#bask in my agony

[esoomris]

just realized that that stupid ribbed collar they put on t-shirts is a separate piece of fabric and can be removed with a seam ripper. my quality of life is about to improve immeasurably

[waywardsalt]

sometimes you make aus just to see how far you can push your favorite fictional little guy within the bounds of their canon characterization before they’re straight up an entirely different character

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 "𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐠"

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | A night after Homecoming has you reveling in the loneliness of your mind, but a drug dealer "meandering" his way by is there to solve your issues, especially after finding a particular toy of yours.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, minor comments about food, feelings of embarrassment, overthinking, mentions of mean friends/exclusion, loneliness, insecurities, and explicit sexual content: fondling, one spank, edging, orgasm denial, praise kink, sir kink, oral (female receiving), rimming (female receiving), anal play/fingering, use of sex toy (butt plug), and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Everyone be honest: do you actually enjoy my writing being this long, when little to nothing is happening? I don't know, I feel like I dramatically wrote this, it's kinda comical. Also, this is literally an entire Soundgasm audio I heard, but can no longer find- the agony! All script credits to them, I’ll try to link it once I do find it! And, @strangerstilinski is a lot better at Pinterest than me, so big, loveable thanks to you for the photos!

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Cold and creamy, the slab of lotion smearing its enriching silk onto the skin of your shaven legs to prevent that inevitable itch in a couple days had been the only thing to smooth over your mind in the suffocating humidity of your bathroom. But even then, the sweetening smell of coconuts and vanilla couldn’t fully appease your feelings from the nagging reality of how isolated you felt from the people closest to you. 

Quinton Reeves.

For whatever reason, retired number ninety-five of Hawkins High’s baseball conference champions of 1983, still had the popularity chokehold of high schoolers, despite the matter of being into his second year of his community college career, while brandishing the golden name tag of the multiplex theater he hadn’t left since junior year. Something about giving away free tickets to greedy teenagers, that’s what made him “cool,” though utterly pathetic in your eyes. 

But unfortunately, in the eyes of swooning cheerleaders, Quinton Reeves’ “maturity” had made his Friday night rager on Old Cherry Road the main priority of your friends’ plans, after a grueling night of sore toes and itchy fabric that was the Homecoming dance. An actual celebration, where booze monitoring or debauchery dance moves couldn’t be policed by the faculty of your soon to be alma mater. Not that it was celebrating much, those green and orange jerseys adorned by the most admired only saw scuff marks with no touchdowns; yet another year of despair for Hawkins High’s athletic department. And yet, somehow a trophy-less trophy cabinet did little to sway the big egos of the prim and proper. Funny. So now, you sigh, basking in a night of a hot shower, trying to exfoliate and shave off that icky feeling in you that you knew resided deeper than superficially. 

Because while your friends drank the night away at Quinton Reeves’ Friday night rager on Old Cherry Road, you sat forlorn with a kitchen full of purchased junk food, a bathroom full of face masks, a bedside table full of magazines, and a television stand full of movies, because despite being planned a week in advance—after you conveniently got left out of Stacy Wither’s girls night—Quinton Reeves’ Friday night rager on Old Cherry Road became more important than your girls night. 

Softened skin bundled in cozy clothes, you watched your saddened reflection in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, where a squeaking wipe to the condensation allowed for pellets of water to race down the glass. Beneath the mask of green gunk that claimed to heal those pesky bumps of raging hormones on your skin, you could still see the dampen expression of your sorrow face, where you recollected the comments of your so-called friends. 

Buzz-kill. Bummer. Borning. Rummaging through the entirety of the B section of Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Thesaurus just to really cement the fact that they wanted nothing to do with your itinerary-riddled girls night. 

You splashed your face with the wake of lukewarm water. To hell with them; your skin was glowing, body freshly cleaned, your scalp free from any solid itch of hairspray, fingers and toes wiggling with a beaming white polish, and you had an assortment of snacks to rake through while ogling at Ferris Bueller, watching him have a day off with his friends who actually care. Perhaps you should take a stroll through Chicago, and catch a Cubs game. It wasn’t anything but a state away. And if you got lucky, maybe you could find Sloane Peterson’s fringe jacket in your stack of magazines. 

Surely, Ferris Bueller was cuter than any twenty-one-year-old who still spent his weekends partying with high schoolers. 

Christ, a parked full driveway. 

Eddie, four hundred seventy-six dollars richer, Munson craned his neck, ticking his tongue at the scale of which your house stood at 11:28 p.m on this Friday night. One hesitant sniff at his shirt, and he regretted the decision of not moving Samara Lawson away any faster, when the drunken girl attempted the flirtatious endeavor of receiving that twenty-five percent discount you were always accustomed to. 

Perhaps her revenge on the dealer, himself, after he politely declined with a harsh line to his lips was forcing him to reek of booze after a tight hug to ensure her chest squished against his just enough that Samara Lawson surely thought it would deduct a dollar or two. It didn’t. 

“Fucking two stories, man…” Eddie sighed, kicking the mulch of your mother’s meticulously cared for garden, as the bricks of your home seemed to drag onward for an eternity from his five foot eleven stance (six feet if you’d ever ask). 

A towel in hand, you gently dabbed away the excess water from your face, before you turned to serums and creams to gently massage your face with, hoping to ease any worry lines your friends have cost you in the wake of disappointment. Mint flavoring of stringy floss proceeded to invade your mouth, as you plucked all you could from your teeth to triumph through your oral hygiene care. Not that it mattered, though, a party-sized bag of Doritos was awaiting its fate of being empty by the time Pretty in Pink began its course of replay. 

If Eddie Munson knew anything, it was the probable fact that your bedroom could be found from the dimly lit window on the left wing of your home, where white curtains cascaded against a potential entry to your room. In the instances in which Eddie found himself in the weekly routine of taking three steps up porch and three knocks to the door, the stained glass that adorned your front door for decorative reasons always allowed him the warped sight of you appearing from the left side of the second story, before bouncing down the stairs like Yasmin Bleeth running down Will Rogers State Beach. 

And for the brief one minute and thirty-seven seconds it took to exchange the half ounce for fifteen dollars—prolonged extensively by Eddie Munson’s attempt at small talk—Eddie lavished in the bubble that was your true element. While cheer skirts became devastatingly enticing when you wore them, something about pajama pants that pooled at your feet for the entirety of being too long with sweaters that swallowed your tiny hands in comparison to his truly had his heart cinching with the tight grasp of utter devotion. 

It became the only thing that inveigled him to make the thirty minute trek across town to deliver your demands. What a surprise it was when Chrissy Cunningham revealed the dealer, himself, never offered her home visits, after too many complaints of making the eerie journey through the woods to receive her goods had you suggesting to your friend to give him the call you did weekly. But a groaned out, “You know he’d never do that; his whole ‘I don’t come to you, you come to me’ policy,” had you perplexed in the face. He had never disclosed you of that. Huh.

“For the love of God, please just let me be right for once.” Eddie huffed, as his calloused hand collected itself around the gutters that followed alongside your home, which provided him the leverage to denounce the white window sills with dirty scuff marks of Hawkins’ muddy winter sleet. 

How more pathetic could you possibly look? A frown had permanently etched itself onto your face, where a fake smile was once plastered before Lucy Coleman informed you of the fact that no one was showing up to your scheduled ‘Homecoming’s Coming Home Girls Night.’ God, you even had a cute name for it… ish. 

Freaking twenty-one-year-old multiplex ushers. 

