once over, "you are an exquisite bride, sister."

Rhaenyra offers a smile, "I agree, dear aunt."

Your face twists at the young princess' words, though you knew she meant well. You will away the dreadful sensation in your stomach and manage a smile, "thank you... sweet niece."

You relish their company for as long as you can in this moment. You gather strength from Rhaenyra's smile, from Alicent's touch, and Gwayne's words. Then, all at once, you were alone, walking towards Daemon Targaryen.

In truth, he was not curious of you. He despised you, for after all, you were the spawn of that Cunttower. But, gods, what could possibly be the reason you were taking so long to walk down the aisle? It was not like this room was that big. And so, he turns over his shoulder to inspect you. His hand remains on Dark Sister and his weight still rested mostly on one leg.

He squints at the sight of you, moving like a snail. He is about to roll his eyes, but then he catches a glimpse of your countenance.

Tis strange.

You were not nearly as repulsive as he remembered you, and not nearly as similar in likeness to your rotten twin. How could that be, when it was not only- what, a season since he had pummeled Ser Cuntface to the ground? He will never forget your screaming face in the audience, and how deliciously distressed your father had been from hauling you away.

Even now, as Daemon's lilac eyes appraised your distant silhouette, gliding towards him like a phantom intent on haunting, he second guessed if that weeping woman from the tourney was you. But then he turned to your brother and saw his jaw harden. It was unmistakable then you were the weeping woman, and now, you were his weeping bride.

Gwayne, could not help the way his hands tightened into a fist as he helplessly watched you inch towards his most ardent foe. Beside him, unmoving, stood very man who allow such madness to ensue: your father.

You pass the pew that seated your family. Your twin's expression softens. He he nods, and you know he means take heart. Your sister does the same. But your father, who stood between his children, does not spare you a glance.

Daemon notices the coldness. He would feel bad, but then again, he has been proclaiming his ill-guided brother's Lord Hand was the biggest cunt in the realm for so long, so he doesn't. Oh, but then you look at him with those beady eyes, and he did not know why his thorax felt uneasy.

Twas strange indeed.

Soon you stood in front of your promised, and, finally, Otto lays his eyes upon you. He does not see you though. He does not see the woman dressed in the garments that once belonged to his wife. He does not see your trembling hand and glassy cheeks. He sees his timid, tremoring, little daughter that he had to leave a moon's length for work. He sees her frail body that shook on her tiny bed and found no comfort in the way he held her tiny hand when he returned.

As the septon begins this damning rite, all he could hear was the voice of the maester that promised the new medicine he procured would heal his girl. As tears rolled down your eyes, he remembers how he nearly killed the maester for feeding you herbs that caused you to retch the little food you had eaten.

Has my child not suffered enough?

Has my child not suffered enough?

ᴴⁱˢ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ⁱˢ ᵐᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ

Daemon turns to the pew beside the Hightowers' and finds his brother's face. Viserys seemed pleased to witness this wretched affair, as did Aemma, who clutched her pregnant belly. Rhaenyra beside her seemed more interested in you however, or at least the dress that she and Alicent helped dressed you in.

The septon blabbers and tells you both to speak your vows. You do, one as reluctant as the other. Then, as instructed, Daemon cloaks you and presses a kiss on your salty lips.

Twas bittersweet. On one hand, as he takes your clammy one, the image of Otto's face when Daemon told the King that he wanted to marry you comes to mind.

Oh, how excited he was to see the old fool look as though he was a breath away from lunging at him across the table, and how utterly horrendous that he hadn't. He would have simply, and justifiably, killed him. Then all this bother would not have ensued. The look upon the said man's face this moment, now that he's sullied what he so dearly protected, made his stomach giddy.

As the same time, as he held that same clammy hand of yours and felt it tremble, he remembers that you and he were bound. Though not in the manner of his house, he knew he could escape only so much of his wretched duties. Otto's vexation would only last so long, and deep down the cunt must enjoy that his daughter was now a princess. He knew soon Viserys would also begin nagging him again.

But then out of nowhere, he laughs. It was so abrupt that a few guests looked at him in confusion.

How could he forget? There was the matter of your... affliction. Perhaps he can frighten you to death on your wedding bed.

He chuckles once more.

The idea is so delicious, he is in good spirits the whole wedding feast. He does nothing but embarrass and shame you by entertaining literally every other lady save yourself.

What makes matters worse, at least on your end, is that your father refuses to go to your side and forbids not only your brother but as well as your sister from leaving their spots to come to your aid. There was no need to make the matter bigger than it was. You are left alone at your seat at the table, looking nothing but pathetic and weepy.

You sustain such temperament until you're in your marriage chambers, but then you do a funny thing and down two glasses of wine. Daemon laughs at how it spills from your lips, down your neck.

He, who had already much more than a measly two cups, comes behind you and takes the one you loudly prop on the table. You squeak and bolt away when Daemon's arm sneaks up from underneath your own; it only further amuses him.

"V'you a change of heart?" he pours himself a glass, "ready for debauchery, yes?"

You turn unbelievably pale, and it merits the fondest of laughs from your sadistic groom. Daemon drinks and licks the wine off his lips.

You gulp, reaching out a trembling hand.

He raises a brow at it. Suddenly, he's annoyed— twice was much because he has absolutely no idea what the gesture means.

That is, until you speak, "may I have some more?"

One of his faint silver brows raises. Suddenly, he is greedy with the wine he thought tasted too sour on his tongue. However, a curiosity within him urged to hand over the cheap drink, for why did his shivering wife have the nerve for this to be her first words to him?

He watched you throw your head back as you down the wine just as quick as you did the previous ones. He chuckles and crosses his arms. When you turn to Daemon, he tilts his head, "thirsty?"

You inhale deeply, though it is strangled, "for my anxiousness."

It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean, and when he does, his nostrils flare. Had he breathed fire, surely smoke would have come out his nose at this moment. Daemon releases an airy, unamused chuckle and averts his gaze, "eager to bed me, harlot?"

Your throat tightens, for that was not what you meant at all.

You forcibly swallow a lump that forms when he comes to your side. Your throat only further constricts when he grabs and yanks you into his chest. You whimper as he presses his nose against your ear. Goosebumps form when his hot breath hits your ear, "on the bed then."

Your heart thunders as he shoves you towards the bed. You nearly miss it. Actually, only your head and arms touch the cushion, and the rest of your body collides with the floor and the hard bed frame. Your tailbone throbs at the impact, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as your chest that tightened, and tightened, and tightened and—

You barely manage to gasp. You are hard of breathing when Daemon crouches and grabs your thighs, pulling your skirts up. He feels your flesh tremble beneath his palm. His fingers touch your skin, and it brings him to hiss; you are ice against his burning hands.

He looks up at you. A line forms between his brows. You gasped for air that seemed unwilling to enter your lungs. Not only was your face stained with tears, but as well as your neck now

He mutters, "nyke pendagon jaelā naejot sagon ipradāri," I thought you wanted to get eaten, "I do so find fear delectable."

You continue to slump into the floor until you're a melted mess. You can do nothing but clutch your chest, not that it helps one bit.

Daemon is satisfied at this point. He stands and dusts his hands off. He looks at the pitiful Hightower, your dark locks spilled on the ground as if blood from a crime scene.

"Is that your affliction then, wife?" he tilts his head, "do you seize up when you're nervous?"

You look at him, but do not respond.

"S'rather inconvenient, no?" he sighs, as though he actually cared.

You shut your eyes and curl into a ball.

"Mmm, well, I suppose I will have to claim the womanhood owed of me some other time," he said, uninterested. With that, he exits the room with a skip in his step, pleased to know he had such a tremendous effect on you.

You remain in this turmoil for what felt like hours.

By the time you peel yourself up from the floor, your body is encased in sweat. You command yourself to calm; you cannot afford to slip into another bout of insanity. Your tears cannot be contained as you struggle to undo the ties of your dress; at least tremendous relief comes after you do. You struggle to your feet and remove the pins in your hair while making for the vanity table.

You sit before yourself; your horrid face reflects on the mirror that was far too clear for your liking. As you free your hair from its bounds, you think, perhaps it was fortunate that your husband did not lay with you. At least not tonight.

But then, comes to mind, the argument you with your father. Your chest threatens to tighten again as the severity of his voice replays in your head.

It was no secret, Otto despised Daemon. How then could he be so shocked at your horror of learning he had approved your marriage to him. His raging voice still rings in your head: "you ungrateful fool!"

You fall apart in your palms and nearly succumb to yourself again. Thankfully, you manage to take deep breaths and pick yourself up before you fall apart.

You always knew you were the spare in your father's eyes, but you thought that merited indifference. You did not think he hated you so deeply. How could anyone hand their child to their enemy? Perhaps this was his way of finally having use of you.

A spare. A pawn. Will it ever end?

You go to bed and wrap yourself tightly under the sheets. You stare at the ceiling, praying the same prayer you've prayed since you were eight: Seven, let this be my final slumber.

You nearly choke when you are awoken by such violent shaking. You jolt up, or at least as much as you can from the blankets you were so tightly bound in.

Daemon grins and brings the hands he had shaken you with behind his back, "I would say good morn, but it is apparently opposite to you, wife."

The name makes your skin crawl. You push yourself out of the sheets and sit up. You wipe your face and tell yourself; you must get used to this, "good morrow, husband."

Your brown curls spill down your shoulder as you sigh to yourself. Daemon thinks you look much more palatable this way, unlike yesterday, when your hair was jailed so tightly. He motions with his head, "ta. We make haste to the dragon pit."

Your eyes are suddenly devoid of any trace of sleepiness as you look at him.

His lips remain curled, "it would only be proper to do so, no?" He does not let you retort, as he is already making his way out, "tis Caraxes' right to know who his master has been shackled to," he opens the door, "at least momentarily."

If he was self-satisfied with how you shook under his grasp last night, one can only imagine his exhilaration over your severe disinterest in meeting his mount this morning. What's more, Caraxes could smell your anxiety, and it made him chuff and snap his jaws.

Of course, Daemon chastised his dragon, telling him to obey, even though he very much did not want him to. He eagerly fantasizes: oh, a shame my bride died the day I introduced him to my ride.

A true shame.

"Calm yourself," Daemon sniggers as he forcefully pushes you towards the blood wyrm, "the harder you make this for yourself, the harder it will be."

You found no encouragement in that, for no part of it meant to encourage. You continue to writhe against him, pushing yourself back, only to be pressed against the prince's chest and urged forward. It didn't help that he shackled his hands on both of your wrists, preventing you from elbowing him away.

Though your hair was braided to the side, you still manage to whip it to Daemon's face in your attempt to free yourself, only causing him to be more impatient. You could not help the harrowing shriek that left you when he ultimately brought you to the beast's maw, and the said creature pressed himself against your chest to sniff you.

Caraxes rips away and shakes his head at your piercing reaction. He shrieks in like, as if disapproving, or showing offence. He must exact appropriate retaliation. He draws a deep breath, readying to set you ablaze. Daemon would have let him, had he not been a direct target of his mount's wrath, "keligon, Caraxes!"

Caraxes hisses.

"Keligon!" Stop!

He does not enjoy the order, exemplified by the way he licked his teeth, but obeys, nonetheless. He roars one last time, spit sputtering onto your face as he does. It's enough to make you finally lose your resolve.

You cease your wrangling and find yourself going limp in his arms. Daemon is pleased. He can finally drag you on dragon-back and torment you even more mid-air. What he did not know, however, was that your stomach was tingling; it was not that of the usual dread so familiar to you, but twas familiar still.

Daemon takes you by the arm and tries to make you climb up to the saddle, but then he stills when he hears the sound you make. He pulls away just before the acid from your stomach rushes out of your mouth. You retch so much it comes out of your nose, and you feel yourself grow lightheaded.

"Fucking gods," Daemon recoils in disgust. He turns to one of the dragon keepers and orders you away.

The dragon keeper, who looked far older than your father, spoke to you in a language you could not make out. You understand the part where he says maester as he leads you out of the pit. You manage to convey you no longer needed his assistance once you were out and walked off by yourself. You flinch and shriek when Daemon takes off on Caraxes.

You do not go to the maester's, instead, you have your servants draw you a warm bath and stay in it until it is cold. Only then do you scrub your skin until it is tender.

Once you were clean, you looked for the only person in the world that did not use your name interchangeably with hysteria: your twin.

"That uliginous blinkard," Gwayne slashes the dummy before him. You watch him pace from the bench you were sat upon. "He is incapable of procuring a morsel of dignity out of his wretched existence."

You clench you jaw when he chucks his sword to the ground.

"I should smother him in his sleep."

The thought chills you.

"But then I would be no better than he, would I not?" he seethes as he walks to your side, grabbing the towel beside you.

He wipes his face. You look up at him, a line forming between your brows, "remember you are my confidant, not my vindicator."

"If not I," he chucks his towel back beside you, "then who?" His forehead wrinkles, "an affront to my twin is worse than one to myself."

"Then you would know better than anyone that I share your sentiment," you grab his arm, hoping to calm him down.

His face is hard. He pushes your hand away.

You sigh, "and you know well that I suffer more in circumstances where you've acted on my behalf."

He clenches his jaw. He draws a deep breath and denies the thought with the shake of his head, "father will not hold it against-"

"Father holds everything against me," your eyes instantly water, "he would not be our father if he did not."

Your twin has never spoken your name any other way but in gentleness, yet it is precisely why it chips you apart. Gwayne continues, "be it as it may, but I do not believe that he gave to the prince— certainly not willingly."

You laugh and lift your countenance to the sky. Tears fall from the corner of your eyes, down your ears and neck, "does it matter?"

"It does," he urges, "he fought for you."

"He does not fight for me," you turn back to him, "allow yourself to come to terms with it as I have. It will hurt you less."

Gwayne does not manage a response as someone else speaks in that moment. The way you both tense at the sound is that of instinct.

"You vomited in the dragon pit?"

You turn over your shoulder and shoot up from where you sat. You watch as your father walks towards you. He places a hand on your neck and looks you up and down, "did the prince jostle you so on his ride?"

His touch is like a searing rod against your skin, his eyes, even worse. The raised hairs on your neck remain even as he pulls away. You quietly retort, "I did not even touch his saddle."

"Oh," Otto raises his brows, "then perhaps your affliction is that of you carrying."

Carrying?

Both you and Gwayne are mortified by the idea. You stutter, "s-surely it is not that quick."

"The blood of the dragon runs hot," he sighs, "as he would so boldly proclaim."

Your face burns upon hearing this.

Your father looks past you, "take your sister to the maester at once."

"No, I-"

"Make sure that she is good condition and take note of what will be instructed of her."

"That is not-"

"I am sure she will be required to take further precautions because of her affli-"

"We did not!" you blurt, finally regaining the attention of your father.

Your heart races as Otto looks at you. Suddenly, you are like a deer shot by an arrow, pained and powerless. He is annoyed that you interrupted him, only to say nothing. He presses, "we did not what?"

You take a strangled breath before reply, "we... did not consummate ou-"

"You what?!" he steps forward.

Gwayne immediately takes your arm, eager to get between you two, "father-"

But Otto does the same and pulls you toward him, "you did not consummate, or you did not want to consummate your marriage?"

Gwayne's hold on you falters. Your saliva lumps in your throat, "I-"

"You do understand the consequences if you do not bear your husband heirs, correct?"

You turn to your feet, unable to hold his heated glare, "I-"

"Look at me when I speak to you," he shakes you.

You lift your eyes, and hot tears begin to rush down your face.

"You've proven your point, father," Gwayne blurts, "release her."

"Release her?" Otto redirects his ire. Though he does just that, it feels as though an iron clamp around your neck replaces your father's hold. "Even if I were to release her, boy, your dearest twin sister will not be free of the truth," he turns back to you, "nor my point. Your failure to do what is necessary will lead you straight into the dragon's belly."

You clench your jaw tighter than anyone should.

"Do you understand, girl?"

You nod before you allow yourself to breathe. You blurt, "yes, my lord."

Otto looks you once over before turning around and walking away. The moment he is out of sight, you fold like a deck of cards, and Gwayne must keep you upright.

He hushes you and sits you back down. He kneels in front of you, observing if you were about to collapse into another episode. You do not, for he was with you, but you do weep until tears could no longer fall. He leads you to your room after this and urges you to rest.

You repeat the prayer you prayed on your wedding night before you sleep.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You're having a bad day so they do their own version of Magic Mike for you

ANON! This ask sent me into a fit of giggles. I am so happy to do this. I had a lot of fun putting together some quick writes. I know you've been waiting a while. I hope you have a good laugh out of this, and maybe even giggle and/or kick your feet with glee. I know I did!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, dancing, singing, striptease, lap dance, brief non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Everything okay, love?" asks John from the bathroom.

"Just a headache," you reply. "Had a busy day."

"Busy? Or bad?"

He knows you too well.

"Bad," you sigh, propping yourself up on an elbow.

John is no longer in the bathroom. He stands inside the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with one hand.

Freshly showered. Towel hanging on his hips.

"What?" you ask, noticing the smirk on his face.

John lightly pushes off from the doorframe. In a sultry sway, John begins to approach you, both hands reaching as if to undo the towel.

"John?"

He doesn't drop the towel, just teases the undressing. Your face grows hot as he nears. John comes to a stop just in front of you, the towel still perched on his hips.

"Go on," he purrs with a heated stare.

You tug and the towel falls away.

"Plan to fuck away my headache?" you cough out, gaze darting upward, focusing on his face and not what’s behind the towel.

John grabs your forearm, helping you to a seated position. "Not yet." He places one knee beside you on the bed. John holds your chin with thumb and forefinger. "No touching until I say so."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"I’ve had a bad day," you sigh. “I’m tired.”

Turning your head away from Simon, you glance out the window.

As you exhale, something soft and large lands on your head. You yank it away. It's Simon's shirt. As you turn to address him, something else comes flying in your direction.

With a yelp, you snag it out of the air before it hits you. Simon's jeans. Belt included.

"What—"

Simon stands ramrod straight with arms at his sides in nothing but his boxer briefs and socks.

Perplexed, you fail to form words as Simon starts to saunter over to you. It’s stilted. Odd. The man has no rhythm but clearly all the confidence in the world.

"Oh my God," you murmur, clutching Simon's clothes to your chest, sinking further into the couch.

He's trying. He really is. But all you can focus on is how intense Simon’s face is, and how stiffly he…dances?

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Simon blinks. Frowns. "Yes." He glances down at himself. "Do you not like this?"

Whatever foul mood you were in has vanished, replaced with soft amusement and disbelief.

“Just…cuddle with me on the couch.”

“Clothes off?”

“Clothes off,” you confirm.

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

When you glance up, Johnny has a devilish grin on his face.

"What?" you ask cautiously.

Johnny pushes off from the kitchen counter and reaches over his head, removing his shirt. Your mind promptly forgets its previous concern. All it cares about is Johnny's broad chest and muscled stomach.

"What are you doing?" you laugh as Johnny twists the shirt and grabs either end, placing it behind your neck.

"Helping," he coos.

Now in only grey sweatpants, Johnny pushes in. You lean back, a bit startled.

"Helping how?" you giggle.

Johnny rocks his hips, swaying them slightly in a semi-erotic rotation.

"You look ridiculous."

"Maybe,” he agrees. “But you're smiling."

You are. To the point that your cheeks ache.

"I could keep going," he teases, rolling his hips again.