Giving up the bathroom for the night, a trip following the banister down to the kitchen became a dangerous game of stuffing your feelings with carbohydrates you’d eventually come to regret the next morning. Your father had made the safe assumption to ignore the ruckus of opening cabinets and crinkling wrappers that appeared behind him from the living room, because eighteen years of living with you had taught him you were always one, “are you okay?” away from exploding from the angsty teenage rage that bubbled inside you. By tomorrow, you’d eventually come to him with a sadden face and wails of a hurt tummy, and just like you were seven, he’d be there to comfort you with a hearty breakfast and open arms. 

Littered posters, rumpled white sheets of little red heart, a vanity besmirched with powders and glitters, and a heavy resemblance of laundry piles that mimicked his bedroom floor—saved from the blacks and denim, only colors and lace this time. If, for whatever reason, this wasn’t your bedroom, Eddie Munson would be heavily concerned. 

With an artillery load of snacks on hand, your father followed your huffy stomps through the living room and up the stairs. “Wanna save me some?” A joke terribly unappreciated on your part, as a scowl met his lighthearted smile.

Your bare toes dug into the carpeted steps to solidify your displeased mood. A little dramatic, and unserious, but only targeted to your flippant father, who found amusement in the little jabs that made your face crease like your mother’s. The actual hurt and betrayal that lingered within was still discreetly churning in your belly with the fretful epiphany of how lonely your friends made you feel. 

But as mentioned, that’d be a discussion for tomorrow morning, when you could cry into your scramble eggs. 

One step at a time, the view of your bedroom door—cracked, and flooding the hallway with the mustardness of lamps—came to light, as a guttural sigh left your mouth as a “fuck you” to the stir of messes you felt, pounding at your head with no mercy, as if the shitty friends you had wasn’t enough, they were capable of making you feel horrible, awful things. 

Yeah, fuck yo- “Ah!”  

Bags of chips and wrappers of candy avalanched down the doorway of your bedroom, as Eddie Munson’s already large eyes rounded to the ghastliness of yours, hunched and frozen in stance of that of a burglar, and suddenly Eddie was coming to the realization of how utterly creepy he looked.  

“Sweetpea?!”

“Hon?!”

A call from the living room, a call from your parents’ room; your mother and father’s voice boomed with concern of what could be another dramatic yell fueled by teenage temper or actual danger. But Eddie’s surrendering hands, with a look of desperate apologies that had to go unspoken unless he wanted to be caught by your parents had made it apparent that Hawkins’ local drug dealer who wandered about with a gaudy jewelry and hair you’d like to braid had little to offer when it came to harm. 

Also, the way in which his fretful finger was comically signaling to his prized lunchbox had let the understanding of business ventures finally hit you. 

“S-Sorry! Um, giant spider!” Stifling their consternation of any imminent danger, Eddie cracked a tiny smile, before treading down to your feet to pick up what he caused to drop in the first place. 

One after another, your pile of snacks were now being examined under the scrutiny of your drug dealer. “Friends coming over for a sleepover or somethin’?” 

Insulting. “No.” You mumbled with a particular sass he hadn't usually been indulged in, that had him quietly chuckling. God, him and your father would get along. 

Sat aside on your bedside table to be feasted upon when cute, unwarranted company couldn’t witness the giant devour, you quietly closed your bedroom door, and stood watching Eddie Munson awkwardly swing his arms. 

“You’re probably-”

“So, um-

“Oh, I’m sorry, go ahead.” He encouraged you with a tight-lipped smile.

You shrugged, and sat upon the edge of your bed. “I was just going to ask why you snuck into my room… at this hour.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “No, yeah, um, I realize how weird this must be, but, uh,” his eyes gallivanted to the notable furniture that adorned your bedroom—bookshelf, arm chair, desk—to avoid the knowing look on your face he’d have to be met with, because for whatever reason it was, it was now just painfully dawning on Eddie Munson how terrible of a move this was. “Well, I was just heading home, passing through the neighborhood,” lie, “and realized you weren’t at the party- Reeves’, I mean, you weren’t at Reeves’ party.”

And you truly gave the man, himself, little to offer with your subtle, “yeah,” that would force him to grab a crowbar to pry what little information he was willing to take for the night if it meant you’d just keep talking to him. 

“Just, uh, all your friends were there, bought from me n’ all, but, um, I don’t know, just kinda figured you’d be there with them since you always are.” He mustered out, as his eyes rapidly jumped about to scan the movements of your body. “And, well, didn’t see my number one customer.” 

And Eddie smiled, as your heart began pattering with stirring feelings that had your throat tightening with disbelief. “You came to check on me?” So softly spoken. 

“No, no.” Oh. How more embarrassing can this get for you? He might as well point and laugh in your face for being so lonely. “I-I, um, thought I could, uh, drop off your usual, y’know, squeeze in some extra cash.” Of course. “I saved you some.” Eddie patted his battered box. 

He watched your body deflate, and suddenly he wondered why he went that route, when it clearly caused the frown line on your face to deepen. “Right, um, thanks.” You sighed. Junk food and weed? At the very least, you could be high when crying tonight. 

One second to open your bedside drawer, but another second halted by Eddie’s voice that stopped your movements from stretching to reach for your wallet inside. “I- y’know what? Free of charge.” He propped open the metal lid to grasp onto the reserved baggie of the usual half ounce, before placing the lunchbox down to hand the substance to you. And he read you confused look quickly, as your hand hesitantly graced his fingers to take the goods. “Just, um, loyal customer, figured I should give back.” 

“Eddie, you already gave me a discount, I really don’t mind paying.” A promise to indemnify him for all that he already did. 

“Ah, well, you should, because I’ll be terribly offended if you do pay me.” He broke a smile that had your shoulders slumping with relaxation. “Just, uh, gotta let me hang here for a minute, if that’s okay with you.” 

“You want to stay here?” 

“Food, weed, and your company? C’mon, what kind of man would I be to pass up that opportunity?” And thankfully, that was enough confidence to have you shyly giggling before him. “Just a little break before I head home, I guess.”

“Had too much fun partying?” You teased. 

“Think I would’ve had more fun if you were there.” Oh, no. Pattering heartbeats, and now fluttering butterflies disrupt the peace of your tummy, as Eddie stared down at you. “Mind if I sit, uh, next to you, or over there, or wherever?”

You nodded to his request, complying by moving to the center of your bed, where you and Eddie sat back in the bundle of your rumpled duvet and pillows. A pregnant pause consumed over, as Eddie chose to linger in the silence to get a good view of the knick knacks that disheveled your room perfectly, and you admired the glow in which his profile became illuminated by. With bouncing eyes, it became the shiny embroidery of gold italics on the velvet sash that read “Homecoming Court” that paired cheaply with the tiny, plastic $3.99 Party City tiara that had dug into your scalp for the three hours you had to endure that night that caught Eddie’s attention. 

“You win?” He abrasively asked. 

“Uh, no.” You quietly answered. “Chrissy Cunningham got the bigger crown.” 

Eddie nodded along. “Figures.” He added. “She’s sweet.” 

It was your turn to nod, as the lips concaved into your teeth, while your fingers rustled with the plastic baggy in hand. “Yeah, she is.” 

“Kinda boring, though. Don’t you think?” He tossed his head back to meet his eyes upon yours. 

“Chrissy?” 

“No- well, not really, I mean Chrissy winning, y’know? Carver, too.” He clarified, as he watched your face with the suggestions he was making. “Like, why even vote- or hell, go to that shitshow if we already know who’s going to win? At the very least, throw in a curveball. Like-Like, Johnny Katowski.” Eddie laughed. 