You playfully push at his stomach and Johnny takes that moment to sink down into your lap. "Nope," you laugh. “Absolutely not."

Johnny does an exaggeratingly awful impression of a lap dance. It sends you into a fit of giggles, and he doesn't stop until you're wheezing.

"Better?" he teases.

The bad mood is gone.

"Much."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"My brain is static," you groan. Kyle grins and starts to hum. "What are you doing?"

He saunters over to you, the humming turning into singing.

"Is that Pony by Ginuwine?" you laugh, disbelieving.

“Girl, when I break you off,” he continues to sing, removing his shirt, spinning it over his head like a lasso. “I promise that you won't want to get off.”

"Oh my god," you mutter, covering your face, cheeks flaring hot.

You peek through your fingers only for Kyle to toss the shirt at you. It lands above your head.

“If you’re horny, let’s do it,” he sings, reaching for the front of his pants. “Ride it.”

Your mouth is open, staring at Kyle as more of his clothes disappear. He’s in nothing but boxer briefs. Placing his foot on the couch, his hips flex forward, giving you a clear view of what’s beneath the fabric.

"Stop," you giggle, covering your eyes with one hand. The other extends to cover his junk.

Kyle takes your wrist and draws your palm to his chiseled stomach. "How are you feeling now?"

The static is gone, replaced with a soft affection that warms your everywhere.

"I'm better,” you laugh.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I've been doing a lot of things recently and I'm tired. I want the princess treatment. Could you write me something for anyone where the reader gets the princess, please and thank you.

I'm so sorry you're tired anon! <3 I hope things are getting better!

Princess Treatment

Steven Grant x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Summary: Steven knows how to take care of you.

A/N: I am so sorry, I have once again just turned an ask into porn.

Warnings: soft dom!Steven, fingering, p in v sex, cream pie, begging, some dirty talk, swearing, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1219

It had started out so innocently. With Steven wrapping you both up in a soft blanket on the sofa, two warms drinks on the coffee table while he fed you little squares of vegan chocolate. 

He’d put a documentary on in the background, something you’d both seen and enjoyed so it didn’t matter if he talked all over it. 

Steven mainly whispered silly jokes, alternating between his purposefully terrible puns and lewd tales to nibble and suck lightly at your neck.

“Open,” he muttered, pressing the chocolate to your lips. 

You giggle and do as he asks. The sweet taste spreads along your tongue even as Steven slips the tip of his finger past your lips a little further than he needs to. He groans when you suck lightly, his throat bobbing. 

“That’s so naughty love.” He murmurs. 

You grin, releasing him. “No naughter than you.” 

He tuts playfully, watching you for a moment until a cheeky glint begins to grow in his eyes. 

Slowly, he puts his fore and middle finger into his mouth and sucks, making a show of it while keeping eye contact. Then slips his hand under the blanket and presses his hand under your leggings. 

“Steven-” You whine, a little gasp leaving you as he circles your clit with his wet fingers.

“Shh, love.” He kisses your knee, sucking lightly as he angles his body even closer to you. “Just helping you relax after your long day.” He grins, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. 

You jump under his touch, your thighs tensing as he teases in soft, agonisingly languid movements. A huff escapes your lips and you press your face into his neck. 

His chuckle rumbles in his chest. “What’s that sigh for love? Hmm?” 

“Stop teasing.” You grumble against his skin.

“Oh,” he slows his movements even more. “You want me to stop?” 

“Stop teasing.” You all but growl. 

“Oh, stop teasing… are you sure?” 

“Yes.” The word comes out clearly in spite of how you are pressed to him. 

There’s a long pause as Steven nods, pretending to think it over. 

You’re just about to sit up and glare at him when he pulls his hand away from you, leaving you slick and wanting. 

However, the groan of annoyance dies in your throat as he quickly manhandles you into the position he wants, your knees and head pressed into the settee cushions, face down ass up. He pulls down your leggings and underwear before you even have time to think, leaving them bundled above your knees so you can hardly move. 

The air rushes from your lungs as he pushes his thick fingers back inside your weeping pussy, curling them until you yelp and grab helplessly at the sofa. He pushes his thumb against you, pressing and rubbing hastily at your clit so that you have to muffle your cries against a cushion. 

“Steven-” Your own sharp cry cuts you off as he strokes deliciously inside, making your thighs shake and walls flutter. Pleasure builds and twists quickly, your body having a practically Pavlovian response to his touch. 

“Hmm, yes love?” He shuffles a little behind you, rising up onto his knees without breaking the constant movement of his fingers. 

You hiccup, already so close. “Please, I…” 

He groans, biting lightly at your backside so you jump, “Love it when you beg, sounds so good.” 

He bites his lip as your slick coats his fingers, unable to wait any longer. He pulls his jogging bottoms down just enough to pull his cock free, lining himself up with your entrance with his free left hand, while still keeping his right hand fingers inside you. 

You tense as the thick head of him presses against you, shivering as he gently pushes. 

“Oh fuck…” The words turn into a sweet cry and he starts to slip in, splitting you apart so wide as inches further, the combination of his fingers still stroking you deep making your eyes roll back. 

He moans softly, humming in approval. “So nice and warm, love, god, you’re practically vibrating around me.” He shivers, bucking forward a little to bottom out and pushing to deeper into the cushions. “Didn’t know you were so desperate to be filled up?” He swallows, trying to keep some control and composure over his voice as he starts to buck shallowly, easing out and in with long, torturous strokes. 

You cry out his name, rolling back against him, trying your hardest to get him to move faster. 

But he tuts, “uh, uh, uh, you gotta just relaaaax and take it.” Steven draws out the word, speaking in time with the movement of his hips, slowing down a fraction every time you try to move faster. 

You sob, pleasure so close to pain as your nerves scream for release, your body begging for the bliss that is so close and yet so far. 

“Steven, please.” You don’t know what else to say, how else to get him to give in. 

“Shhhh,” he squeezes your hip, still rocking so slowly, “god, it’s gonna be so good love, really, you’ll come so hard, I promise. It’ll feel so nice, you trust me right?” 

The words that leave you aren’t really words at all, just an incoherent mess of sounds, but you nod your head weakly, your thighs shaking. 

“That’s so good of you, you’re so good to me.” He moves back a fraction, arching so that he can watch his fingers and cock sink in and out of you. “You’re taking it so well, you’re so wet, you know that? Soaking me, god.” He grunts, his toes curling as he adjusts his position so he can thrust just right. 

He knows he’s hitting right when you wail, your back arching. “Oh, so good love, so good.” He mutters, not really knowing what he’s saying as he watches your body try to bounce on his cock. 

His arm hand squeezes your hip, stops you from going too fast. 

Pressure buzzes along your skin, pulsates along your walls. It’s like you're going to explode. So close you just need a little push, just a little faster, one strong thrust and you could fall into that pleasure. 

“Steven,” a cry catches in your throat as he rocks his hips. “Please, please, please, I need to come, I’m so close, I’m so, so close.” “You’re gonna come, it’s okay,” he soothes, not faltering in his pace. “You’re gonna be good and come all over me, aren’t you?” He eases out and back in.

“Steven,” you sob. 

“Aren’t you?” He eases out and back in.

You whine. 

“Aren’t you love?” His voice is so soft and gentle, holding you safe in its embrace as he slides back inside so languidly. 

And you scream. Your body convulses as the dam breaks and your orgasm just washes over you. Flows along your veins like liquid gold as pleasure is pulled from deep within. 

Steven keeps up his tempo, not even faltering, keeping on pushing you further and further into those earth shattering sensations. 

It’s like you're weightless, floating, your limbs shaking. You’re vaguely aware of Steven’s own cry as he empties himself inside you, of the warmth of his chest against your back and the light kisses he leaves on your shoulder.  

Thank you for reading!

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[vacantwatchers]

Platonic Stobin discuss Steve's relationship with Nancy. It's kind of critical on Nancy bc I'm biased (and a hater). Read it on Ao3 here.

“Explain to me why Henderson thinks you’re into Nancy again.”

“Fuck knows, Rob. I haven’t seen her around, let alone spoken to her since all that shit at the mall.” He didn’t really like the way she’d frowned at Robin when they’d met up, definitely hadn’t liked the antagonistic tone she used when she’d asked who Robin was.

Steve felt Robin sigh before the gentle weight of her head rested atop his. “The little gremlin cornered me at lunch and demanded to know why we weren’t dating–”

“I’m out of your league,” Steve muttered to her right hand as he slowly coated her index in the dark red polish.

“Keep believing that, Popeye. He asked me if I thought you were repugnant or something and that's why I wouldn't give you the time of day.”

Steve paused to swipe away polish with his nail. “What does repugnant mean?”

Robin hummed, a little delay as she tried to find a definition for him. Steve can imagine her flicking through a little rolodex that’s full of what Robin considers Steve approved explanations.

In the space of his waiting, he’d managed to finish the first coat on her right hand and gently lifted her hand up, smiling to himself at the way Robin moved from his hand to his shoulder.

(It took three weeks of working in Family Video, working back to back shifts so dead they made the burnt shell of Starcourt look lively for Robin to come in one day with a bulging pencil case and the demand that “if you’re just going to sit there, at least paint my nails, dingus.” It took three attempts with Robin smudging her nails with her flailing before they established that when he finished a hand, he would lift it, and she would rest it on his shoulder.)

“Repugnant is like when something is really distasteful, unacceptable.”

“Tammy Thompson’s muppet singing is repugnant.”

Robin snorted into his hair. “Perfect use of repugnant, Steve. It’s also a word you can use similar to revolting, repulsive, disgusting and offensive.”

Pulling her left hand closer to his right side so he could see what he was doing, Steve hummed. “Okay. So Dustin thinks you think I’m revolting, repulsive, disgusting, and offensive?”

“Yeah, Steve, I told him I just couldn’t date such a disgusting man who spends twenty minutes on his hair after a shower and ignores me every time I tell him he needs to go to an optometrist because the way he can’t see makes me sad. No. I said that while I am happy to spend my life with you as my soulmate, we are strictly platonic.”

Sliding the brush back into the bottle, Steve gently swiped his nail down the side of Robin’s thumb. “That absolutely didn’t shut him up. Give them a minute before I do the next coat.”

Robin nodded her understanding, which made him nod. “No, me saying that didn’t stop him. Me asking if the reason he was so interested in your love life was because he was the one with the crush on you, however, did.”

“Ew, Robin, he’s like my brother.”

“That is exactly what he said, just with a lot more volume and yelling.”

Steve leaned further into the weight of Robin at his back, taking a moment to absorb the fact that she lets him take whatever touch he needs without freaking out the same way she does whenever someone else tries to touch her in the slightest. Uses the pause to organise his thoughts out of the jumbled train they come at him in. “I’m not sure when, uh. When we dated, I’m not sure it was love.”

“Okay.” Robin’s hum tingled through his diaphragm. “Talk it through, you were convinced last year you’d loved her. Don’t even try to think it out for me like you do, just say it all.”

“The ol’ Robin treatment, huh?”

“I hate that that is what you call it, but yes. Please proceed.”

“We dated, and I tried to be there for her, right? Like I had to go to these absolutely depressing dinners with Barb’s family every fucking week, because Nancy thought it was the right thing to do and I had to pretend to eat the food, and I tried to give her space when it felt like she was pulling away. I’d take her out to get her away from thinking about it all because I could see that she was struggling and thought maybe doing normal shit teenagers did would help. Would sit with her and listen when she needed me to, or just be with her when she needed silence. I’d ask about how she slept, and if she was still having nightmares, I would reach out and just try and hold her hand or hug her.

“But, I don't know. I’ve been thinking back on it, and Nancy never really did the same shit back, y’know. She would have these moods where she’d just be so angry. Angry at herself, the situation. Me. And I get it, it was fucked up and we couldn’t tell anyone without the threat of being taken away. But she’d go on and on about how we killed Barb and it was our fault and then it would turn into how it was my fault she was dead. And then so often she would say this line and at first I was like, she’s saying it in this fond way so she doesn’t mean it, but she said it so oft–”

“What would she say?”

Steve tilted his head back so he could look up at Robin. “What?”

“Nancy. What would she say?”

“Oh.” Steve looked back down, fiddling with the nail polish bottle. “She’d say ‘you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington’ and she’d make these comments, and I don’t even know if she was aware of it. Like she’d call me dumb and say don’t be stupid, or imply that I wouldn’t be able to do something or understand because I wouldn't get it.

“And when she went over my work she’d say it never made sense, and like, her tone, her tone always said it because I wasn’t smart enough. Like, she’d read over things and point and make comments, and honestly, it was more confusing than anything because the points made sense to me, but apparently not to her–”

Robin made her little grunting sound. She did it every time she needed to interject something. “Yeah but that's like, your mind's process. You do it when you talk too, that structuring thing you do where you make these links to things, and it all somehow flows. My mom said you might have something called dyslexia or dysgraphia. One of those two.”

Steve looked up at Robin, eyebrows scrunching up. “You talk to your mom about me? When did she even have time to figure that out?”

“I talk about you to her all the time because we both love you. And she noticed when you were helping me with my English homework.”

Huh. “Okay then.”

“Keep going with what you were saying, sailorman.”

Seven months, and she still hasn't given up on the nautical nicknames. Jesus.

“After early admissions for colleges had closed, Henderson actually found the essay I wrote, and he said it was good. That the parallels were there and with only a little tweaking it would have been great, and when I mentioned what Nancy said he kind of paused before reading it again and said he didn’t see what she was talking about. He even had his mom read it because for a while, she was admin for a college, and she said it would have gotten me in. After Christmas, I asked Nancy if she wanted to go with me to tour some colleges once and she looked at me when I dropped some of the names and said, ‘Do you think they’ll believe you’d fit in there?'"

“Jesus Christ,” Robin muttered.

“It just, it built up and I think at the time I was blind to it because I was trying to lose myself in the relationship, in being there for her.”

“What about you?” Robin’s hand slid down from its perch on his shoulder to his chest so she could pull him closer. “Was she there for you? Like, you told me that since ‘83 you can’t eat meat because of the smell of burning demogorgon put you off, and that having to lure the demodogs with meat was really triggering. And I know you have trouble sleeping and you have those awful nightmares that make it so that sometimes you can’t eat.

“Which, can I just say, is really concerning because you already have this habit of forgetting to eat even when you’ve brought lunch. And I know it’s probably something to do with the way you get stuck into stock or shelving, but I hate it when you get into that groove. But I’ve also figured out that you will eat anything I hand to you, as long as I’ve taken a bite first, so it’s not that bad.”

Needing to move a little, Steve tightened the nail polish and started shaking the bottle.

“Oh, uh. Those dinners with Barb’s family, it was always KFC, that’s why I never ate anything there. She’d actually get annoyed because she thought it was disrespectful? That I only ate the bread and chips? And after that first night where Barb died, Nancy never came over to my house again because she said it had too many bad memories and it made her uncomfortable to be there. So she never really saw the nightmares. When she wanted to see me, she would have me come over and she’d push me on the bed and then when she was done she’d tell me it was getting late, and kind of push me towards her window to go.”

“Steve– that doesn't sound healthy at all.”

"Yeah."

Lifting the nail polish bottle, Robin took it as the signal it was and dropped her hand in his again.

“I think, even when I was dating her, she talked more to Jonathan than me.”

“That’s fucked up, Steve.”

“I think that’s just trauma, Bobby. We weren’t good together. I don’t know. Whatever Dustin is seeing between us is completely in his head. Especially considering the money moves I'm making with Operation Metalhead.”

“You need to stop saying money moves. All you've done is wave at him and blush when he loaned you a Megadeth tape.”

Gently guiding her hand back into his best field of vision, Steve started in on the second coat. “I don't know, sounds pretty money to me.”

Steve felt Robin inhale for a deep sigh, her warmth increasing against his back for a moment before she exhaled. "I think Eddie might have actually graduated before Operation Metalhead gets anywhere close to being a success."

[levis-poison-is-my-medicine]

Cat-Levi

(The Tea Lovers Pt. 6)

A Levi x reader fanfic

Crossposted from AO3

A/n: New chapter alert!

tags: fluff and humor, silly and sweet, tea-obsessed fem!reader with their head in the clouds (word count: 2.2k)

(Part one) / (Levi x reader Masterlist)

The office door fell shut with a clang. Levi tossed the envelope onto the desk, then turned around to face you. You expected him to scold you, but he said nothing. He just stood there and stared at you, one foot tapping the floor in an irritated manner, like he was waiting for something. The silence was hard for you to bear.

"So I take it the drawings are not to your liking, then?" you asked tentatively.

"Now what gave you that impression?" he deadpanned.

"Maybe the way you immediately ordered me into your office after seeing them? Though I guess it could also be to express admiration for my outstanding artistry in private…"

"Certainly not," he huffed. He was scowling again.

"Didn't think so," you murmured. So much for lightening the mood. He really was angry, after all. Maybe you should work on defending yourself.

"You asked to see them, I gave them to you. I did exactly as you told me. So what's the problem, exactly? I can't read your mind."

"Tch," he made. "Guess I need to spell it out for you."

"That would be nice," you said. Though you could already imagine what it was.

"The problem is…this." He pulled out the topmost drawing from the envelope and pushed it in your direction without looking at it. "Why am I like that?"

You gave it a quick glance. He was leaning against the wall, one hand up in his hair, making his bared chest muscles stretch. You had put a lot of attention to detail in there, so you were quite proud of it.

"Shirtless, you mean?"

He nodded, his jaw tense.

"It's a very popular theme with the ladies. I already told you these were all commissions. They want to see what you look like underneath your uniform."

He scoffed. "That's none of their business. Besides, how would you know? You've never even seen me shirtless."

"You are right, I haven't, so there might be some inaccuracies. I'm usually really meticulous, so this has been bothering me for a while, if you must know. I think I got the muscles about right, in fact I really put my heart into those abs...but you probably have some scars that I don't know about, right? Why don't you show me?"

You looked at him expectantly, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"What?!" he asked, dumbfounded. He even forgot to scowl for a moment. "Please? Just a quick peek?"

"No."

"I just want to know if I got it right," you pouted. "At least tell me."

"No."

"Then don't complain if the drawings aren't perfect next time."

His eyes narrowed. "There won't be a next time."

"Right," you mumbled. "I know."

"You apparently don't."

"These really were just drawings I had left from before. What was I supposed to do with them? Burn them?"

"Yes," Levi said.

"Do they really make you that uncomfortable?" you asked.

"They do."

"Okay," you said. "I'll burn them. They make you uncomfortable, so I'll burn them all. Satisfied?"

Levi didn't say anything. He just glared at you, arms crossed over his chest. You could tell he was still mad.

"I am sorry," you said softly.

He nodded. "When you're done burning those drawings, clean the stables. Be thorough. I'll check."

"What? That's gonna take so long!"

"This is nonnegotiable."

"But–"

"You're not happy with your punishment?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

You nodded furiously. "I don't think it's fair." "Fine. After the stables, you will now also do the women's barracks. Not just your room, but all of them."

Your eyes grew big. "You can't even check those," you muttered defiantly.

"I'll ask someone to do it for me. You're lucky, they probably won't have the same standards."

"This is impossible to do in a day," you pouted. "Not that I'm not happy with the punishment. 'Cause I am," you added quickly. You didn't want him to come up with more.

"You have all week," Levi said. He almost sounded amused. His face was back to his usual cool expression.

"Deal." You took the envelope with the drawings from the table, then hesitated, biting your lip. "Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"We'll still have teatime later, right?"