“The kid from chess club?” You quietly giggled, as Eddie sat up.

“Yeah, him!” He declared. “How great would it be to see a kid like him winning Homecoming King, I mean, he may have bitched me out when I knocked into his lunch table and messed up his little figurines-”

“Pawns?”

“Yeah, pawns.” He laughed. “But the point is, why not give some other people the light, y’know?”

“Oh, well, Johnny Katowski is a really nice person, but I think he’d be too shy to enjoy everyone staring at him.” You quietly spoke, as you fiddled with your fingers under Eddie’s stare. “But, um, other people like you?”

“I meant other people like you.” Eddie smiled. “I’m too good to be king.” He joked, as you laughed at his cockiness. “I’m sure that dance would’ve been better if you had won, ‘s all. Just like the party.”

Your brows raised with gentle curiosity. “Oh, did you not have a good time at the dance?”

“Oh, no,” he waved you off, “didn’t even go. Dances aren’t exactly my thing, sweetheart.” 

You softly giggled. “You didn’t go to the dance, but you went to the afterparty?”

“Can’t exactly sell my supply on school premises, Y/N.” Eddie jokingly protested. “And even so, you went to the dance and not the afterparty.” Like tightening rope around your throat, your gut was hit with the simple analysis Eddie concurred. Though rather obvious, it somehow manifested worse coming out in the words of others around you who clearly saw the disconnect between you and your friends. Sure, a little more information would solidify it, but in the overworking mind of intrusive thoughts that made up your mind, Eddie’s phrase managed to concoct the notion that all of Hawkins High was now acutely aware of the fact that the ties of friendship with the girls closest to you was now being severed at the hands of no longer wanting you. “Hey, you okay?” His face lowered to catch yours, only to quickly move as you suddenly cleared your throat whilst straightening your comfortable posture. 

“Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, I guess.” You mumbled, providing him a small smile to end whatever prodding he was about to dig into. You no longer wanted it. 

“Oh.” He spoke. “Um, you want me to leave, leave you alone?”

“No, no.” You assured him. “It’s okay.” 

Another silent pause. Eddie Munson laid his cards on the table. A, he could cut the awkwardness short, and be on his way back home, sufficed with the fact that he, at least, got more words out of you than the usual “thank you, here’s your money, see you next week” routine, that he’ll be stuck with for the rest of the school year, until you inevitably leave for college- I mean, good for you, but then he would be stuck with a whirlwind of what if’s that would eat him alive, all while you got the live your prosperous life in god knows what city, where some dude who actually had to balls to make a move on you would get the honor of being called your boyfriend. Deep breath. Or B, he could just be a friend right now, because it really looked like you needed one. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” You slowly peered up at him. “I mean, like, you’ve always been kinda quiet, just, y’know, from seeing you around, but you seem a little more down now. Like mime quiet.” He smiled, eliciting a worn giggle from you. “Just feel like you have something to say, but you’re not saying it.”

“I…” you sighed, “it’s really stupid, Eddie.” Because suddenly sitting back with Eddie—whose personal life details were spread around town for the sake of small town gossip to enact who could and could not associate with the shunned of Hawkins, Indiana—your problems felt entirely too small. The last thing he needed was to be drowned by your superficial problems. The last thing you needed was to be judged for feeling the way you did, when Eddie Munson would give the reality check of a lifetime, and tell you to grow up. “Yeah, just, um, really miniscule things that I don’t, uh, wanna annoy you with.” You attempted to laugh off.  

“I asked you.” Eddie stated matter-of-factly. “You’re not gonna annoy me when I’m literally asking to hear you, sweetheart.” He chuckled in disbelief at your resigned behavior, baffled by the notion you could even believe anything about you to be bothersome. “C’mon, just say it, say it with your chest, just lay it all on me. Can’t do any good to keep it in, no?”

Eddie Munson had quite the knack of being a cute motivational speaker, as your giggles caused by his coltish self seemed to abate the linger tussle of depressive hesitancy in your mind. “It’s just… y’know, my friends, n’ all.” A hearty grunt of agreement coming from Eddie had you laughing through your words, as his face of distaste for your friends made it easier to speak. “Like, I just know they-they don’t want me- or, at least, it really feels like that. God, Eddie I rented out all these movies, bought some face masks- which are really expensive, by the way, and these damn snacks, ugh. Why-Why is some lame party more important than my plans, than me? They just don’t care! And I get I’m more quiet than them, but why does that mean I have to be left out of everything?! A-And, y’know, they always say I’m a bummer, but they don’t think about the fact that they make me a bummer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love shopping just as much as the next guy, but knit-picking everything that’s wrong with how a dress looks on me isn’t exactly going to make me an ecstatic person, y’know?!”

Eddie Munson used to be able to count the number of words you spoke to him on the fingers of one hand. And right now, that was, at least, twenty-five singular hands. And the thought had him smiling in the distance, when in actuality, that stagnant pause was an invitation for him to speak, as per a normal conversation. So it became that very smile that had your stomach flipping with ignominy at the fact that your overthinking thoughts were transpiring right in front of you: Eddie Munson thought your problems were laughable. 

A quiet “huh” was all he had to say.

“Well?” Your face, unfortunately, contorted with desperate validation. “You think it’s stupid, don’t you?” Almost accusatory, but in all seriousness, his lack of words were only cementing the scary thought that infested your head: you were the problem.

While deliberating, Eddie was really trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, he really was. But for the love of god, why were you allowing these people to have this much sway over your life? Three days ago, Courtney Keller, co-captain of Hawkins High’s cheer team, who conveniently sat a desk over in Eddie Munson’s English literature class thanks to Ms. O’Donnell’s tyrannical assigned seating, was overheard asking if Romeo and Juliet had been inspired by the 1978 cult classic Grease. Ah, yes, because William Shakespeare surely looked to a Hollywood blockbuster love story of a goody-two-shoes and greaser to write his most notable play. These were the people making you miserable?! You bombarded your letterman jacket with a bunch of tiny, obscure pins for crying out loud! Only you could make those god awful, gaudy, green jackets look remotely cool. Not to mention the fact that when looking at you from a distance—totally not creepy—Eddie could make out those funky, little doodles that indented the cover of your notebooks, before being thrown into your stuffed locker of knick knacks and stickers. Pins and doodles? Totally cool in Eddie Munson’s book. 

Okay, maybe not the most substantial aspects to determine one’s coolness, and perhaps, most wouldn’t look to the super, super senior to constitute what is, but the fact of the matter was that Eddie Munson, himself, thought you were pretty damn cool, so who the hell were some peaked-in-high-school nobodies to tell you otherwise? 

“What do I think? Uh, how do I put this?” Eddie reiterated, playing out the right words to confront you with. Though, Eddie Munson wasn’t necessarily one to speak so eloquently. “I think you’re kinda acting like a dumbass,” and your fallen face had him stuttering into recovery, “n-no, I mean, like, not that you’re dumb or anything, you’re really fucking smart. It’s just, I dunno, c’mon, you’re smart enough not to let them bother you.” He exasperated. 

“Like-”

“Like- sorry,” he interrupted, “I just mean that you’re so much better than them. Like, in every aspect, you have so much more going on than their puny life.”

“Well, according to them, I don’t even have a life.” You grumbled, knees wedging themselves against your chest to provide the perfect burial for your head. 