"Of course. Don't be an idiot."

You breathed a sigh of relief.

– –

"Of course he would need to have black, shiny fur", you giggled to yourself as you sat hunched over a piece of paper in a quiet corner of Hange's lab, adding some sparkles to show just how clean it was.

Instead of watching over a very slow, probably very important experiment, like you were supposed to, you were completely absorbed in perfecting your current drawing, which depicted a somewhat irritated-looking cat. Naturally, it wasn't just any cat. You were trying to capture the very essence of Levi Ackerman, distilling it into the shape of the animal on the paper in front of you.

This was your latest plan to get around his order which banned you from making or selling drawings of him. You had to be extra careful after he had chewed you out last time. You'd never seen him so mad. Well, it certainly hadn't helped when you asked him to take off his shirt. He had you scrubbing floors for all of last week. You were finally done with it, and you certainly had no desire to repeat that anytime soon. But you still found it impossible not to wonder whether your portrayal of him had been accurate. (Maybe he'd show you when he wasn't so mad.)

"Don't look at me like that", you mumbled to Cat-Levi, suddenly feeling a little guilty under his reproachful gaze.

"Don't you know I'm doing this all for you?"

If you wanted to be able to afford Levi's birthday present, you had no choice but to resort to methods like these. Surely he would understand. Better yet, he would never find out in the first place.

You nodded at the picture, satisfied. It was still in its draft stage, but it was getting there. In fact, it was kind of cute, and the longer you looked at it, the cuter it became.

"You're so precious," you gushed. "I wish you were real." Your face broke into a massive grin as you imagined what Cat-Levi would actually be like.

Chortling, you started to scribble a list of traits underneath it.

Smol

You don't choose him. He chooses you.

Perpetually grumpy (secretly a big softie but likes to keep the people around him on their toes)

Hits you with his cute little paws when you disturb him while he's sleeping

Hits you when you try to pet him without his permission

If he wants pets, he approaches you first. Then you have to give him attention. If you don't - you guessed it - he'll pout and hit you (with a cute little paw of course)

Is not afraid to draw blood (but with his special chosen person, he hits them paw only without any claws)

Others when they disturb them? They get it bad.

Did I already mention his cute little paws?

Cleanly as fuck. Don't disturb him while he's grooming himself. He will be your enemy.

Has trouble sleeping but when his chosen person is there with him he can relax

Hates being picked up. It makes him feel smol. Never make him feel smol.

Looves head scritches

Loves gourmet cat food. He's a luxury babe. (But if it comes from his favorite person, he will accept anything they feed him.)

You were so immersed in your writing that you didn't even notice Levi leaning in the doorway.

He watched you as you sat in front of the bubbling flasks, bent over your notes, your face hidden behind a curtain of your hair. Your pen was scratching furiously over the paper, exuding an air of productivity and concentration. He was almost impressed.

Then you giggled.

All of his illusions were shattered in an instant. Clearly, you were doing anything but working.

He approached you with a scowl on his face, already suspecting the worst.

"Are you drawing me again?"

You looked up, startled at the sudden presence, but your wide grin remained in place.

"Nooo! It's just a cat. Not everything's about you, you know."

You ostentatiously pushed the drawing over to him, trying to show him that you had nothing to hide. "See?"

Levi peered down at the cat which sat there with a wrinkled nose, its irritated gaze mirroring his own.

"Tch."

Your smile grew even wider. "Buut, now that you're here…lend me a hand, will you? I need help coming up with a name for this cat! What would you name him?"

You held out the drawing to him. He didn't take it. "Shouldn't you be working?" He motioned to the experiment set up in front of you.

"Ah, that," you said, like you had only just remembered it. "Nothing's been happening for the past three hours. I think it's a bust." You extended your hand even further, waggling the sheet of paper right under his nose.

"Come on, it will only take a second. Then I will get back to watching this thing like a hawk, I promise!"

Levi begrudgingly accepted the drawing and read the notes with raised eyebrows. "Who would even like this cat?"

You gasped, clutching at your chest in horror. "Excuse me? I do! Everyone does. He's precious, okay? You wouldn't know true cuteness even if it hit you in the face."

"I think I would," he said, giving you a glance.

"Obviously not. He's like, the definition of cute." You were pouting. "So, did you come up with a name?"

"Hellspawn," he said dryly.

"Noo, that's so mean! That's not even a real name."

"Fine." Levi sighed. He was quiet for a while, thinking. You looked at him expectantly.

"Herbert," he said finally, his tone serious.

You burst out laughing.

"What?" He frowned. "You wanted a real name. I gave you one."

"No, no, it's great, really. You're absolutely right," you tried to appease him.

"Herbert it is then."

Of course, this was just his undercover name. He would always be a Levi to you.

You took the paper from him and added a bowl, lovingly writing 'Herbert' on it in cursive letters.

When you were done, Levi was still standing there with his arms crossed.

You shot him a questioning look. "So, why did you come here? Did you want something?"

"Just wondering why you were late."

"Late?" You took out your pocket watch. It was just after 4 o'clock. "Oh, it's teatime already? I can't believe I almost missed it! I totally lost track of time." You jumped up from your seat. "Let's go!"

"What happened to watching your experiment with hawk eyes?"

You winced, visibly deflated as the excitement drained from your body. "You're right", you mumbled. "I did say that…" Why had you promised that, again?

You slumped back into the chair, eyes fixed on the flasks. They were still bubbling happily, almost as if they were mocking you.

Hange had told you to watch the experiment until they got back. It had seemed easy enough, while also giving you the perfect excuse to get out of today's training. You just never would've imagined they'd take this long.

"Go on without me…" you said in a dramatic, choked up voice.

Levi snorted. He pulled up a chair. "Don't be stupid. You'll get withdrawal symptoms." He knew how you got when you didn't have your afternoon tea. It wasn't pretty.

"These your notes?" He pointed at the lab journal.

You stared at him. It certainly looked like he was offering to watch the experiment for you. But that couldn't be right. You had to be dreaming again. Or hallucinating. It had been a while since you'd had your last tea. Maybe these were some new withdrawal symptoms? Still, you had to make sure.

"Don't tell me… You would give up on teatime for me?"

"Go before I change my mind."

"Wow. For real? Thank you!" You beamed at him. "I'm honestly so touched. You're the best, you know that? The best!"

You bent forward to give him a little kiss on the cheek. His eyes widened.

"I really don't know what I'd do without you," you went on, still smiling cheerfully, before getting up from your chair.

Levi cleared his throat. He wasn't looking at you. "I have work to do. So don't take too long."

"Of course not," you reassured him. "I'll be right back. You won't even notice I was gone."

He rolled his eyes. That was a blatant lie. You always took your time with tea, savoring every last drop.

You were already at the door when you suddenly turned back around.

"I just want you to know…"

"What?" Levi asked.

"I'll never forget your glorious sacrifice," you declared solemnly.

Before he could answer, you were already out the door.

Levi looked after you, absently bringing a hand up to his cheek.

"Tch. Always so dramatic," he grumbled to himself, but his gaze was soft.

Tag list: @thechaoticarchivist, @mmm-alhaitham, @nironasaran, @leviiheichou, @huffleruffplant, @shutupp1, @iifrui, @shakysif, @ickearmn

[sandwitchstories]

Kinktober Week Three (Massage) - Spoiled - Sukuna x Reader

It's almost Halloween, are you guys getting excited? I know I am! I finally got some spoons to do some writing, so here we are! This time I did the week prompt. Week Three - Massage prompt.

There was no one more perfect for this prompt than Sukuna. By now y'all know I'm a sucker for soft Sukuna. And if you've read my other works, you know I'm a BIG fan of True Form Sukuna. And I am pretty damn sure that with those 4 big strong hands of his, his massage game is on point! So with that in mind, I give you this!

If you prefer to read on AO3, click here !

Summary: Sukuna and his 4 big strong hands give you a massage with a happy ending.

WC: 1600+

CW: SMUT, MDNI, AFAB Reader, AFAB terms used to describ reader's body, body massage, anal fingering, vaginal finger, throat grabbing, hair pulling - so basically, a really good time (for consenting adults!)

Divider by: @strangergraphics

You couldn’t stop the groan of pleasure from coming out. Nor did shoving your face into the futon beneath you do anything to muffle the sound. But you couldn’t help it. You really couldn’t. Sukuna was just too fucking good with those big ol’ hands of his!

“Are you enjoying yourself, kitten?” His face was close enough to you that his hot breath fanned across your skin. 

“Yes,” you said, face still pressed down.

“Spoiled little thing,” Sukuna said in a playful tone as his hands kneaded your soft flesh. 

You had said your back hurt. Sukuna could  have use RCT to heal you. But where was the fun in that? Instead he had you naked and under him while he gave you a massage. 

You knew the truth, and it went straight to your core. Sukuna may spoil you and show you a side of him no one else had ever seen or would have thought he was capable of having. But he was far from a selfless being. This was just as much for his pleasure as yours.

The evidence of that was rock hard and pressing against you as all 4 of his hands worked magic on you, massaging the scented oil into your skin gingerly. He knew just the right places to press and rub, knew just how to work out the knots in your muscles. And he knew just how to get you going. 

You bit your lip and scrunched your eyes close as his large hands made their way to your ass and thighs. If Sukuna was anything, it was a thighs and ass man. He kneaded the meat of your ass before moving to work on your thighs. 

You let out a little whimper when the rough pads of his thumbs slid down your slit to massage your clit between them. Your hips lifted slightly on instinct, trying to get closer to him. He chuckled and slid his thumbs back to shove them both into your slick hole making your volume increase. 

“So wet, kitten. I guess you’ve been enjoying this, hmmm?” he asked, his tone was mocking but in a playful way.

“I definitely have been,” you said as you lifted your head and rested your chin on your hands. “But I’m enjoying this more.”

“If you’re enjoying that, wait until you see what’s next,” he leaned over you, bracing on one hand near your shoulders, another hand threaded through your hair before gathering it in a loose fist. His third hand had moved from just a thumb in your cunt to now working in a second then third finger, opening you up for him. And that fourth sinful hand dribbled oil down your ass crack before beginning to tease the tight ring of muscles with his finger. 

“Look at you,” he said, mouthing your neck. “Naked. Covered in oil. Spread wide, wide open for me. Offering yourself to me.”

“Fuck, Suk,” you moaned softly. You could feel yourself getting more slick on his fingers as he worked more of his large finger into your ass. 

The hand in your hair tightened its grip, pulling your head up and back so he could kiss you, his mouth devouring you and his tongue dominating, licking every part of your mouth. You moaned into his kiss as he traded his fingers for rubbing the large, blunt head of his cock up and down your slit until it caught.

He pressed a kiss to your lips before he straightened up and shoved his cock inside you, bottoming out on the first thrust, causing you to cry out. Sukuna held your head up as he began to fuck into your tight pink hole. His finger in your ass thrusting in time and pressing down. The sensation was driving you wild, making you clench and coat his cock. Tighter and tighter, wetter and wetter.

“So good for me, kitten,” he damn near pured, pausing his thrusts to grind against you, grinning as he drew out a long moan from you. “Tell me what you want, kitten.”

“Please, Suk. Stop playing around and fuck me like you mean it,” you said through gritted teeth, pleasure coursing through your veins.

You could hear the grin in his voice when he responded, giving your ass a sharpplayful  smack for emphasis and making you yelp. “Since you asked me so nicely.”

And just like that his hands had you on all fours with one hand still tangled in your hair, keeping your head pulled back. He wanted to hear every delicious noise he pulled from your lips. 

He fucked into you hard and fast, making the fat of our ass recoil and start to turn a pretty pink from smacking against him. One of his hands slid under your body, conjuring a mouth on his finger as he pressed it to your clit while his cock split you open. The mouth immediately began sucking, flicking, and pulling at your little bud of pleasure. Picking up pace as your moans got higher pitch and whinier.

Every muscle in your body tensed and your back arched. Your orgasm tore through you fast and hard, making you scream his name as your whole body shook. Every molecule of your being felt white hot pleasure shooting through it.

“Yeah, just like that, kitten, just like that!” he said, smacking your ass again and making you moan.

He kept fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out as long as he could before slowing to grind his hips. His arms wrapped under you and pulled you up on to his lap. Strong arms holding you close as he thrust his cock up into your tight and hot cunt. 

You began to move your hips, up and down, back and forth, rocking on his cock as he fucked into you over and over again. One of his hands moved to cup your throat and squeeze lightly, making your cunt tighten on his cock and elicited a groan of pleasure from the man behind you. There was just something so sexy about knowing what violence and mayhem those big hands of his were capable of, and having them wrapped around your throat, but knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he would never actually harm you. 

As his fingers slid between your folds the hand on your throat tightened slightly as he held you back against him. His other hands roamed your body, squeezing and groping everywhere he could touch, cupping and squeezing your tits, playing with your nipples. His legs spread slightly wider and his thrusts quickened. You could tell he was getting close.

“You gonna cum for me, Suk?” you asked, your voice slightly strained from his grip. “I wanna feel you cum in me, love. Want you to fill me up.”

He growled against your skin, taking it as a challenge. Before you could blink he had you on your back with your lower half off the bed as he held you up braced on his thighs and fucked into you at a brutal pace. Your mouth hung open and damn near inhuman noise came as he kissed your womb with ever single thrust.

“You want me to fill you up, huh? Want me to give you every last drop of cum in my balls, is that what you want, kitten?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Please, Suk, please!” you moaned, hands tangling in the sheet.

He moved a hand to stroke your clit before fanning it back and forth with his thumb. His gaze alternated between where he fucked into you and your face. 

Your hair was sticking to your damp forehead, your breasts were bouncing with the force of his thrusts, your breath was coming in ragged gasps, and still you were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his life. 

Beautiful, bare and writhing in his arms. Clawing his arms and screaming his name as you came again, a milky ring forming around the base of his cock. He moved to press your legs back against the mattress and move more over you, folding you into the mating press.

You held on for dear life as Sukuna held you pinned to the futon and fucked into your dripping hole like his life depended on it. He came with a shudder, swearing and muttering your name, pumping his seed into you, and thrusting against you until he was spent.

You smiled up at him trying to catch your breath. Sukuna gave you a lopsided grin in response, grinding his hips against your over sensitive cunt, making you moan and your eyelids flutter. 

“What’s the matter, little one? Getting tired?” he nipped your bottom lip and rested his forehead against yours. He moved his hips in a grinding, rolling movement and you could feel him already getting hard again within you. 

“Oh, fuck, baby,” you groaned, neck arching as he began to move.

“I’m far from done with you yet, kitten,”  he sucked on your bottom lip, starting to draw his cock out more and more with each thrust.  “You said you wanted every last drop, and I always give you what you want, don’t I? Spoiled little thing that you are. Now just keep being a good girl for me, and take my cock so perfectly like you always do. I’ll take it from here.”

Your cunt clenched around him at his words and you slanted your lips to accept his kiss. By the end of this night he would have your well loved hole dripping and you’d sleep with his cum drying on your thighs. And you wouldn't have it any other way. He really did spoil you rotten.

[kybercrystals94]

As It Happened

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 28 - Prompts: Denial // CCTV

Rated: G | Words: 798

“Do you think Hunter’s going to be mad?” 

“Why would he be mad? He’s coming to bail us out of holding. I’m sure that this is at the top of his bucket list, right next to having a migraine.” 

“Your sarcasm is not helpful.”

“Wrecker asking dumb questions isn’t helpful.”

Echo stops pacing the cell to loom over the three commandos sitting on the narrow bench. “None of you are being helpful,” he tells them. “None of you have been helpful all night!” 

“Are you implying that this is our fault?” Tech asks, adjusting his goggles and glaring up at Echo through the tinted lens. “Because if my memory serves correctly, and it does, it was you that escalated the situation exponentially.” 

“That’s what I remember too,” Crosshair says, smirking. 

Wrecker nods. “Me too.” 

Echo gapes at them. “Oh, no. You are not telling Hunter that this is my fault.” 

“And you are not telling Hunter that it was ours,” Tech says primly, crossing his arms. 

“Well, it’s somebody’s fault,” Echo declares. “And I know for a fact it wasn’t mine.” 

“Maybe it was none of our faults,” Wrecker suggests. 

“Because that’s believable.”

Wrecker frowns. “Why does everything have to be our fault? Why can’t we ever just be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Crosshair scoffs, “Have you met us? No one’s going to believe that kark.” 

“Your black eye certainly does not help matters,” Tech agrees. 

“Oh, and your split lip does?” Crosshair shoots back. 

Echo groans. “Okay, enough. We need to come up with a cohesive explanation for what happened.” 

“But we don’t even know what happened!” Wrecker cries. “Not really.”

“I know what happened,” Tech says. 

“I am not taking the fall!” Echo reiterates. “Stop trying to throw me under the speeder.” 

“Why not? Hunter won’t be as mad at you.” Wrecker picks at the dried blood on his knuckles. “This is only the first time you’ve been arrested for anything.” 

“The worst you’ll get is the look,” Crosshair says. 

Tech adds, “And a heavy sigh.” 

“Oh, wow, how benevolent of you,” Echo retorts, crossing his arms. A beat of silence. “Wait. How many times have you been arrested?” 

“Irrelevant,” Tech says. “Although I am merely guilty by association on all occasions.” 

Crosshair and Wrecker sputter protests in unison, a mixture of, “You are such a kriffing liar,” and “That ain’t even close to true!” 

“Forget I asked,” Echo groans. 

**

“Seems it was a misunderstanding,” the officer says after reviewing the footage with Hunter. “Your guys weren’t at fault.” 

“That woulda been good of you to figure out before I came all the way down here,” Hunter says. 

The officer shifts uncomfortably from one boot to the other. “Yes, sir, apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll go get your boys out of lockup right now.” 

Hunter smiles at him with a show of teeth that is anything but friendly. “I’d appreciate it.” 

The officer disappears, and Hunter takes a steadying breath and closes his eyes. His head is killing him, and he’d gotten the call about his idiot brothers right after he’d finally managed to doze off. They might not be at fault, but they always seemed to be in the middle of trouble. Naively, he’d thought that Echo would be a voice of reason during their shore leave while Hunter was incapacitated. 

He hears his brothers coming from the back of the station before he sees them, their rowdy voices already aggravating his migraine from afar. When they come through the door, they all go quiet, watching him watching them. He can tell they are trying to decipher to what degree he is upset with them. He gives them a look. “Fun night?” he asks. 

They exchange glances. 

“Not particularly,” Tech admits. 

“It wasn’t our fault, boss,” Wrecker pleads. 

Hunter sighs. “Alright, c’mon,” he grumbles, turning to lead the way out. Once they’ve reached the street, he checks his chrono. “Night cycle’s still young. Get out of here. But if I get another call from the station, I’m leaving you there to rot until morning, got it? I don’t care who’s fault it was.” 

The four looks of utter surprise he receives almost makes the trip down worth it. 

“Really, sir?” Echo asks. “You’re not angry?” 

“Oh, I’m angry,” Hunter corrects him. “Just not at any of you…yet. Please don’t make me regret this.” 

His brothers don’t wait for him to change his mind.

Even after they disappear from sight, his senses follow their distinct, excited voices amongst the noise of the streets a moment longer. Part of him wishes he could join them, but mostly, he looks forward to a few more hours of having the Marauder quietly to himself. 

And he trusts they’ll at least try to behave themselves.

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[choccy-milky]

A few months back, I asked if it was okay to write using Clora and Seb. Finished the work - thought I'd lost it on my hard drive and a virus scan located it.

Not sure if it's sad or happy, but the basic premise of it is Clora getting frustrated/upset at Sebastian and Sebastian comforting her, Sebastian getting upset at a predicament Clora's in and Clora comforting him, and them both getting frustrated/upset and having to comfort each other.

If you'd rather I didn't post it, that's fine too, but just wanted to test the waters and double check that you'd be okay with it if I gifted it to you via AO3, or see if you wanted a sneak peak of it before posting it.

OMG im so happy you were able to find it and recover the work you did!!😭🙏 AND YES OF COURSE YOU CAN POST IT AAA I CANT WAIT TO READ IT!! you can DM it to me first if you want, but i also dont mind if you post it straight away on ao3!! IM LOOKING FORWARD TO IT SM AAARGHHHA💖💖💖IT SOUNDS ANGSTY WE LOVE THE HURT/COMFORT I HOPE MY HEART CAN HANDLE IT🥺💖💖TY AGAIN FOR USING CLORA AND SEB AND TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT THEM😭

@sunshine-goblin AAA THANK YOU!!! im honoured its your fav fanfic AND ALSO THE LONGEST YOUVE READ BAHAHAA fr, when you say its as long as four books in lotr it rly makes me realize how insane i am😃👍 aw IM GLAD I COULD INSPIRE YOU TO DRAW MORE AND WRITE AS WELL😭 I was curious so i creeped you and everyone go look at their HL blog @sunshines-legacy your MC is so cute and so is your art🥹💖 as for tips on writing a longfic and brainstorming and motivation and stuff, my motivation was my brainrot and unhappiness with the canon story/ending LMAOO, and looking at the story of the game and playing around with what i was unhappy with/what i WISHED could have happened instead, was a lot easier than just coming up with plotlines from scratch. but something i highly recommend is just OUTLINING and making a timeline, one of my fav parts of writing was just putting on some cafe ambience in the background and doing stream of conscious type word documents where id just barf ideas and then worry about making it pretty later....like look at how many versions of the same chapter i have BAHAHA or like different renditions bc i couldnt decide if id wanna keep a scene/what order, so id make a timeline and keep smoothing things out until i was happy with it and whatnot

brainstorming is defs my fav part of the process and the most helpful part to me. just getting a blank document and writing stuff you want to happen without worrying about how it connects to the story, and then a lot of the times as i was doing that id just keep going and it would kinda tie itself together/id come up with a solution as i was writing / once the ideas kept flowing. so basically : TIMELINES AND OUTLINES I VERY MUCH RECOMMEND, but very low pressure and barebones ones. for example, this is what my outlines/brainstorming look like

its honestly just me talking to myself LMAO, and a lot of the time ill interject and be like "OH YEAH AND THEN THIS CAN HAPPEN" as the ideas come while im writing BAHAHA. its a super fun process and honestly nothing feels better than just getting hit with that flash of inspo, and since its all very low effort theres no pressure to actually write well and its just a chill fun time AND GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR OWN PROCESS / WRITING💖💖💖it can be difficult but HOPE U HAVE FUN TOO💖💖

@a-little-lysdexic WAIT REALLY?? LMFAOO OMG THATS CRAZY....SAME BRAIN...🤝🤝...that would trip me up so much if i were you omg BAHHAHA but aside from having similar tastes in names, IM GLAD YOU LIKE MY ART AS WELL, TYY💖💖💖

THANK YOUUU im glad you're liking it!!! and that its taking over your life BAHAHA💖💖 the video you're thinking of was by @silverxstardust for chapter 13 of my fic, and you can watch the video here! (AND TY AGAIN TO SILVERXSTARDUST FOR DOING THIS!)

[highdefhoetry]

Behind the Blindfold, ch. 4 [Gojo Satoru x reader]

tags: NSFW!!! female reader, jealousy, possessiveness, marking/biting/hickies, penetration (penis in vagina), unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (vaginal), tickle kink, creampie, finger sucking, big dick, aftercare, exhibitionism, hair pulling, doggy style, overstimulation, forced orgasms, multiple orgasms, post orgasm torture, size kink, size difference, reader is short, gojo is feral af and a bit sadistic

summary: after a big argument fueled by jealousy, gojo satoru is determined to prove you wrong.

word count: ~4,477

read part 1 here! read part 2 here! read part 3 here!

read on ao3 here!

“Hey! (Y/N), wait!”

Heavy footsteps echo behind you as you rush through the crowded streets of Tokyo. You push your way past unassuming people, simmering quietly as you make your stormy escape. You hear someone calling for you, but the sound of his voice only serves to ignite you further. You pretend not to hear and keep going.

“I said wait, god damn it!”

You dip into a nearby alley and find yourself at a dead end. Shit. The footsteps that had been following behind you for the last several blocks pause, and you sense a foreboding presence behind you. You swing around to glare at Gojo Satoru, who’s staring back at you from behind dark tinted glasses with an uncharacteristically serious expression. He had barely broken a sweat during the chase, despite how quickly he was walking to keep up with you. Your attempt to run away had been futile.

“You’re a real piece of work. You know that?” he rubs the back of his neck, rolling his head backwards from side to side. “How many times am I going to have to chase after you like this?”

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” 

Your voice is sharp and full of venom. He shoves his hands into his pockets, the corners of his lips turned down in displeasure.

“Calm down, firecracker. Why are you so angry all of a sudden?” he whines. “You’re more worked up than usual.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you snap back furiously.

“Okay, okay,” Gojo puts his hands up in an act of surrender, letting his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose. His radiant blue eyes peer over them, studying you intently. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so pissed off.”

“You know exactly why,” you spit back, trembling a bit from anger. “I should have known you’d pull something like this. I should have never gotten involved with you.”

“Huh? What on earth are you going on about?” annoyance begins to seep through his voice. “What the hell did I do?”

“I fucking saw you, Satoru. With my own two eyes.”

“Saw me what?” His volume increases, and you sense his own patience is wearing thin. “Spit it out already. I’m tired of this damn guessing game.”

“You were flirting with her! Right in front of me!” the tears you had been forcing back finally break through. You feel a few of them drip onto your burning cheeks and quickly wipe them dry. Your entire body feels hot. You hadn’t realized how agitated you had become. How he always managed to get under your skin was beyond you.

“Flirting with who? ” he pauses for a moment, tilting his head to the side with brows furrowed. “...Hold on a second. You mean the barista?”

“Yes,” you hiss. “I saw you take her number.”

You shoot daggers at his perfect face while he gawks at you, taking a moment to process your words. Then, his frown slowly starts to fade. A slow smile creeps across his face as he looks back at you with an incredible amount of satisfaction, chucking quietly in that low baritone of his. 

That goddamn smile. It made it almost impossible for you to cling onto the anger. 

Almost.

“Ah. I see what’s going on.”

He closes in on you, taking advantage of the fact that you’re up against the wall with nowhere else to run. 

“You’re jealous.”

Lacking the energy to come up with a comeback, you simply cross your arms and scowl. He lets out a bitter laugh, shakes his head a little. 

“Well, I can’t help that I’m ridiculously good looking and charming. It’s not something I can control,” he says, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin. “But she’s not my type at all. I just accepted it to be polite. You know, because somebody is always on my ass about being nice to people?”

You scoff angrily, but a few seconds later, he pulls you into his embrace. He wraps his arms around your back, pulls you into his chest. It’s such a sweet gesture. You don’t have the heart to push him away.

“You don’t need to get all grumpy about it,” his velvet baritone melts in your ear, his breath tickles your skin. “I told you, you’re the only one I’m interested in right now. That’s why I asked you out on this date, no?”

He takes your chin in one of his big hands, then pulls your face up, forcing you to return his gaze.

“Have a little more faith in me. How many times do I have to say that I only want you?”

He leans down and plants a kiss on your lips, twirling his tongue with yours. You close your eyes, allowing the last tears you’d been suppressing to drip onto your cheeks. He catches them in his thumbs and wipes them away. You’re not fighting him, but still find it difficult to get into it. He senses your hesitation and pulls away.  

“You still don’t trust me,” he furrows his brows again, looking a bit forlorn.

A tinge of remorse stings your heart, but you remain silent. He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets once more before backing away. He looks towards the sky as if contemplating something, pondering silently for a few moments, then turns back towards you with a stoic expression.

“You know, I’m a patient guy, (Y/N),” he finally speaks. His tone is darker, more embittered. “But even I have my limits.”

He narrows his eyes to glare at you intensely. The sight of him barely containing his unbridled frustration fills you with both fear and excitement. Your heart skips several beats; you recognize that look. You knew what this meant.

Those wild, insatiable eyes. 

The way he’s purposely leering over you, a quiet reminder of your height difference. 

He could ravage you as he pleased, take you whenever he wanted, as he’d done many times before.

And he was about to do it again. 

Still at a loss of words, all you manage to do is stare back at him and watch as the sweet Gojo you’ve come to know becomes something sinister.

“What do I gotta do to prove myself, huh?” he towers over you as your back presses against the wall with that same crazed look in his eyes he had whenever he was about to take something, or someone, down. “Do I have to grovel at your feet? Kiss the ground you walk on? Tear my skin off so you can see me bleed for you?”

He slams his hand on the concrete wall beside your head and stares into your soul, locking those stunning baby blues with yours. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You’d seen this side of him only once or twice, when the two of you were exorcizing a particularly difficult curse during one of your assignments. It was hard enough back then to focus on combat while you watched his fingers work their magic, curling and twisting as he used his jujutsu technique, reminding you of how skilled he was with his hands and how good they felt knuckle deep inside of you. His hair had been wild and unkempt as it flowed around his head. His eyes were fierce and untamed. His smile was wide and full of malice. He snickered as he worked, full of twisted pleasure as he tore the curse apart.

And now, his attention was solely on you.

“Maybe I’ve been too nice. Maybe I need to be a real bad guy for you to finally understand.”

Before you have a chance to respond, you feel one of his big hands wrap around your neck, holding you tightly in place. His grip is firm, but not painful. Your breath becomes shallow and frantic, and there’s nowhere to look but up. Your eyes meet his and his hands start to roam, slipping between your thighs to feel the warmth between them. His fingers touch your wet mound, then start to massage your swollen hood. He grins menacingly and lets out another dark chuckle.

“You like that, baby? You want me to be mean? You’re already soaking wet.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, admiring its softness. You part your lips, inviting him inside, and he takes advantage of this invitation by shoving his thumb into your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, marveling at the taste and feel. It’s clean, soft, and a bit chapped from the dry air. Your mouth moves forward and backwards, reminding him of the talents of your tongue. His grin grows bigger, stretching his beautiful pink lips across his face.

When he can’t wait any longer, he pulls out his thumb and picks you up in a smooth, seamless fashion. He grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you into the air, pushing your back up against the alley wall while holding your legs at both sides of his waist. It happens so fast that you don’t have time to protest, to claim that you’re too heavy or that it’s too embarrassing. It’s like he’s carrying a basket of feathers; you’re practically weightless to him. Your legs dangle in midair for a second until they wrap around his waist as his thick, strong hands rest on your ass, cradling each cheek in his wide palms. There was no sign of strain or discomfort in his expression. Only an insatiable hunger, one that only you could feed.

God. He was so fucking hot.

“You want me to fuck you in front of her?” he growls into your ear in between the frantic neck kisses he’s peppering over your skin. “I’ll bring you back there right fucking now. I’ll show her how badly I want you.”

His mouth hungrily consumes you, his lips press themselves against every inch of your face. You’re caught between breathy gasps, sultry moans, and half-giggles. The sensations almost overwhelm you. 

Your hand sneaks around to the back of his head and grips it tightly. His teeth sink into your neck, causing you to cry out and dig your nails in his skin. They wander upwards, scratching and clawing his buzzed undercut, and once again you are blessed with the sound of his sweet moans. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” you demand, grabbing fistfuls of his silk hair, drunk off the beautiful, desperate noises he’s making. 

“You,” he grunts while humping against your mound. He’s rock hard; it won’t be much longer until he forces it inside you once more. 

“Say it louder.”

“You. I belong to you.”

“That’s right,” You cup his face, pull him in towards you until his lips meet yours. You whisper loaded threats in between each stolen kiss. 

“You’re mine. All mine. I’ll fucking kill anyone who comes near you.”

It’s intense. Even you frighten yourself a bit as you voice your internal thoughts. But this is what Gojo Satoru has done to you. 

“You’re scary, (Y/N),” he teases, laughing a little. “But it’s really fucking hot.”

You are starting to grow tired of words. Feeling brave, you run both hands through his hair, then yank it softly as you pull his head to one side. There’s a momentary look of shock on his face, but his confident grin quickly returns. 

“Taking charge now?” he chirps. 

You lean forward and whisper in his ear, mimicking all the times he’d done the same to you.

“I want the whole world to know you’re mine.” 

It’s subtle, but you see him shudder as your words wash over him.

You begin to trail a path of kisses from his lips to his neck. Once you reach the smooth, blemish-free skin, you begin to suck, lick and bite ever so gently. He makes a sudden noise that’s shockingly high pitched before letting out a long moan. You hear his voice shudder as you do it again, alternating between tender kisses and aggressive bites. Each time you pull away, you look at his pale skin and see another red mark in the shape of your lips and teeth. But the other side looks bare. You gently pull his head to the left, allowing you access to the untouched. Your lips meet his skin once more, your teeth leave indents as you nibble and suck. 

The sounds coming out of his mouth are heavenly. Like a chorus of angels warbling in the air. His voice flutters with every kiss, every bite, every new mark left that claims him as your own. His beautiful blue eyes roll back in his head as he makes sweet, fluttery noises, just for you.

“(Y/N)...” he murmurs, barely able to form coherent words. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing a grown man like him turn to putty in your hands. The greatest sorcerer in the world, brought down by neck kisses and hickies. And you were the only one who could bring him here.

You lose track of how many times you mark him, but when you’re finished, you trace each one with the tip of your finger. Admiring your work. Your marking has left him in a dream-like state; the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an airy, bubbly giggle. His skin quivers as your fingers trail across his neck. He’s just as sensitive as you are, if not more.

Your lips press against his, reawakening his desire. His hands grope your thighs. His fingers press deep into your skin, wanting to leave their own mark on you. 

He can’t wait any longer. He sets you down, back on your feet. Wobbly hands grab your panties and yank them down your thighs. The hem of your skirt rides up, and you feel a rush of cool air between your legs. You suddenly remember you’re in public; your eyes dart around to see if any passersby are peeping at your lewd act. He notices this and laughs.

“Oh, are you feeling shy now?” he derides. “I forgot. You like your privacy.”

You start to talk back, but your surroundings change in an instant, and once again you find yourself in a totally new space far from the dirty, rancid alley. Gojo and his goddamn cursed technique. He just had to show it off whenever he had the chance. 

You briefly glance around, and after a few seconds it dawns on you that you’re at his place. You’d only been there once or twice, but you recognize the smell of expensive cologne and the piles of black clothes scattered around the floor. The essence of Gojo Satoru.

He carries you to the couch and plops you down, then climbs on top to straddle you. He seizes your wrists, holds them above your head, then uses his free hand to poke and prod at your sides. It happens so fast, you have no time to prepare yourself for the electrifying sensations that shock your nerves. You scream, you laugh, you thrash around wildly as he torments your sensitive body more than ever before. All while cackling maniacally like some sort of evil villain. 

“Satoru, stahahap!” is all you can manage to spit out. 

“What’s the matter? You like this, don’t you?” he taunts, tickling you even harder. “I’m just getting you warmed up, sweetheart.”

“Stop, it’s too much! I can’t take it!”

“That’s right, baby. Beg for me.”

You feel like you’re going insane. He’s tickling you to madness, digging into your worst spots and tweaking your soft skin like he’s playing an instrument. Your laughter starts to sound like a hysterical melody. You’re struggling like hell to get out of his grasp, but the tickling has weakened you and eventually you resign yourself to laughing. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and he watches your futile attempts to escape with sadistic glee. You start to babble, pleading him for mercy, but all that earns you is more wicked laughter.

“You cryin’?” he taunts, wiping a tear off your cheek and licking it. “How cute. No mercy for you, though. I’m a bad guy now, remember?”

A moment of respite. You grovel, appeal to his sense of mercy, but in the end he ignores you and resumes his torment. His fingers dance across your ribs, following your body’s movements as you twist and turn. At this point you can’t even form words, and despite how much you’re shrieking and giggling it still seems like he’s laughing even harder. 

You’re not sure how much time passes. It could have been a few minutes, or half an hour, or longer, but he finally lets up, allows you to catch your breath. You take deep gulps of air, still giggling lightly when you feel his hand rest on your stomach. 

The momentary respite ends too soon. He slides his hands down your waist, rests them on your hips, taps them with his long fingers. The feeling makes you jolt, and the sight of you quivering under his touch amuses him further. He chuckles again, staring down at you with a crazed, feral look in his eyes. Your heart is thumping so loudly you wonder if he can hear it. 

“Turn around.”

It isn’t a request. He doesn’t give you any time to decide whether or not you’re going to be obedient or defiant, quickly flipping you over so he can gain access to what he wants most. He grabs your hips again and lifts them into the air, forcing your face into the suede cushions on the sofa. You feel his soft lips press against your cheeks as they plant sloppy, wet kisses and love bites across the seldom-touched skin. You cry out softly, overcome with pleasure and just the right amount of pain. Out of nowhere, his tongue flicks your taint, making you squeal and buck your hips forward. You had not been expecting that. He simply pulls your hips back, slamming them against his own before licking the hyper-sensitive area once more. All while stroking his fingers up and down your sides, putting you in overstimulation hell. The sounds coming out of your mouth are inhumane.

Several minutes pass, and he finally decides he’s had his fill of your suffering. At least for now.  Ready to be inside you, he yanks down his pants and boxers, throws them off to the side. They must have knocked over a lamp or something, because you hear a loud crash on the other end of the room. You turn your head to look, but don’t get the chance to see what it was. His hand pushes down on your neck, forcing you down once more while the tip of his cock pushes itself against your hole. You cry out when he shoves it inside. No matter how wet you are, his dick will always take you by surprise by its sheer size and girth. It feels so fucking good. It’s driving you insane.

The palm of his hand moves from the back of your neck to the lower part of your scalp. He makes a fist and pulls, softly at first to ease you into it, then with a bit more force. It forces your head back as he pumps his dick inside you over and over. It’s different from how he’s fucked you before. This time, there is no slow buildup or loving thrusts. Just him slamming his cock deep in your hole with rapid, deep strokes. 

His other hand is gripping your waist, gently squeezing it every now and then to mess with you. Each time you feel that tickly feeling, your hole clenches around his member, coaxing more feral grunts and moans from his beautiful lips. Your back arches, your ass cheeks slam against his hips, your voice grows hoarse from the guttural moans emerging from your throat.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he croons. “Your perfect little hole is mine.”

“Satoru! Aaaah…”

“You want me to fill you up, sweetheart?”

“God, yes! Yes! ”

A few more strokes, shoved deep inside of you, and finally he comes. And he comes hard . He lets out one more loud groan before busting a load inside you, filling you once more with warmth and satisfaction. His cock twitches as it rests inside you; his moans grow softer, quieter. He stays there for a while, and you relish the full feeling his giant cock provides. When he finally pulls out after several seconds of cockwarming, you feel his seed dripping out. It soaks the cushions below. 