Eddie sighed, choosing to sit up against the headboard of your bed to get your smushed face to follow his movements. “Hate to break it to your sweetheart, but getting shitfaced at some boring party isn’t exactly the epitome of having a life. I mean, sure, maybe to the people who thrive in small town shitholes like this place,” and luckily, Eddie was able to follow along with your airy giggles, “but you and I? Hell, no, babe, nuh-uh, we were made for bigger shit than Hawkins.” He smiled.

And you smiled, too. “Like New York?”

“Like New York.”

“Ooh, or somewhere pretty like Paris or Marseille?” Your head finally perked up.

“Sure… I mean, I think I can put up with French people for you.” He joked, letting that genuine laugh fall from your lips so effortlessly. “Kinda draw the line at eating snails, though.”

You gasped dramatically. “What?! You’re telling me you’ve never tried Benny’s escargots?!” Yeah, you were way cooler than any Courtney Keller clone. 

Eddie’s head leaned back, as his hearty laughs quietly fanned your face, until the atmosphere was finally at peace with steady breaths. “I mean it, sweetheart, just gotta look them right in the eyes, use those big, beautiful things you got, and tell them to fuck right off.” 

While undeniably making your heart patter in your chest, Eddie Munson’s comment also served to become the catalyst for the most humiliating moment of your life. With your face turned away into your knees to shield him from the lovesick smile you were embarrassingly about to flash him, you terribly missed the single opportunity it would have taken to redirect Eddie’s devastatingly—for you—short attention span away from the beaming jewel that rested in your still opened drawer. 

“What’s this?” Pink and glimmering under the lowlight of your lamps, Eddie couldn’t resist the encrusted jewel lined with silver. And you hummed in question, oblivious to his findings, turning around all too late. “In your nightstand.” His hand inching closer and closer.

In your nightstand, in your nightstand, in your nightstand, echoing like a nightmare on repeat, as your eyes widened at the epiphany that Eddie Munson had found your- “Don’t touch that!” Your father’s brow cocked, wondering what movie it was this time eliciting dramatic reactions from you. But Eddie’s calloused fingers had already grappled onto the silver handle, pulling out what was beyond mortifying for you, as the lamp shade had fully revealed what concealed item contained that sparkling decoration.

“Oh, damn…” Eddie blinked, swallowing the nothingness of his throat, as a stir began to tickle his naval just below the belt. Both sets of eyes glued to the bulbous end of your plug, though Eddie’s incoming smirk seemed to differentiate tremendously to your gaping mouth of disbelief, where you sat frozen in horror at the events transpiring before you. Held like a priceless jewel, Eddie examined your personal toy with a devious smile to pair. “You use this? Like, it really goes up your ass?” 

Your internal being was screaming at the top of your lungs, all masked by the stoic features of your face that refused to accept the reality of what was happening. “Eddie.” You managed to mutter out. “Please, put that back!” Harsh whispers smacked him in the face. “Eddie, I- sorry, just please, I’ll-”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” His free hand came to secure itself around your knee, allowing that tightening breath to finally make its escape from the anxious hold in your chest. “Really, I just- it’s cool, just caught me by surprise ‘s all.”

“Okay, well, can you please just put it back, and forget this ever happened?” You pleaded, wishing him away for the night, hoping to never meet his eyes, the same eyes that made your butt plug fall under scrutiny. “I swear, it’s not mine- well, it is, but, like, I didn’t buy it, my stupid friends, ugh-”

Palms digging into the sockets of your eyes, you wielded this as your punishment, hoping the pain would come to mask the utter humiliation of Eddie finding your personal belongings. Uptight, they joked. Laughing with those giggles you learned to despise as you unwrapped the decorative paper that covered your birthday present. A book, a journal, sketch pencils, or plant, any and everything that could have sufficed as personal presents that would have been highly appreciated. But your friends seeked another personal route, with the jabbing comment of wanting you to “loosen up.” And so what, gag gift or not, the use of that particular toy came about as no one else’s business, because while the contribution came at the expense of the devastating realization that your friends were grade A assholes, there was no judgment in exploring yours- GOD.

“Hey, seriously, sweetheart.” Eddie’s hands came to pry yours away, letting his lighthearted eyes cast away the round, sadness of yours. “I just, y’know, didn’t think you were like that- or into that.”

“Oh, right, because I’m so uptight and boring.” You defensively rolled your eyes at him, before attempting to move from your spot next to him, but Eddie worked quicker to keep you in place.

He spoke earnestly. “Hey, no, don’t put words in my mouth, I didn’t say that.” Eddie sighed, jumping through the endeavors to show his action didn’t come maliciously. “Seriously, you know that, alright. Don’t think of me as being that kind of person.”

You sighed in defeat. “Eddie, this is just beyond humiliating.” And he desperately just wanted to take a hold of your adorably sullen face. 

“I don’t think it’s humiliating.” He smiled, of course, it wasn’t his butt plug in his hand. “Think it’s kinda… intriguing. L-Like, sexy.” Your eyes peered to his height, searching for the laughter of a joke you swore was about to follow. But Eddie Munson had never lost the hold of your eyes, piercing his through yours to strike that flame in your body with a burning match. 

“Really?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.” His fingers continuously fiddling with your toy in hand, as his pants tightened at the mere thought of it being inside of you. What you did, late at night, to destress, finding an escape in the pleasure of being plugged, and played with. “Knowing what you like, testing your body, yeah, sweetheart, it’s really fucking sexy.” He slyly eyed you down, as your throat went dry under his dark stare. “Wouldn’t even mind seeing it.”

“W-What?” You stuttered out, thighs tightening to rub that aching thump brewing between your legs. “Like, um-”

“If you’re okay with it, Y/N,” Eddie took over for you, “I’d like to see how you make yourself feel good.”

Your mouth gulped like a fish out of water, trying to find the right words that were lost in the tangled disarray that was your overthinking mind, beating heart, fluttering tummy, and pulsating heat. But even that gnawing anxiety couldn’t deny you the unbearable urge to have Eddie Munson ravish you. “I- right now?” You spoke so quietly, nodding to the sentiment. 

“Yeah,” his tongue drenched his lips with one swipe, “let’s just say it’s for, uh, educational purposes, what do you say? Might even, y’know, get your mind off things. Relax. Feel good. Better than that fucking weed can do.” His ringed hand took a hold of the plastic baggie from your side to place away in your nightstand- inside, where you apparently held your most precious items. 

You swallowed the nerves away, allowing yourself the selfish pleasure of Eddie’s touch to wash away the heavy troubles of your mind. You want this. You deserve this. “Please?” So delicately spoken.

“Yeah?” He sneered. You nodded. Under his gaze, you made the move onto your knees to comfortably shift out of your pajama shorts, but your hands couldn’t move further than grasping onto your waistband, before Eddie made a quick call to stop you. “Woah, woah, what are you doin’, sweetheart?”

Your mouth opened to speak, but you froze in the awkward position, and eyed him worriedly. Surely, you couldn’t have possibly read this entirely wrong. “I- you said you wanted to see, like, taking off my clothes.” You meekly explained, as the burns of a suffocating bonfire blazed your cheeks with embarrassment. 

“No, c’mon, baby, you gotta let me be a gentleman first.” Eddie chuckled. “Can’t just start fillin’ you up without kissing you. Get over here.” He patted his lap. 

Your leg thrown over his had you seated on the thickness of Eddie’s thigh, as the skin of yours nipped at the graying denim of his black jeans. Plug aside, his fingers teased at the seam of your shorts to encourage your hands to place themselves on his chest, where he saw you hesitantly reaching for. Feeling the cracking print of his worn band tee had suddenly brought you a sense of contentment, allowing you to comfortably press your weight onto his legs, a sign of snugness that had him smiling at you lovingly. Goosebumps arose in the wake of Eddie’s fingers brushing down the sides of your thighs to connect with the creasing of your knees, finding the fold as leverage to bring you forth. 

Chest to chest. Nose to nose. “You gonna give me what I’ve been dreamin’ about?” Your lips grazed the oncoming stubble of his upper lip, just seconds of subtle, bare touches that were feeding into that aching desire igniting inside both of you, before fully securing your mouth upon his. Eddie’s lips became a suction, refusing to let you go, as his hand crept with security to the back of your neck. Your tiny moans melted into the kiss, with tenuous grinds against his bulge that bent the zipper of his jeans, all too deliciously for Eddie to handle, leaving his mouth drowning with saliva that slicked your lips with the taste of Eddie Munson. “Don’t have to worry about anything with me.” He murmured into you.

A hungry “mhm” was all that could be trusted to come out of you, as your hips rolled with greed, entirely fueled by his tantalizing hand that squeezed at any fat he could latch onto. 

“Everybody deserves a break, baby.” He cemented with firm pecks that left your lips raw with the sound of spit smacking to echo into your ear. “Just let me be nice to you- let me be so fucking nice to you.” You nodded against his face, nose bumping with harsh breaths, as neither of you could find the will to pull away. “Let’s- fuck, let’s get these off now, pretty.” Eddie snapped your stretchy waistband against your hip.

Tingles coursed through your legs, as you found the strength to dig your pedicured feet into the rug of your bedroom, and stand before him. His blunt nails gently scratched down your legs to invigorate you to declothe. Your bottoms slid down, pooling at your feet, before you stepped out to have your pussy on display for him. 

“Mm.” Eddie lowly hummed, enthralled by your mound, so perfectly decorated with the hairs of your pubes, and puffed between your thighs. “Damn, you standing here without your shorts makes me wanna listen to music.” He smiled.

Your brow pointed, gifting him the sight of your confused, little face that had him chuckling at you. “What?” You asked. 

“Y’know,” he snickered, “‘cause I wanna use your thighs as headphones.”

Your girlish giggled made him feel good about his awful joke, finding all enjoyment in seeing your hands cutely hide your face from the shyness of your nature, despite standing bare in front of him. “Eddie, that’s so corny.” You laughed. 

“But I got a smile out of you, s’all I care about.” His hands came to yours to twiddle with your fingers that differed from his thick ones, lavished in the loud jewelry he brandished. “So, uh, I imagine I gotta get you ready first, y’know, wet. Don’t wanna hurt you.” You softly nodded to confirm his words, suddenly feeling the tickles in your belly moisten you, as the realization of this actually happening was becoming truer by the second. “Somewhat of a handyman, myself, can grab some DW40 or somethin’.” 

“Eddie.” You flirtatiously chastised, mewling a whine of gauche, of which you had a real talent of making cute. 

He laughed. “Look, look, there’s no… romantic or- fuck, I dunno, chivalrous way of asking someone if you can eat their ass, so can I just eat you ass, sweetheart?”  

Eddie’s unabashed bluntness had your face burning with the intoxicating sensations of humiliation and want, brewing something nasty in you that always laid dormant under the unexplored aspects of your desires. Leave it to Eddie Munson to elicit that filth with the raunchy words of his mouth that already showed you just how sinfully good it could make you feel. Just for you, you hoped. But surely, Eddie had to have obtained these skills from some practice. And you wondered if that’s what you were. Practice for the next gal to have her world rocked. Or… just thoughts. Loathsome thoughts, the very things Eddie has dedicated to clearing from your pretty head, because someone with a face like yours, and being so sweet had no reason to suffer, as you did. Practice? God, no, you were just everything. So Eddie Munson made sure to give you everything. 

“Yeah.” You tenderly answered. “Just, um- well, I already showered for the night before you came here, but, like, I can, you know, clean up-”

“Baby-”

“Just so you’re comfortable with every-”

Roughed by heavy car parts and heated guitar strings, his all but soft hands felt so gentle in yours, with fingers dancing in the intertwine of a caring hold, flooding you with security, as his eyes without word complimented the contours of your figure silently but so earnestly. Eddie squeezed your hand. Eyes searching inside you through yours. “Stop, stop.” Your nervous rambling came to halt. “I don’t care. I know you’re clean, I wanna taste you.”

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath. A squeeze back to show love to his tough hand. “Yeah, okay.”

A smile breached his face. “That’s what I like to hear. C’mon, bend over for me, pretty, let me ease you from your mind.”

With the rumpled duvet sinking with the load of your limbs carrying you to the center, the air felt cold against the oozing slickness of your bare cunt, spreading its welcome with the curvature of your back with tits hung from their weight on your chest, as you allowed yourself the liberty of resting your head upon your pillow. The falling of Eddie’s creased sneakers against your floor appeared louder than reality when blood was pumping in your ears to the overworking beat of your heart. Naked and vulnerable, several deep breaths were taken to appease that anxious thought in the back of your head of what you might look like to a boy you liked so dearly, but nothing ameliorated you better than the waking touch of Eddie’s hand against your ass. 

“Fuck.” And suddenly his voice had a way of coaxing your hands to relax against the harsh hold of your sheets. His hands rounded the globes of your ass, feeling the fat wobble beneath, when a sharp spank landed on your right cheek, forcing you to suppress the whine with a metallic bite to your lip.

You mewled out your reprimand “Eddie! My parents are still here!” Having to whisper your frustrations, because now having a taste of what an Eddie Munson spanking could do, you wanted more, but couldn’t under a parental household. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He chuckled, a complete lie he muttered just to calm you, because forcing your ass to ripple with the slam of his hand would be nothing he’d apologize for. “It really is just so spankable.” Eddie’s hands worked to massage the brief sting of his abuse that had you quietly pushing back for more. “So fucking perfect, all soft n’ shit in my hands. Nice to just fucking grab, and spread apart like that- fuck.” Fingertips digging into the dough of your cheeks had pulled your pussy lips to reveal strings of sweet arousal, and two pulsating holes Eddie was desperate to fill. “That’s so fucking beautiful.” His thumbs came to brush the hairs of your lips, inspecting what he was about to cherish on his tongue. 

His soft proclamations had you smitten with a smile that would surely strike him to his knees if flashed at him, but you contained yourself in the soft fuzz of your sweater that pooled at your breast to allow him the pleasure of running his course down your spine. Just an exploration of your body, feeling all his could while he can, because while your mind had a funny way of overthinking, his did, too; Eddie Munson was slapping himself to right your worries, because one wrong word, one wrong touch, one wrong stroke of his tongue had him rampant in the head that you’d leave disappointed in his actions. Forever. 

“Eds.” But as Eddie Munson was there to ease you, you were there to ease Eddie Munson. You’ve nicknamed his status to something closer than drug dealer. And the salacious click of your tongue had you proving to wanting to push that status further.

Eddie smiled at the possibility. Your gasps were all that could be heard next, feeling the tip of his wet tongue browse your tight hole, as your ass swallowed him in. His mouth lathered you with the spit that once coated yours, though now preparing your asshole for the stretch he’d succumb you to, lips nipping at your hole that had you salivating your moans into your pillow. A feeling all too foreign for you, allowing someone in your most intimate area, and Eddie took it with such delicacy, manifesting all his love for your ass in the mewls he shoved between your cheeks. 