But he’s not done with you yet. He manhandles you again, turning you over so you’re on your back and your legs are wide open, giving him full access to your cunt. His head dips down. His lips press against your throbbing clit. His tongue dances and twirls around, then his mouth consumes you completely. You’re already soaking wet, full of his cum and yours, and the intensity of his tongue movements are pushing you over the edge. You grip the fabric of the couch and arch your back, losing yourself in the ecstasy of his touch. 

It takes quite a while for you to reach the edge, but he works you over with steadfast patience. He chuckles as he listens to you whimper and moan, and doesn’t resist when you grab his head and shove his face further down. His expert tongue and soft lips send waves of pleasure through your body, never ceasing even after you climax. Ecstasy courses through your veins. Pleasure vibrates through every nerve ending. You throw back your head and practically scream. You’ve never come this hard before, not with anyone else but him.

He’s not finished. As you’re panting and heaving, he slips one finger into your hole and slowly pumps it back and forth. Still writhing from the earth-shattering climax he just gave you, there’s little you can do but cry in frustrated pleasure. With one curl of his finger, he brings you to another climax, this one much more intense than the last. Your entire body arches upward. Colors and shapes explode in your vision. Your mind is starting to go fuzzy, but he still doesn’t stop. When the second orgasm has finished washing over you, he sticks in another finger and curls it up. Then he does it again, and again, and again…

With sweat plastered across your forehead and skin flushed so deeply it feels aflame, you whisper quiet pleas to your merciless lover.

“Satoru…” you splutter in between haggard breaths. “No more…”

He simply grins at you in response, devouring the sight of you with his voracious six eyes.

Ten long fingers rest on your hips, stroking them lightly. They crawl up your sides, then back down again. They follow your body’s movements while you thrash wildly, laughing and screaming in octaves you never knew you could reach. Every light flutter, every feathery claw feels like an electrical surge on your skin. All those successive orgasms have left you insanely sensitive. It’s the closest thing to torture you’ve ever felt. Gojo watches you with cruel satisfaction, laughs maniacally when you try to beg for respite. It’s unhinged, the way he’s giggling so cutely while making you suffer. Part of you is scared he’ll never stop. Part of you hopes he never will.

Fortunately, he does. After god knows how long he finally lets up, although he keeps his hands on your waist and his eyes focused on you. You can’t imagine how you must look; your eyes are bleary from all the tears he’s forced out, and your hair is strewn wildly about your head from all the struggling and wild movements. Your skin is warm, your throat feels dry. He damn near killed you with this little game of his.

He senses your exhaustion and stands up to grab you something to drink. He’s back in a split second, pressing the glass of cold water against your lips.

“Drink,” he commands, and you obey without protest. You finish the whole cup in a few gulps. 

He pushes some of your hair out of your face, strokes your cheeks gently before kissing each one. His lips meet yours, and once you pull away he takes you in his arms and cradles you as you lay against his chest.

“Fuck…” you finally speak once you’ve regained your strength. “You’re a goddamn monster.”

That makes him laugh. He hugs you a little tighter and plants a kiss on your head.

“Are you still upset?"

"Upset about what?"

Oh. Right. You'd forgotten all about that. He smirks victoriously, proud of himself for getting one over on you once more. Asshole. But you don’t have the energy to say much else. Instead, you close your eyes, ready for a fucking nap after all that stimulation, but something stirring on the other side of the room gets your attention. You lift your head up, scanning the place for the source of the sound before your eyes fall on the figure sitting in the corner. The same corner you had heard that crash earlier.

A look of horror crosses your face as the realization hits you. 

Someone else was in the room.

And she’d seen the entire thing. 

It’s the barista from the coffee shop. The one you had accused. The poor girl gapes back at you both in disbelief and confusion, frozen with panic.

“Satoru!” you shout. He erupts into laughter, finding great amusement in your shock.

“Don’t worry. She’ll probably think it’s some sort of dream or vision,” he says in an attempt to console you. “Anyway, give me juuuust a second…”

He stands up, walks over to the young woman, then places a hand on her shoulder. They both vanish from your sight, and a few seconds later he reappears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you shout again, earning another chuckle in response.

“I told you I’d fuck you in front of her.”

He hovers over you, his face so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your cheeks.

“Next time, believe me when I tell you how I feel. Then we won’t have to play these silly games.”

You gawk at him for a long time, a million thoughts running through your mind. You want to scold him, tell him off, rip him a new asshole, but god. You’re so damn tired. And you can’t argue when he’s looking at you like this, with his big baby blues full of affection, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Two big hands cup your cheeks, brushing away the last of your sweat and tears. You close your eyes, and a soft pair of lips kiss your eyelids and forehead. When you open them again, his beautiful face greets you with a gentle smile full of adoration.

Gojo Satoru was a fucking enigma. The more you got to know him, the less you understood. But you were past the point of no return.

As you found yourself lost in those eyes of his once more, you knew there was no going back. 

[traumxrei-archive]

【 i. guest list dilemma 】

summary: the first thing yuu had to tackle to prepare for the debutante was the guest list. that’s why they enlisted the help of their most connection savvy maid: azul ashengrotto

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: azul’s part ^^ when i was writing this, i rewrote it like. 2-3 times until i ended up with this :D (read the prologue for full context !)

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

The first task that Yuu had to tackle, amongst the many in preparation for the Debutante, was the guest list. It was important to determine who was invited first. While their father had told them to invite who they wanted, they couldn’t take it that easy. They had made sure to get up early, knowing that Azul would be here soon. 

And just like clockwork, there was a light knock on the door, followed by a smooth voice, “Master? Are you awake?”

Yuu finished tying their shoelaces, heading for the door. As soon as they opened the door, they were greeted with Azul’s figure, already waiting for them. Yuu couldn’t help but silently admire the maid from behind. Azul really did cut a handsome figure in that dress, the flowy skirt whose fluid movements made it seem like he was walking on water. Not to mention the way the folds of his skirt fell oh-so-perfectly, and how the hairband perfectly framed his silver hair.

As soon as they entered the study, they could see that Azul had arrived earlier. The pillows on their couch looked perfectly plush, and their desk tidied from when they used it yesterday. Azul was always a step ahead of them, even when they were back in NRC.

“Is this the information from the guild?" Yuu asked, finding a manila envelope on the desk. 

"Yes. But Master, I must apologize, the information was more expensive than I anticipated," They looked up in time as Azul bowed his head. "Though I can vouch for the quality of each sentence."

"That's alright," They flipped through the papers leisurely as Azul poured them some tea. "I gave you an estimated budget, not a strict one. Our Duchy is strong, we can afford spending for information.

"And if you vouch for the quality," They smiled as they looked at him, a hand settling around the perfectly warm teacup. "Then it's definitely trustworthy."

Azul inhaled sharply, before his face melted into a pleased smile, "I am glad that you can trust me with these matters, Master." It was a very Azul thing to say. Rather, it would be stupid of them not to ask Azul, considering the other was quite adept at forming connections and researching others. It was something that he revealed he was competent at when they were classmates, after all.

Yuu spent quite some time working after that, flipping through the information that Azul has painstakingly gathered and added to before transferring the information to another piece of paper. The information contained anything from connections to diferent industries that each person was connected to. And Yuu couldn’t help but think about the future of the duchy as he added people to the list.

The mock-guestlist only seemed to grow from there, as inviting someone meant also inviting their close friends and family in order to make sure no one felt left out. Yuu drained yet another cup of Azul’s tea. However, a debutante of the future Duke had to be…special. To some extent, they supposed.

And Duke Crowley had told them to invite who they would like, so Yuu did invite a few people that they were personally curious about, or intended to befriend. However, it wasn’t long before they ran into a problem. They simply weren’t sure whether they were making the right decisions with inviting all these people.

“Azul,” The maid’s head snapped up to look at them. “I wanted to ask if you could give your opinion on the guest list so far.”

"I...don't quite understand, Master." Azul’s brow furrowed, through he drifted closer to their side, “How could I, a lowly maid, speak my opinions on established nobles?" 

And while his response was standard of a maid, Yuu still frowned,  "You're not a lowly maid, Azul. You know how much I value you and the others." It was true that his status was now of a maid, but that didn’t mean that Yuu liked it when he lowered himself  for their sake.

"But Master–"

Yuu held up a hand, "At least take a look at the list, mm? I've seen you read newspapers after cleaning time. I'm sure you're more up to date on high society than I am."

Azul looked stricken by their words, his face going pale. He instantly bowed his head, "M-My apologies, it was impertinent of me to—"

"No, wait," Yuu blurted, grabbing at his hands gently. "Please get up, I didn't...mean it as a bad thing. And I didn't mean to force your hand either. It's just…” They lowered their head, meeting Azul’s eyes. “I can't go to the head butler for every slight question. And I'm sure that since you helped with the information, you would have some insight. If you truly do not feel like it, then it’s alright.” 

"Master," Yuu felt almost bewildered at the soft smile that appeared on Azul’s face. "Thank you for making your intentions clear. This Azul Ashengrotto would be delighted to serve you." They blinked. It was rare for Azul to show such a…soft expression. His hands squeezed theirs lightly, the lace glove doing nothing to stop his warmth from seeping into their own hands before he let go.

“Oh. Well. Then,” Yuu said in a very eloquent manner, definitely befitting of a Duke’s hair. “Could you read over this section? I’m not too sure about this group of people right here, so I would like a second opinion. And…thank you, Azul.” 

Azul’s hands drifted to fix his glasses, though Yuu wasn’t sure what there was to fix, “It’s my pleasure.” Though looking at it closer, Azul did look a bit red. Maybe it was just a trick of light, or the room was a bit warm. There was no way Azul was blushing over such a simple compliment right?

“Now then, shall I critique the list you’ve been making?” Azul said cheerily, and Yuu felt a shudder run down their spine. They had almost forgotten. Azul was a perfectionist. Yuu warily took another swig of tea before mentally preparing themself for what was to come. It was just the start of what seemed like a very long day.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[sankttealeaf]

First of all happy birthday!!!!

Second of all omg I love your writing, and the prompts you just shared.?? Could I request gn Tav and Astarion for the:

⋆ "i'd still know you." Bonus points if it is not ascended Astarion saying this to Tav 👀

Thank you in advance if you choose to write this and have a great birthday!! ❤️

thank you!!! ended up thinking too much about astarion "ah yes i will manipulate tav into doing what i want - oh no i think am in love" baldur'sgate3 too much while writing this. i hope you enjoy it!!<3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"i'd still know you" [prompt list <- send me another!] [ao3]

pairing ; astarion x gender neutral!reader

summary ; Astarion's plan is fool-proof until you come along and start to break it down brick by brick.

other info ; may have gone a little wild with this. a deeper look into astarion and tav's relationship throughout the game and how easily astarion's walls were broken down by them. mainly astarion pov but kind of jumps between tav + astarion thoughts

warnings ; manipulation, astarion backstory, implied sexual content but nothing explicitly mentioned, things get resolved in the end

word count ; 3.2k

“I don't need to know where we begin and end, I'd still know you”

De Selby (Part 2) - Hozier

When he first meets you, Astarion thinks you are a fool.

He despises the way you offer to help anyone in need, no questions asked. It’s even worse when you deny any form of payment for it. He cannot help but allow the frustration to take over each time you get side-tracked. Why now must he meet someone with so much goodness in their heart after he spent centuries suffering? Why must you be so kind?

Your kindness consumes him as he spends his days trying to figure out ways to use it against you. He’ll need help with his own personal goals and it would be oh so easy to exploit how eager you were to help others. He buries you with pretty words and sultry looks and can feel you falling for his trap, hook, line, and sinker. 

You begin to seek him out each morning and night, asking for his opinions on things and listening to everything he has to say. He finds it amusing each time you walk up to him with a list of things to talk about. You even start to offer your own blood to him after the rather unfortunate incident of catching him trying to feed on you. Really, this was too easy. 

Laying with you after the party with the tieflings is only to cement the snare he places around you. It was hunting season and you were the poor deer that fell into his trap. A shame, but it mattered not to him. He gets what he wants and you get to feel useful helping someone. It doesn’t matter what emotions he has to exploit along the way. Each time he feels himself grow distant during the entanglement you brought him back, fingers tracing his skin and pulling him closer. When you feel the harsh lines of his scar and a frown appears on your face, he distracts you with a kiss, any questions melting away in your mind instantly. 

A fool-proof plan, and Astarion is executing it perfectly so far.

As time passes on he starts to find himself waiting for you to approach him in the evenings. He pretends to not care but every time he hears you approach he feels anxiety gnawing in his stomach and if his heart could beat he was certain it would be pounding. He’s managed to memorise the sound of your footfalls whenever you get near his tent, a small thing he assumes is just another step in his plan. That’s what everything was, another box to tick, another thing to cross off. He was remembering things about you to use against you - no other reason.

Recently you have been giving him books you pick up along your travels, claiming you had heard him talking about the lack of “good reading material” to Gale one morning. He stacks each one neatly in his tent, keeping them to himself and refusing to share. You got them for him, after all. He searches his brain for days on ways to repay you for the ever-growing library in his tent and has to stop himself because that is not part of his plan. He isn’t supposed to want to thank you. It’s like you entered his well-defended home and started to disarm all the traps aimed at you. You broke down the walls with such care, placing the bricks to the side to rebuild into something else. He can’t stop you from doing so, no matter how hard he tries. 

With each kind gesture he notices more about you. The way you laugh loudly at camp with the others or how you make each person you speak to feel like they are the most important person in the world. He yearns to speak to you, to get his share of loot or hear a funny story from your day. He wants you around him and it confuses him. Your kindness is infectious and Astarion begins to feel like a fever is brewing inside him. He needs to sweat it out yet the only thing he finds craving for is you. Always you.

Why must it be you?

He hears you approach before he looks up from his book, already throwing a suggestive comment your way to see your cheeks flush and your eyes dart around nervously. You ask if he’s doing alright and Astarion decides that this is the perfect time to be vulnerable with you. He wants to know if his plan was working, if you truly would do anything for him. You listen carefully with bated breath as he lays out his backstory to you, how he wants revenge on his master for all the years of torture and torment he was put through. Even though he had been hoping for it, he’s still shocked when you tell him you will help him get his vengeance in any way possible.

Of course you would help him. He has been betting on your kindness all this time, it’s why he chose you to begin with. Yet as you walk away he cannot help but feel seen for the first time in years. You want to help him. You are willing to put your life on the line to help him. He swallows down a bubble of guilt and ignores how sick he is feeling. Any more of this and he was certain he would perish.

For the next few days you talk to him first. Every morning and every evening you would check in and at first he waits for you to take back your offer to kill Cazador with him, but you never do. The only time he spots that you have doubts is when he mentions how he should be the one to ascend, not his master. He should have the power, right? It’s only fair after all. When you tell him that you didn't think that was a good idea, he’s caught off guard. Power is what he always wanted and you are refusing to help him? The conversation ends with a bitter taste in his mouth and you walking away from him. He wants to reach out for you but he can’t. 

It’s fine, he tells himself. With enough convincing, you will support his need for ascension. You had to. He wants you by his side, after all. 

There’s a lack of conversations with you going forward from that point, the whole talk of becoming a powerful vampire lord being something you weren’t entirely wanting to help Astarion go through with. You mention how he’s just continuing the cycle of abuse, that he’ll be as trapped as Cazador is, but you aren’t sure if Astarion is even listening to you. So, you decided it was best to give him space and let him come to that conclusion by himself. And if he doesn’t? Well, you suppose there will be two vampires you’ll have to kill in the future.

Even if you aren’t talking, you still look out for him when you find yourself in combat. A gentle touch of his arm as you move around him to flank an enemy, throwing your last potion of healing his way, finding high ground for him to run to for a better advantage. You seek him out at the end of the fight to check he wasn’t too badly injured and he notices you only give cursory glances at the others. When you’re happy he isn’t too hurt, you give a gentle squeeze of his arm before going to rummage through the dead bodies for loot. The warmth from your hand lingers on his arm long after you are gone and he finds himself holding the area, watching as you call over Lae’zel to show her some new weapons that could be of use. Still, after killing enemies, you treat everyone with kindness. 

The walls around him are fully gone now and he can’t help but wait for you to come back to him again. Perhaps the traps in his metaphorical house aren’t there to keep anyone out, but to keep him in.

You begin to talk to him again, dancing around the topic of Cazador and his plans for taking his master’s place like a deadly waltz. The closer you get to Baldur’s Gate the more Astarion’s plans weigh heavily in the air. Your uncertainty that it is the best option begins to rub off on him and one night he finds himself doubting that this is really what he wants. Of course it was, he wants the power and the control. But that meant losing you - you made your stance clear one day as you travelled, catching him in conversation to tell him you would not be by his side if he chose to complete the ritual himself. You walked away before he could question you further.

Your opinion is ruining him. It’s wrecking everything in his mind and leaving him stranded on an island he isn’t sure he wants to be on anymore. His plan made sense when he could picture you by his side, probably not as an equal - he didn't want to worry about another vampire fighting for his rule over the city, after all, but maybe as a loyal spawn. You are already so loyal to everyone, it would be like nothing changed! But everything will change. You are in his head. He wishes he had never picked you to be the target of this plan. How could he be so foolish? Of course your kindness wouldn't allow him to grow in power. You are too, too kind. 

Astarion thinks himself a fool.

Defeating Cazador is a brutal task that he has only ever dreamed of seeing to completion. He stands at a crossroads now, knowing he could easily complete the ritual for himself and ascend to the god-like power that Cazador wanted. It would be so easy to do so, yet he looks back at where you stand with the others and something in him breaks. Something in him snaps and it feels like all those traps he set up around him suddenly went off with him in the middle of it. It’s cathartic, with each plunge of the dagger into his master’s chest Astarion feels like this is what he deserves. Over and over again he settles into this weird mixture of grief and anger and allows himself to have his moment of complete power over Cazador. It’s not the ascension he wants, but the one he deserves.

You watch from the sidelines as he allows his anger to consume him, Cazador lying limp in front of him as he repeats the motion of getting his vengeance. You turn your head away to let him have this moment to himself.

He’s distant that night. His plans are complete and there’s nothing left for him to worry about except removing the parasite. He’ll return to the life of shadows and can only hope you would still want to be around him when all is said and done. No matter how badly the outcome of this drags him down he still can’t bring himself to be angry at you for causing him to doubt it. Frustrated or annoyed, maybe, but never angry. 

So when he can’t find you at camp, he starts to worry.

Gale calls for everyone to grab some food and Astarion does not see you approach the fire. He does not see you sitting with anyone else, nor does he see you giving affection to the various animals you refused to leave behind. There’s no sound of your laughter or gentle touch from behind as you walk by him, no hint of you anywhere. It’s not hard to slip away from the group as he begins to do a loop around the outskirts of camp to try and find where you are. Concern rattles his bones as he wonders if something happened, if he would stumble across your dead body or worse - you decided to leave. 

His anxieties are eased when he finds you sitting a few minutes away from camp on a fallen tree, your back to him. There’s no need to spook you so he purposefully steps on an old branch, breaking it to gain your attention. You turn quickly, hand coming up to ready yourself if there was a fight. With a sigh, you relax once you see him approach.

“Hello,” you say quietly, shuffling over to give Astarion room to sit beside you, if he wants.

“You’re not at camp?” It’s a stupid question but it’s the only thing he could think to say. There is so much he wants to tell you but finding the right words is proving difficult.