It quickly found itself to be something better than lubricating your ass with the use of your slick and prodding your hole with a curious finger. Eddie had managed to bring depraved sensations with the globs of his spit and the intrusion of his tongue, forcing itself to snake past the pulses that attempted to keep him out. “Fuck, you taste so good.” Pumps and pumps of his wet muscle tickling the walls of your tight ass, as his hands pinched your body in tight grips, shaking all fat in his vicinity to do everything to be consumed by you. 

“Eddie!” You hugged your pillow, suddenly feeling the fire of your warm sweater, as your ass danced along his face. “Want you to- mm! Want you to keep doing that!”

“Sorry if I’m takin’ long, baby.” Like spitting the taste of nicotine out of his mouth, a warm glob of saliva impurely landed on you, giving leeway for his thumb to massage your squeezing hole, before submerging in with your moans to accompany. “Just really wanna make sure you’re ready. Fuck, and, um, I know I said I just wanted to see how a plug works, but can I please eat at your pussy, baby, it’s right there.” God, he could smell you enticing him, seeing your pussy hole clench completely neglected as your asshole got the fun of his touch. 

“Yes, please, Eddie, just want your mouth on me.” Hips thrusting back to chase what left, leaving him with nothing to do but smile and ravage your thighs and hips and sweet kisses. 

“Nasty, little fucking thing, aren’t you?” He proffered no time to answer, giving himself what he wanted, face becoming smeared with the gleam of your wetness. Your pussy tickled under the scratch of his light stubble on your lips, the shoving of his nose in your sopping hole, and his tongue flicking of your clit igniting every prurient urge you ever tried to satiate on your own. 

That delicious tang of your cunt infiltrated every sense within him, surrounding him in nothing but you— the hearing of you, the sight of you, the smell of you, the touch of you, the taste of you. Your raw bud throbbed under the exploitation of his mouth, sucking the shockwaves to cause your thighs to quake.

“Too much. Eds- fuck me, I can’t, s-sto- uh!” Your hand reached back at an attempt to push him away from the stampeding orgasm you were too insecure to experience him seeing. But no matter the sting of your pretty nails digging into his scalp, nothing was stopping Eddie from seeing the sheer tremble, cry, and gush he could bring your body to. 

With his thick thumb plunging into your asshole, his free hand sadistically pulled at your cheeks to expose as much of your pussy as he could, leaving you to mewl at the stretch of your skin. The sole separation of your puffy lips had him moaning at the sight; such a tight pussy hole aching for something to fill it, needing to squeeze down to spark your greedy orgasm. “Shit, fucking pussy pulsating just for me.” His tongue buried itself inside, letting his finger fall to pinch at your vibrating bud, rewarding it with the tight circles of rubs that felt unbearable. “Taste so fucking delicious!” His words were barely eligible in the crevices of your cunt, but they provided all sensation to push you into your tonic state. “Cum for me, fucking cum!”

Fucked by his tongue and finger, you no further denied him, unleashing a gush of your spent to ravish his mouth, as your holes kept him in place with their tightening hold. If it wasn't for the fault of your parent’s bedroom being on the other side of your home, they would have surely heard the vulgar corruption of sweat and sex condensing the air of their daughter’s bedroom.

“Fuc- mm, uh…” Like a Pavlov dog, your pillow had soaked itself wet from the salivation of your chewed lips, as your legs shook under the grasps of Eddie’s hands. 

“Shhh, baby, I’m gonna put it in. Let me play with it.” When limbs went numb after orgasmic bliss, the dealer knew now was the time your body would accept it. Gaping from the size of his thumb, Eddie’s gentle insertion made the process enjoyable, placing a delicate kiss to your asshole, before your plug was indulged in the tightness of your ass. Now crowned with a pretty, pink jewel to top. And you mewled, softly shaking your ass to adjust to your decoration, trying to find feeling in your shaky legs. “God, you sound so fucking cute.” He rubbed your ass with groping hands. “Don’t let that get into your head, though, I’m still in control here.” Eddie chuckled. 

Despite falling limp, Eddie’s strength found no trouble in pulling you onto his lap, once he fell back onto his calves. While a hammering bulge was fighting back against the restraints of his cuffed belt, you couldn’t deny the fact that he didn’t feel the satisfaction of a bursting orgasm, yet your mind pondered on the reasons as to why his heart was pounding so profusely against your spinning head. Your hand splayed against his chest, as you peered up at him. “Are you nervous?”

Eddie Munson swallowed thickly. And ignored you completely. “You’re a really dirty fucking girl for playing with yourself like that all alone.” His hands pinched at the sweaty skin of your back, as your face contorted with the creases of confusion at his now unnecessary comment. “But… now you have me, though, right? Gonna play with me always?” Though, any confidence Eddie previously had speaking to you that way was gone under your scrutinizing stare, and you could hear it in the slight quiver of his voice. Because Eddie Munson wasn’t trying to dirty talk you. No, Eddie Munson was trying to seek your desire to want him around. 

And you gave it to him. “Yeah.” Free of any sexual suggestion, because Eddie knew you saw through his assertive facade, piercing at his vulnerability and choosing to accept it through the deep breath of relief of his nose. 

With his tongue swiping at the surrounding areas of his lips, you assisted his clean-up, thumbing at the gleam that coated his chin, subsequently letting the burden of his heavy head fall into your gentle hands. “Y’know, I see you a lot at parties- like, more than just us doing deals, I see you.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ve had this thing. This, uh, really big thing for you for a long time now, Y/N. A-And I know it’s your friends dragging you to these parties, but, I dunno, when I see you you just look so… meek, I guess, but like in a good way. Like, this whole elegance you got to you.”

Both you and Eddie stumbled into soft giggles at his boyish articulation, trying to grasp the concept of feelings from a man who’s never been graced with the excitement of committed reciprocation. But there was one thing for certain, Eddie Munson was damn sure trying this time. “Wouldn’t necessarily call myself elegant.” You chuckled. 

“No, but you are.” He earnestly protested. “Y’know, you show up, not even wanting to, not saying a word, just keeping to yourself, and everyone just looks at you- notices you.” 

In a town of Stacy Withers, Chrissy Cunninghams, Lucy Colemans, and Courtney Kellers, that felt like a big, fat lie smeared in your face. You brushed the stinging sentiment with quiet laughters of pain. “No one notices me, Eddie-”

“I notice you, Y/N.” He urged you to see, hands molding onto your body for fear of you not seeing what he gets to so lovingly see. His lips landed upon your cheek, brush-like strokes, dragging his affection to the canvas of your face, before a devout kiss seared your mouth to his. The swelling muscles of his arms squeezed to tighten around your back, savoring your being, and exploding when your sweater-clad arms mimicked his fervor around his neck, experiencing first-hand what was Eddie Munson’s first requited love. “Just to be here,” his lips spoke against yours, pausing to kiss away the ache that fell constant when your tongue wasn’t dancing upon his, “playing with you,” your mouths clicked with the slobber of his spit, ridden with the tart honey of your pussy juices, the same ones beginning to sog the stitching of his jeans, “just cracking that armor you got on, it’s heaven on Earth for me.” Your lips strung apart, as your thumbs soothed over his chasing movements, caressing the beating pulse point of his neck. But where you smiled, Eddie continued to try to kiss your upturn beam. “You’re not kissing me, why aren’t you kissing me?” He whined, trying to pull a pucker out of you. “Just smiling, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” giggling against his hungry lips. 

“As pretty as you are smiling, I need you kissing me, baby.” Eddie playfully admonished with a hefty squeeze to your hip in a puerile way of presenting his frustration. 