You laugh, and Gods he has missed hearing it. It’s such a simple sound but he is certain it was better than any healing from a bottle or Shadowheart. If he could make you laugh forever he would do so, if you only gave him the chance to. He takes a seat next to you, the cool evening air whipping around you both. Astarion sees you frown as you look down at your feet, hands fidgeting nervously. Despite himself, he reaches out to hold them still.

Looking up at him, you take a deep breath as you prepare for what you want to ask him. “You didn't go through with the ritual?” you ask, even though you were there to witness it. You saw him kill Cazador and give up the power with each stab he carved into the vampire lord and had no idea what made him have a change of heart at the last minute.

Astarion shrugs, wanting to blow it off like it didn't bother him at all, but it did. It really did. 

“It was you.” The words sound threatening as he speaks and he winces as your eyes grow wide, worry spreading across your face that he was here to get revenge on you interfering. 

“Astarion, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to ruin it,” you say quickly, moving your hands away from him and slinking back to put some distance between you both.

The way you move away from him in fear hurts him as he retreats back in on himself. Maybe he should have taken the power, that way you would have something to fear about him-- No. No. He refuses to think like that. Not at you. Never at you.

“What I meant is that you were the one to put the doubts into my head about the ritual,” he corrects himself and you are confused. Still, he continues. “You kept saying things that weren’t aligning with my plan and I thought-”

You interrupt him. “Plan?” 

Maybe it is time to come clean. “I had a plan. Manipulate you, say and do whatever you wanted me to so that you would help me with Cazador. You’re so kind and compassionate I knew it wouldn't take me long to get you hooked on me.” He can’t stand to see the look on your face as he explains himself. “And yet I found myself wanting you more than I planned for…”

His words fade out as you begin to realise how foolish you had been to believe anything he told you was truthful. He’s pacing in front of you now, explaining how this all fell apart because of you and it feels as if he should be blaming you, but he never does. You wait for the accusatory points and looks that never come.

“So you used me?” you ask once he stops speaking, out of breath from how quickly he threw that at you and looking at you in a way you can only describe as sad. 

He runs his hands through his hair in defeat, shoulders slumping and hands falling to his side. “Yes. At the start I used you. But things changed! You changed! You changed me!” He’s certain he’s not making any sense but carries on regardless. The floodgates of whatever feelings he’s been repressing have opened and he was going to drown in them if you didn't give him a hand to pull him out. “It’s you! It’s always been you. Even if I ascended it would still be you I searched for. You have ruined me, and yet I can’t help but want you to see me, to look at me, to simply exist in the space around me!”

“That’s what the Gods made me for, right? To ruin you?” You look at him with a smile as he stops in his ranting.

He’s confused, giving you a frown as the words hit him like a spray of water in the face. “Are you quoting me?”

You shrug. “It’s a good line. Even if you didn't mean it.” Your voice has a hint of sadness to it and Astarion knows if he throws any other sweet line at you you wouldn't believe him. He says your name softly like it’s the first time he’s ever said it and you look at him, conflicted at how you should feel right now. 

“I mean it now. My plan was perfect until you started showing me actual kindness…” He sits back down, hands in his head. “How was I supposed to revel in power if you aren’t by my side? How was I supposed to live knowing you hated me?”

“I don’t think I could ever fully hate you,” you admit, giving his shoulder a small nudge. “Though I was fully prepared to kill you if you got too power hungry.”

“It would be an honour to be killed by you,” he replies, hand brushing against yours. He wants to hold you close, promise you that everything he says from now on was the truth but he wasn’t sure you would believe it. “I do regret what I did, you know. At first I didn't care what happened but then…”

“Then you started to care.”

It’s the truth yet Astarion feels so exposed when you say it. He cannot place when he started to care about you beyond his plan but he knows that he does. And he accepts it, here and now. He accepts that this is the ending fate has given him and wishes for you to hold his hand as you progress into the next chapter of life. 

“You made me feel happy. You have no idea how long it has been since I was truly happy.” It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders as he reveals this to you. All those long days of mentally keeping himself in check and in line with what he was planning and now it is crumbling away. “I will gladly take the rest of my life in the shadows if it means I get to hold you in the morning. No matter what happens next, I’d still know you. And that’s all I care about right now.”

You pull him into a hug, arms tightly wrapped around him and keeping him close. He melts into your touch and is relieved that you haven’t pushed him away. Because after all this, he still knows you, and you are so very kind towards him. Even when he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it.

Astarion is foolish for believing your kindness wouldn't be his downfall. He’s a fool for you.

[frogsmulder]

34 & 36 msr

The Christmas Ruse

In order to avoid being set up with one of her mum's friends' sons, Scully uses Mulder's help to create a fake relationship. But Mulder doesn't know; about 3.4k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic

Read on ao3

Deep in the basement of the J Edgar Hoover building, December 23rd, Scully is about to leave the office. Winter coat pulled off the rack, one arm through and then the other, her heels clip towards the door when she stops in her tracks. Hesitating for a brief moment, she considers if she is really about to do this, but the alternative seems far more agonising. Lip caught between her teeth, she turns around to face Mulder, still at his desk. He looks up from the work he is still buried in despite the late hour: everyone else in the building has gone home, save for the janitor and herself. His hair is ruffled, his tie loose and a frown is perfectly sculpted across his brow. She could do worse as friends go. 

“Mulder…”

“Hmm?”

“Are you free tomorrow? About eight?”

He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head in mock consideration. “That's gonna be a little tough for me: I've got a file on a green, furry cryptid here that the higher-ups want caught before he steals all the joy out of Christmas.”

She can't help but roll her eyes. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“Depends: why d’you ask?” He leans forward again, hands clasped together on the desk in front of him, attentive, his whole gaze trained on her. 

“I–” she licks her lip– “I'll pick you up at seven.”

“Ooh a surprise!” he chuckles. “I like surprises. But if it's not a trip to Whoville, I'll be disappointed.”

She laughs, “happy holidays, Mulder,” as she walks out the door.

...

Her mind is blank, clear of any form of thought as the elevator dings, opening to the fourth floor of Hegal Place, Alexandria. She steps forward, automatic pilot steering her to the end of the corridor. If she starts thinking now, everything will cascade into a torrent of worry, and there will be no coming back. Checking her watch, she sees she is earlier than she had anticipated. She raises her knuckles to the wood. And then her hand drops without a sound. What if she is too early? What if she's interrupting him? Turning on her heel she walks back to wait in the car. But that is ridiculous. She should just knock and wait inside if he isn't ready. Yet upon reaching his door, she feels that magnetic repulsion again. Again she turns away. 

This time it isn't her own doubt that stops her but the sound of the door opening behind her. Mulder's head pops out. 

“Hey, Scully!” He grins. “You gonna pace around outside for the next twenty minutes or are you gonna let me invite you in?”

She opens her mouth to say something when he widens the door and motions for her to get moving. His casual nature bemuses her. He saunters in ahead, bare-chested, hair slightly damp, just a pair of jeans, drawing her eyes down to how well they hang on his hips and fit his ass. 

“You didn't give me a dress code: is this alright?” He picks up a black t-shirt and a navy sweater, spinning around to hold them against his chest like a professional designer. 

She smirks, “yeah, that'll do nicely.”

He grins again as he wriggles into the garments. A moment of confusion passes his features before he looks around and bends over to look under the coffee table. Retrieving a bottle of aftershave, he sprays some on, and then looks satisfied with his appearance. Scully certainly is. A waft of the scent captivates her as he puts the bottle back on the table. 

“Good to go?”

He snaps her from her thoughtless mind “Oh, uh, yeah.”

The drive is pleasant enough. Crisp frosted scenery flies by while seasonal songs float from the car stereo. In the corner of her eye, she notices Mulder quietly humming and tapping along to the music, having no right to be as endearing as he is. She smiles, and focuses on the road ahead. 

“So, I am allowed to ask where we are going now, or is it still a surprise?”

“We are going for a Scully Christmas eve dinner. It's, uh, a sort of tradition we have each year: close family get together to share time before the big day tomorrow–before all the aunts come over and fuss over how Christmas should be done properly in the traditional Irish Catholic way.” She laughs a little, remembering how Aunt Marie had to be kicked out of the kitchen by her mother. “And my mom invited you.”

Mulder whistles. “Wow, that's a high honour indeed. I feel bad now coming empty handed.”

“Don't worry, there's a bottle of red on the backseat from both of us.”

“Both of us? Will your mother have something to be suspicious about?” He grins and waggles his eyebrows. 

“It's nothing like that,” she laughs. “She's just been asking after you a lot lately. I think she's secretly trying to adopt you.”

“Well, I couldn't think of a better person to be adopted by than Mrs Scully.”

Scully bites her lip, considering whether to tell him the truth, but decides it isn't worth it. Her mom has already apologised to Jack: he won't be there, and that's the main thing. She grips the steering wheel a little tighter. 

They pull up to the house and she sees Bill’s family wagon is already in the driveway and she curses quietly under her breath, she had hoped to settle in before he showed up. 

She gets out of the car and picks up the bottle of wine. Mulder is waiting for her on the other side, arm curled in invitation. She links her own arm through and shakes her head at how well he's playing the role he doesn't even know he's got. At the top of the path, she nervously opens the door, preparing herself for the evening ahead. The irony is, she would rather be having dinner with just Mulder, but then again she's never managed to be the traditional sort. 

“Hi Mom, Bill, we're here!”

“We're in the kitchen sweetie!” her mother calls back. 

Mulder groans and bends down to whisper harshly in her ear, “You never said Bill Jr was here.”

“I said close family.”

“I think I left my diplomacy mask in the trunk, let me go get it.”

She chuckles and tugs him along to the kitchen. 

She first presents her mother with the wine and receives a big hug in return before Maggie sees who she has brought with her. 

“Oh Fox! How wonderful to see you.” She cups his face and reaches up to kiss his cheek, before standing back, holding by the arms and admiring him. “Although I can't say I'm surprised; Dana has been talking about you a lot lately.”

“Oh really?” Mulder turns teasingly to Scully with his eyebrows raised. 

Maggie laughs, “Yes, I was starting to think she was making the whole thing–”

“Mom!” Scully interrupts, blushing bright red. 

“Sorry, Dana,” She chuckles and releases Mulder back to her. “Would you like some prosecco, the two of you?”

Scully eyes Bill standing a few steps behind their mother, watching Mulder warily. 

“That sounds wonderful, Mrs Scully.”

“Oh, Maggie, please; you're part of the family, Fox.”

“That's very kind of you, Maggie.”

She walks up to him and opens her arms as a peace offering. “Hey Bill, long time no see. Your boat didn't get stuck in traffic this time then?”

He finally relaxes and accepts her hug

“How's my little sister doing?”

“I'm good,” she sighs. “Where are Tara and the kids?”

“She's just giving them a bath before they go to bed.” He steps back and gives her a smile. “Don't worry, they'll be down in time to say good night to their favourite aunt.” 

She smiles to hide the pain of the hidden dig; the absence of Melissa felt the most this time of year. 

“Mom was telling me you brought a date.” He glances back over to Mulder. “Seriously? Him?”

She sighs, knowing this was an eventuality. “I don't want to do this now, Bill, it's Christmas. Can we just leave it alone?”

He steps forward, insistent. “But after all he's done to you?”

“Bill, I won't say it again. He's been there for me and supported me despite what you think.” She looks over to Mulder too, and how easily he talks to her mom. Her mother is right, he is a part of this family even if it's not in the way she thinks. “I don't want any trouble this evening, Bill, please.”

He nods tersely, the matter still clearly bothering him. She decides to leave it and joins Mulder, wrapping herself around his arm and taking the flute of bubbling alcohol gratefully. Despite trying to mask it, Mulder senses her tension and smoothly twines his fingers with hers, grounding her the way no-one else has ever has. 

...

The rest of the evening flows relatively effortlessly as family gatherings go. Matthew comes bounding down the stairs followed shortly by Tara and a baby already sleepy-eyed resting on her shoulder. Matthew runs up to his grandma and jumps onto her lap in the armchair. 

“Are you all clean and ready for bed now?” Maggie coos. 

He shakes his head. “I not tired. Not need bed.” And then he points a finger across the room. “Funny man?”

From the corner of her eye, Scully can see Mulder chuckle next to her as he slowly gets up to introduce himself. 

“Hi, Dana!” Tara offers a wave with one hand, gently bouncing the baby “Sorry I didn't get to say hi earlier I had my hands full.”

“Sure looks that way,” Scully laughs. She gets up to stroke the fuzzy hair of her newest nephew and give him a kiss on his crown. “He's grown so much already,” She marvels. “Oh, this is Mulder by the way–” she gestures over to where Mulder is ruffling Matthews hair– “Mulder, the only other woman besides mom that's been able to keep my brother in check.”

“I see we are going to get along,” Mulder chuckles. 

“Oh he's not that bad really.” Tara looks fondly over at her husband trying to gently extract their son from Maggie’s arms, much to the grumpy protests of Matthew. “He's really a teddy bear underneath it all.”

“Just don't let my crewmen hear about it.”

“No, Daddy, no! Me not tired!”

Bill gruffs and hoists Matthew up, barely holding on to him as arms and legs flail. 

“Can I?” Mulder asks cautiously and Bill gives him a contemptuous look as Scully raises an incredulous eyebrow. 

“You know what day it is today, Matthew?”

The boy rolls his eyes. “Kissmas eve.”

Mulder nods seriously. “And what happens on Christmas eve?”

“Santa comes.”

“But you know Santa only comes if you are asleep. He is very shy.” He leans on conspiratorially to whisper in the boys ear. “He can't bring your presents if you're awake.”

“But... But… I good boy,” he pouts. 

Mulder smiles. “You have to be good all year round, including Christmas eve. And good boys go to bed when their mommy asks them to.”

Matthew considers this for a moment. “You good boy?”

“Yes,” Mulder laughs. “But the question is, are you?”

Matthew nods and clings to his father. “Bed time then Santa?”

“That's right,” Bill chimes in. “Come on, let's get you to bed.” 

He gets up the stairs with little fuss. Over his shoulder a tired child yawns. “Bye bye, aunty Dana!” he says. “Bye bye, funny man!”

On his way past, Tara mouths thank you to Mulder, who waves it off as if it was no big thing. Scully looks at him, mouth hanging open, both her shock and curiosity showing through. She had watched the whole thing unfold in front of her as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. How? She wonders, while a quieter voice deeper inside whispers dangerous day-dreams. She fights to keep it tamped down, knowing its impossibility; its only real ability to hurt her in the future. 

Maggie pats Mulder's arm as she moves through to the kitchen, pausing to add, “You'll make a great father one day, Fox.”

A strange sting of jealousy sings with that chorus at her mother's words. Scully shakes it off. “Mulder,” she smiles with awe. “How did you know that would work?”

He shrugs. “I guess those hostage negotiation classes paid off.”

She laughs but doesn't let the matter slide. “No, really?”

“I used to encourage my sister to bed the same way. For some reason she listened to me.” He gets a wistful look in his eye. “But there was that one time we conspired to stay up to catch Santa together. Well, our father wasn't very pleased.”

...

Later, sat around the dinner table, Scully edges closer to Mulder, conscious to keep the appearance of the happy couple up. Part of her is anxious that Mulder will become suspicious of her behaviour, question her and force her to reveal her ruse. The other part wars with herself about how easy and natural it is to act like she loves him. She fidgets with the hem of her blouse under the table, straightening herself out as her mother passes out portions of homemade cottage pie. The smell of it takes her back to her childhood when she and her siblings used to fight over who got the leftovers. She remembers Missy taking putty on her and sneaking her some to not make the others jealous. 

“So,” Tara chirps brightly, bringing Scully out of her reverie. “How do you and Mulder know each other?”

She opens her mouth but no words come out, the inevitable question catching her off guard. “Um… We work together… he's my– we're– he's my partner.” She shields her gaze from Bill’s stern stare and catches Mulder's amused smirk. Her cheeks start to burn and she is sure everyone can see her blush. 

“Ahhh.” Tara gives her a knowing smile. “And how long has that been going on for?”

“It's, uh–

“Relatively new,” Mulder fills in for her. Surprised, Scully whips her head to stare at him. 

“Well, I'm glad for you Dana, you look happier than I've seen you in a while. And who knows maybe you'll even get to start a family of your own: he seems great with kids.”

Her mother jumps in before she can reply, sensing her unease, knowing her desires for motherhood will only ever remain as that. “Come now, there's no need for an interrogation,” she jokes light heartedly. 

Scully finally looks to Mulder with a smile and says quietly, “Yeah, he is.”

The blush on his cheeks warms her heart and she licks her lips. Maybe it could be this easy to love him. 

Her mother raises “A toast to this Christmas, to family.”

“And to Mulder and Dana,” Tara adds. 

“Bill,” Maggie smiles. “Will you do the honours?”

Bill nods and clasps his hands together leading everyone into grace with a bowed head and closed eyes. “Bless this food and the hands that prepared it–”

Under the table Scully feels Mulder shift, his hand reaching out to her, fingers walking along her lap to find her hand. She turns it over, allowing him to lace his fingers through hers. She breaks her prayer to look at him, confused but not unpleasantly surprised. With everyone keeping vigil, he smiles softly, privately, as if they were the only two people to exist in this world. When Bill utters the words “Amen,” Mulder squeezes her hand before quickly letting go, moving his gaze elsewhere as conversation resumes.

...

After dinner, Scully, stays sitting at the table for a while, watching the swirling bubble in her flute rise to the top and burst. Tara helps her mother clear away and Mulder quietly excuses himself for some fresh air. She bites her lip, sensing his discomfort with the intimate family setting. She briefly wonders what Christmas eve at the Mulder household is like, before remembering last year he had invited to go ghostbusting. Maybe he would prefer to be there than here, suffocated in an environment he barely recognises. She was too selfish to consider how out of place he would feel, but she can’t deny that having him by her side the last few hours has been an immense source of strength for her. She is not sure she could give up his company even if she wanted to.

Bill’s chair makes a scraping sound against the hardwood floor as he gets up. She glances from her bubbling glance to see him follow Mulder’s direction to the porch. Discreetly, she follows him. Through the front door she can hear his muffled voice stern and gruff: “.... clear Dana likes you… respect her choice but… hurt her again…”

She’s heard enough to know exactly what Bill is saying and she curses him under her breath. Jaw clenched, she turns the handle of the door. “Bill–” she starts.

Bill throws his hands up defensively. “I was just leaving, Dana.” 

She watches as he innocently side steps her and returns to the dining room. Scully turns around again, fingers to her brow, massaging out the frown carved out there, not knowing where to begin apologising.

“How much of that did you hear?” Mulder winces, scratching the back of his neck.

She sighs dejectedly. “Only the important parts.”

He huffs half a laugh. “Only that much, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Mulder. Bill can be…”

“Overprotective?” he laughs again mirthlessly. “Yeah, well, as the older brother I get it: he just cares a lot about you. I only wish that didn’t mean hating me in the process.”

She places a comforting hand on his bicep, pleading silently that he accept her forgiveness for the sin he doesn't know she has committed. She searches his eyes for an answer but before she can find one, Tara walks up to the doorway, catching them.

“Aw don’t you two look cute under the mistletoe.”

“What?” Scully spins around defensively.

Mulder looks up and chuckles. Amidst the heat of the confrontation, she had forgotten the sprig of mistletoe tied to the porch awning. She slowly lifts her head, hoping it’s not still there, but the berries shine white against the green, inviting them to keep up tradition.