“It’s just,” late nights of perfecting the solos of various guitar sequences allowed your fingertips to skim over the delicate purpling of his under eyes, “I don’t know, Eddie, the night has just been really shitty, and you’ve somehow managed to make it a lot better.”

“Probably because I gave you one hell of an orgasm.” This time you’ll allow his refusal to accept the complimenting sincerity of your words, masking the mush of giddiness inside him with a comment of sex, because at least this one made you laugh in his hold. 

“And other things, Eddie.” But there you were to peel that mask away, and dump your kindness of wanting him all over his walls. “You gave me other things.”

A building appreciation for yourself. 

The cynicism of his eyes jumped hurdles to search for any fibbery he may have found himself trapped into, but you were so warm. To the touch, your skin sent his hands aflame with sparks of desire from the true benignity of your being. Warm eyes, warm lips, warm heart, working to secure a blanket of security over his shoulders from the sheets of coldness both of you have been offered by those who cared too little for your wellbeing. “Y/N, I need to tell you something.” His mouth moved without thought, as his body grew sore of ignoring the very thing it wanted: you. “Look, I’m just gonna jump right in, and say it, I want you to be mine- I want to be your boyfriend.” His eyes bounced around the brightening features of your face, creasing with lines to make room for the smile that enamored his chest. “But first I gotta prove to you.”

“Prove to me?” You gently prodded, mind working overtime to control your hands from balling the fabric of his shirt from uncontained excitement. 

“See, I kinda just got this thing in my head, y’know, that I gotta prove my worth to you-”

“Eddie-”

“No, I know it sounds bad, but really, it’ll just be for my own peace of mind.” He assured you with the earnestness of his voice soothing the concern you were about to tackle to confirm Eddie Munson was, in fact, enough. “I know it might not be the biggest deal to you, but I just wanna be able to take care of you- like, please you. Make sure I can make you cum.” He whispered into your face. 

You wondered where he was for the last five minutes, somehow forgetting the euphoria he had just pulled from you with the sole use of his tongue. “Didn’t- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but didn’t you already… just do that?” 

“I mean make you cum l-like couples do.” He bashfully iterated, eyes falling down, as if he hadn’t spoken the dirtiest things to you before. Though, perhaps, the beginning stages of what would blossom into a loving relationship had the boy suddenly at the age of fourteen, wondering when that momentous occasion of a first girlfriend would come. Having sex a year later surely doubled the probability, though Nicole Summers wasn’t exactly one that stuck around to find out. “Won’t exactly feel too great if the only way I can get my girlfriend off is by one single way. Let me prove to you that I can be good for you.”  

“Quite presumptuous of you to believe I would even say yes to you asking me out.” You’d a hundred percent say yes. 

Eddie smiled, before the strength of a sole arm entrapped you soundly against his chest, as his torso dropped forward to lay back against the plushness of your bed. Before a sharp moan could elicit the concern of your parents, Eddie brought forth his mouth to yours, once his bulge caught a steady rhythm against your buzzing clit. “Don’t think,” his hot breath concocted with yours in the heated makeout, “I got to see your tits.” Too neglected for your liking, your sweater found itself bunched under your chin, under glowing lamp lights that shadowed your peaked nipples. “Fuck me, pretty girl, just too,” a kiss to your valley, “ fucking,” a kiss to your breast, “perfect.” Eddie Munson swallowed your pert bud whole. 

“Mm, that’s so nice.” You quietly mewled, with polished fingernails delicately weaving through the tousled curls of his head, sweaty and dampened from a whirlwind of nightly activities. 

His hands groped at the fat, squeezing them together to tongue at your nipples, harsh flicks that had you arching into his face. “Just too fucking beautiful for this world.” He nuzzled into your chest, his nose flaring hard to inhale the sweet scent of your perfume, crisp and clean just for him to lose himself in. 

“Are you going to fuck me now?” A guttural groan burrowed its way out of Eddie’s throat, crawling forward to shove kisses along your cheek that had your head pressing into the softness of your pillow.

“Not gonna worry about your folks?” When the Indianapolis Colts saw a hopeless comeback of being seven to twenty-seven against the Dallas Cowboys, your father knew to save him the anger of witnessing another pass interference with a click of a button that blackened the screen; a definitive call for the night. The heavy steps of your father’s movements followed along the stairs, wood creaking with the shift of his weight to bring him amongst the bedroom doors of the second floor. One look at your door. As every night would go, a quick knock at your door would allow your father entry into your room, hopefully catching you in that green gunk of a facemask you’d like to smear on your face, to provide your father the perfect joke to hear that loving, “dad, stop!” But given the crotchety tone of your previous engagement, your father guessed he’d follow the the statement if his gifted ‘#1 DAD’ mug, and leave you for the night. Embarrassing you will have to wait for Saturday morning’s event. And off to bed he went. 

You hadn’t even realized your luck, allowing Eddie Munson to bruise your neck, oblivious to the predicament you slid by. “We can be quiet.” You pleaded, running your legs along his to feel the scratch of his itchy jeans, desperate to receive any and all sensations against your exfoliated skin. 

“Open your legs for me more.” Your thighs pried open to his body, sanctioning him the authority to squeeze all he could to bring lines of tingles to your core. “Good girl, feels so fucking good to finally be touching you. Your plug in good?” Sitting snug between your cheeks, where a sticky stream of your cream pooled down your ass, bringing an extra shine to the gem of your plug. 

“Mhm, feels nice.” You dug into the sheets of your bed, hips pivoting forward to the chase of Eddie’s thumb massaging into the dough of your inner thighs, hoping they’d make their move to examine your pussy with the prying of his curious fingers. 

“Just wanna make sure you’re comfortable ‘s all.” He mumbled. A hand invading the crease of your thigh and hip had him softly chuckling to himself; quiet guffaws of disbelief to the radiating fever warmth that was congenial from the suffocation of your meaty thighs.

Your bitten lips twisted into a pout. “Why are you laughing at me?” 

“Not laughin’ at you, baby.” He laughed. Eyeroll. “Just love that pussy heat, y’know?” Eddie callowly smiled, bringing forth a burn to your cheeks, as your watched wrinkles of titillation annex his face from the sheer look of your natural body. “I dunno, guess it kinda makes my head a little bigger knowing she’s waiting for me.” He became delirious on the hypnotics of your moving hips. “Fuck, want me to touch you, pretty girl?”

You were falling desperate under his command. Your nails dug their crescent shapes into his hand, skin flooding with the pumping veins from the stinging rush, an urgent call to have him finally give in. “Please, Eddie, been waiting too long.”

“Ah-ah, have some fucking manners first, not gonna get it that easily without asking nicely.” He tortuously tantalized with the coming of his hand beginning to lightly rake the wisps of your manicured pubes. A whine of despair was all he was met with, nothing but your hips attempting to gyrate his hand to your needy clit. “C’mon, don’t get all greedy on me, baby, remember this is about you, you’ll get it all eventually. Just need you to feel everything as much as possible. Let me just rub the outside; up and down.” The weight of his fingers interfered with the glue of your slick, now pulling at your pussy lips to showcase the rawness of your cunt, strung by webs of your syrup that had him itching to shove his tongue in once more. “And maybe, I’ll just take my finger,” his pointer, pushed out ever so lightly to tickle the wet skin below your pussy, before the rigid callouses dragged up to spark the nerves of your puffy labia, catching a rub to your erecting clit, “and touch you whenever I feel like it.”

Your breath became caught in strings of gasps. “Eds.” Purring with delight at the tease of his finger brushing at your impulses of sensation. “Please, please, can I have you?”