“Do you trust me, Scully?”

She looks at him, wide-eyed and hesitant. “Yes, but–”

Before she can finish the thought, Mulder is leaning in, warm hand pressed against her cheek, the other holding her steady at her hip. His lips meet hers as soft and as light as a feather touch, barely a whisper of the possibilities she now finds herself fantasising. All too soon, he draws back, leaving her bereft of his heat, his touch. His thumb still draws back and forth across her skin as she languidly opens her eyes again, seeing his smile in a new light. All the world goes quiet and numb save for the man standing in front of her, still holding on, still smiling. Conscious thought leaves her brain; her worries and doubts disseminated like dust on the wind. Old fortresses crumble and fall and she reaches up to brush her finger against his lips, testing this new reality she finds herself in. Lead by pure instinct she follows her finger and kisses against hers li him again, craving the feel of his lips brushing against hers like oxygen after seven years of holding her breath. Hesitantly, she deepens the kiss, exploring the taste of his lips, his tongue. When he reciprocates she sighs contentedly, floating towards heaven.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. “Now are you gonna tell me why your whole family thinks we are dating?” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. “Or do I have to ask them?”

“I–” she stutters over her words half in relief, half realising the ridiculousness of it all. She hides her face buried deep in his chest, laughing through, “I didn’t want mum to set me up with one of her friends' sons again.” 

“And I was the perfect lie?” he teases her with a shit-eating grin.

“As far as boyfriends go, I could do a lot worse.”

“So, it’s official–” he tilts her head back to look at him and brushes her hair from her face– “this is our first date.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she laughs.

“Hey, Scully–” he gives her another chaste kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

She smiles against his lips. “Merry Christmas.”

[ladyxskywalker]

lost without you, i & ii

Anakin Skywalker x F!Reader/OFC

a momentary separation between you & anakin happens while you are not feeling well. however, despite the circumstances, your hearts have only grown fonder of one another each time you speak on the phone. 💙

I wrote this a while ago & was kindly asked to repost it here on tumblr. also available to read on ao3. based on a real life situation. 🌼

i.

It's been weeks since you've been together. Something awful and truly beyond your control, forcing your current separation. A horrible flu making the rounds in your home world, where you - after attending a wedding, unfortunately, had come down with it as well.

"I confess, my love, I haven't been doing well without you." Anakin confides quietly in you, taking advantage of whispering in hushed tones over the phone.

"Anakin..."

"I know you're still recovering, but I can't help it, I'm selfish for you. I want you here...right now."

A softened sigh of your breath leaves your chest with a slight struggle, a cough escaping there, and a tear drop too.

"I will be back soon, I promise. Being without my other half has truly been unbearable."

"I just...I just want to hold you."

"You will again, soon enough. I promise."

But what you really meant to say, through the emotional heartbreak you've been facing is - yes, I know things have been difficult, I just hadn't realized that you'd been going through this just as much as I was.

"Will I, though?"

It hurts the most when his own mind leads him away from reality and the truth. Right away thinking or feeling like he'll never see you again. But the thoughts are only just intrusive ones, they have no real bearing on what lies in your heart.

"Yes."

Your head starts to feel too heavy, and your pillow is much too nice for you to even attempt getting up right now.

Sleep was inevitable. You hadn't been able to rest in days. Too nervous with worry to let your eyes close.

Too sad and unable to sleep without him all alone.

"This war...sometimes feels as though I am completely by myself, even though I know I'm not. I sense everything so strongly, it's harder than I thought."

"You need human contact. I understand that more than you know."

"Yes. I want it from you."

All while laying down, your cheeks have felt your eyes as they've already gone ahead into weeping. Another sort of instinct, telling you to finally let it all out.

"Tell me...what you miss...what you hope for most when eventually I do return."

Anakin pauses on his side of things, taking a breath before surrendering to his own heart.

"I just...I just want to be close to you."

"I want that too."

"I want to hug you for as long as I'm able to. Hold you in my arms while we sleep together in our room. Watch you smile at me from the door when you wake up. But..."

"But what, handsome?"

"The days...they're too long, too far."

After holding things in for so long, he begins to get a little bit choked up.

"I miss you, Anakin."

"I miss you too..."

So for now, all the two of you can do for one another is wait. A few more days for him to be home, and another stretch of time for you to start feeling better once more.

And then, there's a little static.

Background noise.

Another voice coming through over the phone.

"General Skywalker, there are enemy hostiles about. We should flank them on foot. Surround them."

"Good call, Commander. Lead the way, I won't be long."

You can almost picture his face in your mind then. A distance resonating in his eyes, veering off somewhere towards the setting suns, before looking back down.

Confident.

Brooding.

And, maybe even a little bit tired from it all.

"Go."

"I'll call you again tomorrow. And..."

"Hm?"

"I just want you to know, I'm not going anywhere."

Right then and there, even from across the airwaves, you sensed his light and the force of his love deep within your bones.

... 🌼

ii.

after being apart from one another for quite some time, anakin gives you a warm welcome home ❤️

this part is rated M or E for smut feel free to skip if this is not for you additional content tags: soft smut, couch time, sleepy morning intimacy, implied things happening, nothing crazy

It started with a long hug and a gentle hello. A smile for you, already gleaming with excitement as he greeted you by the door.

You were going to dinner that night. A fancy one he'd been planning for weeks for your birthday. Thoughtful gifts, wrapped with care, just needing to be opened. A release of kind breath, leaving the anxious state of your lungs then, because now - finally, all is well.

And you were home .

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?"

"Mhmm."

He pulls you closer. Your hands, finding their way up to the back of his neck to feel his still wet hair from the shower.

Anakin hums, tracing the tip of his nose along your neck - leaning into it, enjoying the touch of your skin. The smell of your perfume that he loves so much.

"Do I look stupid?" He chuckles, all while holding you tighter to him.

"No. You're perfect."

"Good. Now go, open your gifts. You've waited long enough."

But for just a minute, you'd rather just take him all in there instead. To say how much you truly missed him while you were apart. That the greatest feeling in the world right now is knowing that Anakin is the best gift of all.

The night went by so fast. Laughing with each other first, then with friends...

Sneaking off somewhere for a while in a dark corner of the bar...

The softened shadows, encasing you both in their ease of surrounding comfort. And his hands, showing you the way toward his hips in front of everyone else, without a care in the world.

Your arms wrap around him easily.

His incredible blue eyes, focus on your lips.

Then your palms cup his face, completely letting go - falling on air immediately when he begins to kiss you hard.

"Want to get out of here?"

"Mm. Yes ."

"We don't need to be here anymore."

And so, you go.

"Come here."

He reaches for you to straddle him on the couch, insistent on his keys landing somewhere on the hard surface of his table below. Making a slightly abrupt noise that he knows someone else might have complained about...

But, he doesn't care where anything is supposed to go right now, and neither do you.

Not with the way you've been eyeing him sweetly from above...

Your shoes ending up someplace with his boots as they've already fallen over...

His belt buckle, already lost underneath his messy chair on the floor.

"I missed you. I thought...I thought you were never coming back. That, maybe you were gone for good."

Anakin caresses your face, brushing your cheek with care at the tips of all his fingers.

"You're my other half, I'd never leave you. Never..."

Anakin sighs, almost afraid to speak. Always brooding, so deep in thought.

"All those weeks...I couldn't bear it. I wasn't myself."

You kiss him slowly, slotting your lips together, chests pressing, getting even closer.

"I know."

Leaning down, you trace every line of his neck with kisses. Gripping the hems of his clothes. Shifting your hips against his, silently begging for him to help take them off.

But it's you that he wants first.

Completely vulnerable and bare on top of him.

Another hand, slipping between your thighs - teasing you with his strong and capable curling. Eliciting a budding sensation there that makes you moan.

The tip of his tongue, encircling the pebbled skin of your breasts, his eyes soothed to a close as he takes each one into his mouth.

"Yes... oh , please... please ."

Then, he grins, feeling that stray shiver he seems to know so well. Shifting you just the slightest for a second to take his pants off. Guiding your hand lower against his hardest part just to arrogantly show what you do to him.

"I want you. Right here ."

And as you lower yourself down upon him, it feels as though everything is made right again.

Affectionate sighs of impassioned relief, escaping there from you both...

Foreheads dipping into an almost blind surrender to the simplest form of selfish touch...

It took some time for you to drift off. The adrenaline and excitement of seeing and truly being with him again, almost feeling like too much.

He hums when he sleeps sometimes, sensing when occasionally your eyes tend to open - watching him. Closing them softly again when you know you've been caught.

You missed his bed. The smooth sheets. His warm pillows.

The broad span of his chest, and the cool feel of his arms.

Snuggling closely to him, you check the time. Looking across the room at towards the window, judging that by now it had already been morning. Your calming hint being the comforting light of the sun.

"Mm. I haven't slept at all..."

You whisper to yourself. Unable to fathom the last time you did something like this. Or that all of it had truly been real as well.

"There you are..."

Anakin slowly opens his eyes, allowing them to adjust.

"Morning, handsome."

Looking over, you see that all this time, the sheets have grown tighter. Sliding your hand beneath the warmth of your blankets to palm what lies beneath them. Though, before you know it, both he and you are no longer guarded by your covers.

"Where do you want me?"

You whisper, pressing each word against his waiting mouth.

His kiss, feeling like the only sort of sensual welcome you ever want to know.

Then, wordlessly, he takes you by the wrist, carefully and protectively, leading you back up and over where you belong.

Reaching around the hardened length of him, the pad of your thumb grazes over the smooth tip, before guiding it towards that sensitive spot. Letting go.

He kneads at your flesh, grasping at the skin of your thighs, rolling you forward, kissing you hard. His fingers, holding tightly to the back of your head. Freeing you only when you stretch, sitting back up. Your entire being, on passionate display for him there.

"I'm a lucky man..."

He smiles, all while mumbling a string of endless thoughts. Secrets from his mind that he's been keeping. Allusions to everything he loves about you, never spoken, always bottled up. Until this overwhelming moment.

Until, right now.

"You're a goddess... so beautiful..."

You can't help it when a single tear begins to fall, when you see his pure surrender to joy slipping with dampened eyelids of his own.

A rough hand then changing the scene...

Emotions running wild when a mere gentle moment turns into something else.

Your lips, pressed into momentary capture by the welcome feeling of his palm.

All you can do is watch him, as he's watching the joining spaces between you. The quickened pace that comes from the rolling of your hips. Your fingertips, toying with your own chest there...

And then he releases you. A moan escaping, then his shuddered breaths...

Another kiss...

Then one final glide.

Your blinding wave and loving fall, following his right after...

He's so warm, so safe like this. That when he eases you off of him, carefully making space for you to sleep next to him some more, you almost can't believe that you are really here with him now.

That you've almost spent four seasons of time with this amazing man.

That either one of you no longer had to fear the thought of being alone.

No universe exists where you would ever dream of being with someone else.

And you loved him.

... ❤️

thanks so much for reading 💌 xo A

[oceanicjessie]

I know I've been radio silent for a while. Sorry for that! I have been dealing with a spout of hard creative burnout, which made drawing and writing just a pain, but I think it's finally clearing up. I have or am starting a brand new fic, though I don't expect it to be even close to the length of YGBTFTS. Though it is not Scream-related, it is Fallout-related, so I will not talk much about it. But if you are interested in the Fallout TV show, feel free to check it out on my AO3 account. Anyway, back to the stuff you actually care about and why I am making this post in the first place!!

After over a month, I have finally gotten the first draft of the very last chapter for YGBTFTS written up. I only need to bulk it up, edit, proof-read, and send it off for beta reading, and BOOM, I will finally be done! This fic has taken me from early to mid-December to finish, and I couldn't be prouder of myself for finishing it. This is the first time I've committed to something that I have gone out of my way to finish, and I can't thank every single person who has supported me enough for leaving a kudo or a comment on the fic or just showing love in general! I am just overwhelmed in general by everything this fic has brought me, and I can't wait to start something new and continue to build a community here! Anyways, the chapter will still need some time in the oven, but I promise you all that the chapter is worth the wait, and I can't wait to show it to you all! || On a completely unrelated note, a very good friend of mine, @kikiteaa, created this simply amazing piece for me ( all credit of the art shown in this post goes to them!! ), and I absolutely want every single person to see it! Please go follow and support them, as their art is just so good! <3 <3

( Yes the irony of having kikiteas art share a post related to my fic is not lost on me. But they both are on the same level of dopamine hit soooo give and take. )

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Sprout [Pero Tovar x f!reader]

Read on AO3

Sequel to Seed.

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Tags/warnings: Pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, dirty talk, some angst and fighting but also making up with more sex, labor, you get it. Soft Pero!

Words: 5,999

Summary: After trying long and hard, you are finally pregnant. Pero is delighted, but now begins a time of waiting and fussing and, well, lots of sex. That's the plot.

When you finally become pregnant, you know it immediately.

It is eerie, almost magical, the way you just feel something take root in your womb. Not the presence of a person, but just something new, something growing. It is early morning, you awake before Pero, last night’s coupling still a warm, sticky memory on your skin along with his breath, his limbs so tightly wound around yours. You mean to rouse him with kisses and caresses, but then you feel it, and you just know. A blissful smile spreading on your face, you decide to relish this feeling for as long as you can, and so you just stay still and quiet, one hand on your lower abdomen. When Pero eventually stirs, hands and lips starting to claim you, you gently peel them off of you.

“I’m sore,” you whisper to him, accepting a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“Don’t be. I just need a rest.”

He pecks your lips again before releasing you to start the day. You hear him use the chamber pot, and when he comes back into the bedroom, he stops and looks at you, brows drawn together.

"What?" you ask.

"You look different."

"Do I?" You can feel heat rise to your cheeks, but in the same moment you decide not to tell him, not just yet. You want to be sure, live with this new presence by yourself for a couple of days.

"Yes."

He grabs his shirt and trousers, pulling them on while regarding you. You shrug innocently.

"Don't know what it would be."

That was all for that morning.

You tell him about a week later. The feeling of attachment deep within you had not diminished, and you have become more confident that it is real. During the entire week, you have gently turned down Pero's advances, citing tiredness and aches. Pero may be a loving husband, but he does not keep track of your monthly bleeding, and so he seems to have accepted that it's your time of the month, and been content with sweet caresses and kisses.

It's evening when you tell him. You're sitting together outside the house, facing the back garden. Surrounded by fragrance in the dying light, listening the first cicadas of the night starting the concertos, you feel that it is the right time to tell him.

"Husband," you start, lifting your head from his shoulder and facing him. "There is something I need to tell you."

His features are immediately painted with a wariness, like he is expecting bad news. Your sweet warrior husband, always ready for life to be full of hardships. You give him a reassuring smile.

"It's nothing bad, I promise."

"Then what is it?" he barks, hand squeezing yours like he's afraid you are going to get up and leave.

"I'm with child."

His eyebrows shoot up, leaving his eyes round and wide open, just like his mouth.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," you giggle now, his reaction too amusing not to cause you mirth. "I am certain, Pero, that you are going to be a father."

His face is as raw as it was on your wedding day, the joy shaving years off his scarred features. He raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles before pressing your hand to his heart, and then his lips are on yours. You feel him tremble a little, from nerves, happiness, or excitement you don't know, but you pull him in for the kiss, and he relaxes in your arms.

He carries you inside and lays you on the bed, never stopping to kiss you until he has to, in order to pose a question.

"Can we...?"

"I think we can," you answer breathlessly before pulling him in for more kisses. Pero needs no further permission: he lays down over you, stealing your breath away with him kisses before sitting up to get you undressed. When you're naked before him, he leans down to trail soft kisses over your belly.

"My child," he murmurs, looking up at you, eyes shining. "You will take care of my child, won't you?"

"You know I will," you promise, shivering from the goosebumps of pleasure induced by Pero's bristly skin.

"And I will take care of you, wife," he vows, trailing light kisses down between your legs, which fall open to accommodate him.

He’s more gentle than usual, more perceptive of your mewls, the way your legs twitch, your grip on the sheets. It may not be his intention, but he ends up tormenting you even more with his slowness. It is a stark contrast to the frantic fucking of the past few weeks. His seed, shot inside you on a daily basis, has finally taken root, and he seems determined to nourish that little sapling as best he can. Even if that means teasing you at the brink of release until you’re sobbing.

“Pero…!” You’re writhing, trying to push yourself against his mouth for the relief you need, but his arms tighten around your thighs, rendering your lower body immovable.

“Hush,” he admonishes you in a thick whisper. “You have to relax, my darling, you can’t get overexcited.”

You press the back of your head into the pillow and run your fingers through your hair.

“Please,” you whisper desperately, “please, Pero, I can’t bear it any longer.”

You know he’s smiling from the curve of his lips against your sensitive inner thighs, and then he finally takes mercy on you. The orgasm feels stronger than usual, maybe due to the prolonged, sweet torture, or because of your condition. When Pero presses a kiss to your inner thigh, you almost kick him, your legs coming together to seal in the pulses in your pussy, and you turn over onto your side to get away. He lets you be for a moment, hearing from your breathy moans that you are unharmed, but he soon takes a gentle grip of your arm, and makes you roll onto your back again.

“My love,” he hums, dipping down to brush his lips over yours. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” you manage, and that works as enough of a reassurance for him to press his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet enough, but you sense the urgency in him, and his cock is hard and leaking against your thigh.

“Come to me, husband,” you mumble, opening your legs anew. Pero is instantly between them, guiding his cock into you. He slides in easily enough as he lays down over you, and you brace yourself for his usual brand of frenzy. He does, however, stay still, sheathed deeply inside you, as he cradles your face and kisses you. You are full of him, so full, and yet you want more, so you raise your hips to urge him to move.

“Patience, my love,” he reprimands you gently, kissing your forehead before moving his hips only enough to be able to push them into your again. “We have time.”

“I need you,” you pout, happy with how it makes him swallow hard.

“I know, wife, and you shall have me every single day, but we need to be careful. “ Another thrust, slow but so deep, makes you whimper. “We will make sure that the baby grows big and strong.” He thrusts again and your nails press into his back. “I will make sure that you are satisfied, my love, and that our baby is happy as it grows inside you.” One more thrust has you running your nails down his back. Hissing, he punishes you with a stab of his cock right up against your womb, and when you bare your throat to him, he dives down to suck his love marks into your skin. His hips move with more insistence now as he fucks you bruising deep, and when he releases his seed into you, he whimpers in a way you have never heard before. Your arms wrapped around him, you pull him down over you, forcing him to stay inside of you for as long as he’s hard. When he finally rolls off of you, he whispers his I love you first into your ear, then to your belly.

A couple of weeks later, you have your first morning of being sick. Pero had taken to a morning routine of greeting both you and your belly with kisses and caresses, but he barely touched you before you fly out of bed, barely making it to the slop bucket in the kitchen before your stomach turns inside out.

Pero hovers behind you, unsure how to help you as you retch into the bucket, but when you rise and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, he’s there to embrace you, combing your hair away from your face.

“Are you done?”

“I think so,” you tell him weakly, and he carries you back to bed and tucks you in before bringing you water. He then proceeds to building a fire, and making breakfast that he brings in to you.

“You don’t have to fuss,” you tell him, a little embarrassed at his extreme measures. “I’m perfectly capable of making us breakfast.”

“You need rest,” he tells you with a finality that you have never heard from him before. “Take it easy. You work so hard already.”

“No harder than you.”

“When I’m not escorting caravans, I don’t do much. Now eat, if you can stomach it.”

You can, and you’re suddenly ravenous.

After breakfast, you take your basket and go down to the marketplace to do your daily shopping, and when you return to find Pero outside the house, brushing down the horse, you sigh deeply as you put down the basket.

“Well, everybody knows now.”

“Knows what?” Pero asks, resting one hand on the horse’s strong neck. The warm sun has already turned his hairline damp, and he’s squinting against the light. You give him a what do you think? look, and he nods.

“I threw up the second I smelled fish,” you tell him, the sour taste still fresh in your mouth. “We’re having meat for the time being, husband.”

He shrugs, not having a preference one way or the other.

“Suits me fine. Are you well?”

“I’m fine.” You pick up the basket again and kiss his cheek, careful not to exhale what with your breath being so foul. “I’ll go in, put all this away.

“Leave the basket, I’ll carry it inside when I’m done with the horse.”

“I can do it, it’s not heavy.”

He glares at you then, clearly unhappy, but you kiss his cheek again.

“Don’t worry, Pero.”

But he does worry. And his worry grows with each day that starts with you throwing up. You are not showing, and the only sign of your condition, to him, is you being sick. He can’t feel what you feel, the presence inside you, although he tries every night, digging deep and slow into you until you’re begging him to cum because you can’t take it anymore.

That worry culminates one afternoon when he catches you carrying water from the well in your garden.

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” he glowers at you as you step in, burdened with one bucket in each hand. You stare at him, not even understanding what he’s talking about.

“What do you mean?”

“You shouldn’t be carrying something so heavy!”

“Pero – “

“You need to be more careful.” He makes it sound like you have been living irresponsibly, and it makes you furious because he has never spoken to you like this before. That scowl of his would scare anyone else in the village, but not you. You simply put down the buckets, your hands coming to your hips as you scowl right back.

“Now you listen to me, Pero Tovar! I am not frail, I am not ill, I am able to perform my chores! I may be pregnant, I may not be able to keep my breakfast, but there is nothing about my state that is abnormal!”

He seems a little taken back with your response but collects himself quickly.

“You should be resting more,” he insists, “and you getting this upset isn’t good for you, either.”

“I am not getting upset, you are making me upset!” you snap, heat rising to your cheeks. “I am doing fine and I would be doing even better if you weren’t so hell-bent on making me feel like I was dying!”

“It is precisely to stop you from dying that I am being so protective!” he bites back. You clearly hit a nerve there, and you’re angry enough to keep pinching it.

“So I cannot carry water during the day, but you can nail me to our bed every night?” you spit. “That’s a very strange way of protecting me, is it not?”

His jaws move, like he’s screaming something new at you, but then he casts down his eyes, his frown still prominent and neck muscles bulging. You cross your arms in front of your chest, waiting for his next move, but he just mutters something before storming out. You stare at the closed door, not expecting his departure. Pero has not survived by backing away from a fight.

You go on doing your chores, your blood coming down from its boil, and by the time supper is on the table, Pero returns. He stands by the door, leaning against it like he’s unsure that he’s welcome, but you gesture silently at his customary seat at the table, so he comes and sits down. You serve the food, you both eat it, and not until your plates are empty does Pero clear his throat.

“I’m sorry for earlier.”

You meet his soft gaze, seeing the regret – but also fear.

“Husband,” you whisper, but he shakes his head.

“I’m so afraid of losing you, my love.”

“I know.”

“I have never had anything as… good, and beautiful, as you, and the thought of losing you…”

“I know, my love,” you nod. You know this fear, but you have not known the same hard life as Pero has, and that helps you in not being ruled by that fear.

“Losing both you and our baby…”

“But you won’t,” you cut him off, softly but with conviction.

“You don’t know that. There is so much that can go wrong.”

“I don’t know that, no. I just believe it. I believe we will be okay in the end.” You reach your hand across the table, and Pero takes it. “Can’t you believe with me?”

A small, hopeful smile lights up his face. “I’ll try.”

Leaving everything on the table, you take him to bed. As you undo his belt, the belt pouch falls to the floor, and you hear the clinking of glass.

“Fuck,” Pero grunts. “I forgot.”

He bends down to pick up the pouch, pulling two bottles from it. He exhales in relief when discovering that they’re not broken.

“What are those?” you want to know, eyeing the two bottles, one larger, the other no bigger than Pero’s thumb.

“I went to the midwife,” he tells you, rolling the small bottle between his fingers. “She says that a couple of drops of this on your tongue every morning will help with your vomiting.”

You pick up the bottle and pull out the cork. The sunny, sweet smell of oranges wafts out. You quirk a brow and look at Pero, who shrugs.

“It’s worth trying, don’t you think?”

“It is.” You put the cork back and close your fingers over the bottle. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s been hard for me to see you be so sick,” he confesses, hand coming to a soft rest on your waist. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not so bad, husband,” you assure him. “It’s just in the mornings, and it’s not going to last.”

“I hope the tincture will help.”

“If not, you have another bottle?”

“Oh.” Pero holds up the bigger bottle, as if he had forgotten about it. “This is not medicine.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s oil for your belly,” he explains, and now his gaze turns soft. “The midwife said that as your belly begins to grow, the skin often turns dry. This is to help with that.”

You smile, your hand coming up to his bristly cheek.

“That’s so sweet of you, Pero.”

“I promise I’ll rub it onto you every night, starting now,” he vows with a mischievous little smile, and you giggle.

“I’m not showing yet!”

“The midwife said it’s important to start before the skin begins to stretch, so would you please take your clothes off, wife, and lie down on the bed.”

You laugh, but it’s not you who ends up lying on the bed, it’s Pero.

“You’ve been so good to me,” you purr, sitting astride him and teasing his cock hard by rubbing your cunt against it. “Let me take care of you now, husband.”

“Yes,” he swallows hard, “my love, please.”

You kiss the wet tip of his cock, nip at the head, trail the veins down his length with your tongue, make him whine and writhe and come apart for you. You give him only a moment to catch his breath before you take his cock in your hand and stroke it to keep it hard. Pero inhales with a hiss.

“Oh, fuck, careful…!”

“I am being careful,” you promise as you keep your touch light. “I just need to make sure that you are able to service me, husband.”

“Always,” he chokes as you sit astride him.

“My cunt is hungry for your big cock, my love.”

“Oh, please… please… ahhh!” You sink down on him, your wet cunt splitting open but taking all of him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you exhale in a loud moan. Your eyes have closed involuntarily, and when you open them, you see Pero looking up at you with awe in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you bend down to kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

His hands splay over your lower abdomen. “And I love you.”

You kiss him again and start to move your hips. Your love life has been less frantic since you became pregnant, but it is not lacking in passion. Your slow, meticulous grind reflects that, and when Pero reaches for the oil bottle next to him on the bed, you sit up straight and let him rub the oil onto your skin.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs as he circles his rough hand over your soft stomach. “And you will be even more beautiful when you start to show.”

“Will I”? you coax him, and he nods.

“I want you to ride me like this when you’re big and round, wife.” His voice drops, and the way it drips hot honey down your spine makes you clench. “I want you to take your pleasure from me likes this when you’re so big that you can hardly move, and your tits are leaking milk.”

“And if I can’t?” you breathe. His eyes are molten coal when he stares at you.

“Then I will help you.”

With that, he slides hand to where your bodies come together. His oiled fingers dance easily on your nub, and with his help, you ride him home, taking his load deep into your slick, warm cunt.

Your nausea does not bother you as much the following morning. Pero credits it to the tincture but you know that something has shifted in your relationship, become easier and more earnest.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

You squeeze Pero’s arm against your side. “It’s a little too late for that now.”

“I can still tell them – “

“They need you,” you remind him. “So many people depend on you.”

“You are the most important one of all of them,” he points out, stopping in the middle of the street and turning to you. His free hand, the one that’s not holding the reigns of the horse, comes to rest on your slightly rounded belly. “You, and the little one.”

“It’s only a week.” You cup his cheek, stroke your thumb over his lips. “It’s not a long time. You’ll make good money, and I promise that I’ll rest.”

He raises his brows, and you laugh at his skepticism.

“I promise!” you hold up your hand to your chest. “I promise, Pero, you know you can trust my word, right?”

“I know,” he nods, now smiling, before dipping down to kiss you softly. The horse snorts, and Pero ends the kiss with a quick peck on your lips, before you once again take his arm, and walk to the town square where the caravan is getting ready to leave. Pero was early on asked to provide security for it, and even though he was loathe to leave you for an entire week, both of you knew he would. Winter is on its way, trading will come to a stop, and he will be free to spend the rest of your time at home.

You nod at familiar faces when you reach the square, but soon have only eyes for Pero as he takes you in his arms. You expect admonition and reprobation, but only receive whispered assurances of his love for you.

“You will take care of yourself, won’t you?” he finally asks, when the caravan leader is announcing departure. You give him a naughty smile.

“Take care of myself how…?”

He grins back. “You know how. I left you the oil, and the memory of me.”

“My own fingers are nothing compared to you, my love.”

“As my hand is a meagre substitute for your warm, wet cunt,” he breathes against your ear. There is time for a hot yet subdued kiss, and a quick caress of your belly, before Pero has to mount his horse. He blows you a kiss and is off.

The week passes slowly and uneventfully. It rains a lot, which means you keep mostly indoors, and it makes you a little restless. The baby is restless as well; you feel it twitching and floundering almost every hour that you are awake. It is a comfort, knowing that you are not alone, but you still miss Pero.

It is late night when he returns. You are already in bed but the sounds of the wagons returning to the village draws you out of bed. You pull a shawl around your shoulders, but don’t get dressed, loath to leave the warmth of the house to go out into the late autumn chill. It does not take long before Pero rides into the yard, dismounting midstride when you come out onto the doorstep. He rushes to you, lips on yours before he’s even wrapped his arms around you. His lips are cold but his breath is warm, and his body fits to yours perfectly, shielding you from the cold.

“Are you well?” are his first words to you.

“We are both well, husband. How about you? How was the journey?”

“Uneventful. I am unharmed.”

He falls to his knees, hands tracing the roundness of your stomach through the nightgown before pressing a kiss to it.

“Hello, little one.”

You feel the baby move, and then a powerful jerk. Pero flinches, then looks up at you, mouth open.

“Was that…?”

“Yes,” you smile, hand coming to cup the top of his head. “That was our baby, my love, saying welcome home.”

“Was it really?”

You nod, your smile growing wider as you watch Pero stare at your clothed belly, hand circling it in search of another kick. A light breeze sweeps across the yard, and you shudder.

“Let’s go inside, husband.”

He has to put away the horse first, so you prepare a small supper while you wait for him to come in. When he finally does, he forgoes any food, instead taking you to bed. Balls deep in you and kissing your breath away, he tells you over and over again how much he loves you.

Winter slows down the entire village, although you feel slower than ever before with each passing week. Your belly grows, and with it your tiredness. Your feet hurt, your hips hurt, you back hurts, you feel clumsy, and you're hungry all the time. Pero takes all your griping in stride, helping you with your heavier chores that you finally relinquish to him. He rubs your belly and breasts with oil every night, and pleasures you with his mouth, fingers, and cock every time you ask for it – which varies from day to day. Some days you cannot have enough of him, others you can barely stand the thought of sleeping with him. Your patient husband takes no offense at your ever-changing mood.

You realize very soon that you have been incredibly lucky in your choice of husband – not that you didn’t know that before, of course. When going to the marketplace and meeting the village women, your growing belly gives you a new role in the group. The younger women titter, the older give advice or tell crude jokes that make you blush.

“Glowing skin, hazy eyes,” one comments one morning by the vegetable stand, “and him looking like the king of the world. Neither one of you goes wanting, that’s for sure.”

Your cheeks heat up. The comment is spoken without malice, and in a pleased tone, but it feels like the speaker had direct access to your bedroom that morning, seen you come apart on Pero’s cock, witnessed him fuck his cum deep inside you.

You mumble something, and the older woman chuckles.

“I’ve had five, and my husband serviced me with all five of them. A father’s seed will make the baby grow strong. Your child will be born big and healthy, I can see that.”

The baby moves in your belly, bringing a smile to your face. You look up at the woman, see her friendly face, and thank her, before slinking away and finding Pero at another stand. He takes the basket from you, offers you his arm, and you walk home together. As you put away your purchases in the kitchen, Pero breathes life back into the fire, and you sink down onto a chair with a sigh. He runs his gaze over you, a frown on his face.

“Are you okay, my love?”

“Just a little tired,” you promise as you rub your belly. The baby kicks against your hand before settling down, maybe to sleep. You look at your husband, crouching by he fire, and clear your throat.

“Pero?”

“Yes?”

“Do the men in the village talk about… pregnancy?”

He looks up at you again. “What do you mean?”

“The women – “

“Women talk a lot of rubbish,” he scoffs, and you grimace at his dismissal of your sex.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, and you glare at him to let him know that he is only barely being let off the hook. “Tell me, my love, what do they say?”

“They talk about pregnancy, how the baby is carried, what sex it probably is, cravings, pains, aches… and intimacy. And I was wondering if men do the same.”

Pero directs his attention to the fire for a moment.

“They do speak of the pregnancy, but more of the children once they are born,” he tells you softly. “They speak of what it is to watch a child grow, how to provide for it, the way you worry about it all the time.”

“But nothing of the pregnancy?” you press, and he shoots you a teasing smile.

“A little, but only things I will not repeat to you.”

“Pero, I am no dainty little thing that you have to protect!” you roll your eyes, and Pero laughs before putting another log on the growing fire, then closing the hatch.

“I do know that, wife,” he acknowledges. Coming to his feet, he walks over to you, and sinks to his knees before you.

“I will tell you what they say,” he rumbles, his deep voice making your heart skip a beat. “Many of them speak of wives who become voracious when heavy with child.”

His hands, warm and large, rest softly on your knees, and start to carefully separate your thighs. You lick your lips quickly, leaving your mouth open as your breath turns heavier.

“They speak of wives who crave cock every single day.” Pero lifts your skirt up, leaning in to kiss the inside of your thigh. “They say that fucking a pregnant wife is the best feeling in the world.” He presses another bristly kiss to your sensitive skin. “To fill her already full womb even more…” Another kiss. “To have her sensitive cunt wrapped around your cock… how she mewls underneath you as you fuck your seed into her… it is heaven.”

He looks up at you, eyes dark, a smug smirk on his lips. “And they are right.”

“Pero,” you beg breathlessly, your cunt dripping from his words, your body ablaze for his touch.

“Come here, my love.”

He pulls you down on the floor, and you help him undo his trousers to get his cock out. Crouching astride him, feet firmly planted on the floor, you sink down his length, Pero supporting you with strong arms, even he can no longer reach around you. You ride him with impatience, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his leg behind you, your lips on his lips, his neck, his shoulder.

“My love,” he gasps, “take what you need from me, use me, just like that, use my cock…”

You whine before baring your throat and hanging your head back, chest out, Pero dipping down to suck a leaking nipple into his mouth. You moan as your body is in spasms from the sweet release, and Pero plants a hand on the floor behind him, and thrusts up into you, grunting with effort as he seeks his own climax. You encourage him with moaned filthy words of your own, choked out as he slams into you, again and again, until he grips your buttock hard to keep you still on his cock, and you feel him fill up your core.

He lays down on the floor after, pulling you down next to him to give you a sweet kiss.

“My darling wife,” he sighs before kissing you again.

“My darling husband,” you smile, a satisfied shudder running through you as his seed oozes out between your swollen lips. “I am utterly disheveled. I won’t be able to show myself at the sewing circle later today.”

“Good,” he yawns, pulling you closer. “It is a husband’s duty to keep his wife disheveled with his love.”

“I cannot argue with that,” you giggle, and he kisses you yet again.

It starts in the early hours of the darkest winter morning. You wake up from a sharp pain, and before you’re properly awake, you realize that your nightgown is soaking wet. As you sit up to light a candle, another stab of pain makes you whimper, and you drop the fire striker. Pero stirs and reaches for you, only to be awake and sitting straight almost immediately.

“It has started,” you whisper. “I’m all wet. Pero, light a candle.”

He does as he’s told, and you throw the covers to the side, finding that your water has broken. No blood, as you secretly feared, but only water.

“I’ll get the midwife,” Pero tells you resolutely, but you can hear the worry in his voice. “My love, are you in very much pain?”

“Not too much,” you reassure him, getting out of the bed as he springs up to get dressed. You pull your shawl over your shoulders and start walking around, as the women of the village have told you to do. The pains come in sharp stabs, but they’re manageable.

Pero looks desolate to leave you, but you wave him off with a smile and a kiss.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just go get her.”

When the midwife arrives, she gives you a quick examination before shaking her head.

“Go back to bed,” she tells both of you. “It’s going to be another day or even two before it starts, so get all the rest you can.”

“Are you sure?” Pero demands in his most imposing voice. The midwife does not even blink as she collects her things.

“Make her as comfortable as you can.” She turns to you. “Rest but walk around every chance you get. And if something seems amiss, come get me again.”

She takes her leave, and Pero grumbles about the lack of sympathy. You, however, have heard a lot more about labor, so you just shake your head at him.

“Help me change the sheets, husband, and come to bed. You heard what she said.”

“You are in pain!”

“It’s not so bad anymore,” you tell him truthfully, and start to strip the wet sheets from the bed. Loath to have you do it by yourself, Pero comes to help you, giving him something else to think about. When you’re back in bed, embraced and sleepy yet too nervous to rest, he caresses the roundness of your belly.

“I can’t wait to meet our baby,” he whispers to you.

“I feel the same.”

“What are you hoping for? A boy or a girl?”

“I don’t care,” you yawn, “as long as it’s healthy. Any child that is half you is going to be perfect.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Late in the following night, the contractions change, become more intense and frequent. You send Pero to the midwife again, and this time she stays. You have prepared during the day so there are linens and boiled water to be had. Pero is dismissed from the bedchamber, and you see that he wants to fight the midwife on that decision, but you just shake your head at him, and he heeds your wish. But when the midwife tells you that you are crowning, that the baby is coming, and the contractions are sucking all the strength from your muscles, you scream for your husband. He nearly takes the door off its hinges as he barges in, all but brandishing the sword he has not touched since his last caravan. He takes your hand between his and kisses it.

“My love,” he breathes, “my strong, beautiful wife. You can do it, I know you can.”

Your baby is born with a few pushes, and the first scream that cuts through the night makes your tears fall.

“You have a son,” the midwife announces as she wraps up the baby and puts it on your chest.

“A son,” you repeat, not really understanding the words.

“I have a son,” Pero mumbles, his voice thick. You glance up at him, but he is only looking at the baby.

“Pero…”

“I have a son.”

Suddenly, he spurts out of the room, leaving you to stare after him, mouth agape. You hear the front door slam open, and then Pero bellowing into the night:

“I have a son!”

You chuckle, tears streaming down your cheeks, and when Pero returns, his eyes are shining as well.

“My love,” he whispers. “My love. My life. I love you so much.”

You can’t speak, this is all too much, you are exhausted and hurting and happy and sweaty and bursting with joy. As the midwife retires to the kitchen, Pero lays down next to you, cradling the baby in your arms.

“My son,” he whispers, his voice thick. “We have a son, my love.”

“We do.”

“I will always take care of him, and of you, this I promise you.”

“You already do, my love,” you smile, and Pero kisses first your forehead, then the baby’s.