“Just wanted to see that sexy fucking smile you do when you get all excited.” Eddie admired, reveling in the twinkle that bedecked your face to light up from the touch of his fingers. “You are so fucking hot, man.” Mumbling to himself, his head refuting the belief of this being reality. But your body moved with the liveliness of feelings, your voice rang with melodies of harmony, and your smell infused his skin with the sweetness of sugar and oils; no matter how hard Eddie Munson’s eyes welded shut with dubiety, there was no dying the realness of a woman before him. “Wanna play a little game with you, baby.” 

“A game?” Your voice softly upped in review of him, as he climbed over with a heavy hand turned soft to pet your head with loving strokes that matched the brief attachment of his lips to yours. 

“Yeah, just a little one, nothing to worry about, just love seeing your face n’ everything.” He vaguely detailed, letting your mind lose itself to the softness of his peppered kisses. “First, you gotta any names you wanna call me: master, sir, daddy?” 

Eddie watched your eyes shy away from his brashness, adorably being unable to endure the heat of his words. “Um,” your teeth pinched into your lips, “I-I think sir’s kinda nice.” You timidly admitted, only ever divulged by the encouragement of Eddie’s affection. 

And he smiled against your lips, dragging his devotion to your cheek, temple, and forehead. “I think it’s kinda nice, too.” From you? Anything would have his body stirring. Eddie abruptly sat up from your body, his mangled hair briefly frizzing from the overhead reach of his shirt, that left his torso blank of any band tee he’d previously adorned. His abdomen came to light as a soft tummy lined with the harsh crevices of flexed muscles in a strive to show off a physique he thought would look best for you. But your warmhearted hand relaxed the strain of his stomach with a single stroke to his naval, sending shockwaves with every graze against his happy trail. 

In the midst of pulling away the worn leather belt from the clinking metal buckle, your words swiftly halted his movements. “You’re very pretty, Eddie.” 

His head bowed, soft laughter coming through the nostrils of his nose, as he shook his head with a smile that adamantly won over his face, despite a hefty attempt of biting his lip to keep it down. “Feel like I should be the one telling you that, look at you.”

“Would it be so wrong for you to hear the truth, too?” A smile so pure, it shot straight to his heart, causing a speed bump to the rhythmic beating of his chest. 

His cheeks darkened with vulnerability. “I- yeah, you’re really about to fucking get it…” both of your soft laughter mingled into the air, as he tugged the length of leather from his belt loops, “…and thank you.” His lips pressed to your inner knee, whilst undoing his pants. But then, he paused. Eddie Munson had not even the slightest idea of how easily you were able to undress before him. Perhaps, it simply fell down to the principle of the matter that Eddie Munson was already head over heels crazy about you before you ever spoke to him. He’d like to thank Chrissy Cunningham- or, actually, whatever stress it was she was enduring for being the sole reason why she went seeking him that fateful Friday afternoon. Now, he understands the grossness of that sentiment, but, truthfully, as an aspiring entrepreneur, the problems of your clientele surely become the profit of your business. And while he wasn’t exactly looking to better this capitalist venture, it did, in fact, lead him to you. Standing in the back, watching reddening leaves fall to the ground, under the guise of being your friend’s lookout. C’mon, that rotting bench hadn’t seen company for years, Chrissy Cunningham was merely weary of his presence and needed backup. But gladly so, as for once, someone’s uncalled for judgment allowed him the privilege of staring at their pretty friend. So excuse him for suddenly falling insecure about the look of his body. You were quite literally everything to Eddie Munson. Would he be for yo-

“It’s okay.” What? “I want to see you, Eddie.” You smiled so perfectly. 

Without notice, stirs of anxiety turned into fluttering butterflies in his belly. And Eddie Munson smiled back. Following the squeaks of your bed, he headed off, taking a hold of what was his pants and boxers into a tight grip, and finding the confidence to rid himself of any further clothing. Springing from confinement, seven inches of weight bobbed against his naval with a smack, as you relished in the sight of his cock with bulging veins that strained to pump blood to his scarlet, mushroom tip. Any concerns about the appearance of his area abruptly left his rampant mind, after witnessing the dragging pull of your plump lips opening for your mouth to widen in awe. Your thighs rubbing in heat, a desperate attempt to satiate that rubescent, needy clit that thudded with tingles from the mere sight of him naked. 

Yeah, nothing to worry about- in fact, quite a large inflation to his ego. “Decent enough, huh?” His lips twisted with a sneer. 

A deprived “mhm” moaned its way out of you. 

Rushing to place himself between the warmth of your legs, Eddie positioned his cock to sit heavy against your tummy. His large balls of cum became immersed with the slick of your pussy, as his velvet skin rubbed against your drenched folds to fully show you the length of his member; nudging it to your belly button, whilst the chaos of his pubic hairs titillated your thighs. “This game, baby, the only thing with it is that you can only cum when I tell you.” His eyes kept a close watch of your rippling stomach with every smack of his cock he caused. “You understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” You sighed, becoming antsy with the tickle on your abdomen from the sheer weight of his dick. 

“That’s the right fucking answer,” he darkly chuckled, “just gonna start playing with you, pretty girl.” His hand directed the fat tip of his cock to butt at your clit, forcing your hips to jolt awake with the electricity of pressure against your sensitive nub. “Just like that, you fucking like that, don’t you?”

“M-More, please.” You clawed at your bed sheets, stressing the material with every rub of his length against your cunt. 

“Nah, baby, gonna treasure this, take it nice and slow.” He agonized, sucking in breaths with every tense of his balls, as you brought pulsating tingles to his body by doing nothing, but laying pretty. “Fuck, you really do something to me, whatever you got going on is doing a fucking number on me, sweetheart.” Saying all the right things to you, his words shot straight to your pussy, making it impossible to hold back your soft moans. “Honestly, baby, not really one to talk about my feelings, I guess, but you- everytime I come by knockin’ on your door, I just get these nerves n’ shit. Gotta talk to myself, too,” he husky laughter pierced so sexily, “honestly, like ‘damn, gotta pull yourself together, can’t let her pretty ass see you like this.’” Eddie’s cock dragged through your folds, separating strings of wetness to marinate on your raw cunt. “And I just wanted to kiss you for the longest, wanted to be right here playing with this fucking pussy.”

“I want you, fuck.” You heaved, hips chasing an itch he refused to have you revel in. “Always want you, Eddie.” 

His cock spurred excitedly. “Shit, sweetheart, can’t say things like that to me, fuck.” Eddie’s tip ran through your slit, the swollen head now prodding at your hole, just a first glimpse of the stretch you were about to endure. “God, just having me lay here with you, seeing you, hearing you, touching you, it’s the greatest thing ever. Does that feel good baby? Like me teasin’ you?”

“Yes, sir, please, Eddie.” You hummed, trailing a high that was building too slowly for your liking. “Want more.”

“Mm, really like hearing you say that, love your pretty, little voice.” Eddie’s free hand dropped by your head, supporting his weight to hover over you, letting his unruly hair cascade a waterfall around you. “As a matter of fact, you should speak up. Tell me you wanna be a good girl for me.” So close, his cock was barely grazing the entrance of your cunt, all before tortuously leaving your warmth to dissipate that spark in your body. And up above, Eddie was enjoying the show of your contorting face of frustration. “C’mon, you can say it.”

“I wanna be your good girl, sir.” You pleaded, taking a grasp around his supporting wrist to help find your rhythm against his teasing dick. “I promise, I’m your good girl, just let me have it.”

“Yeah, you wanna be my good girl.” He mocked, aligning his slick head of precum and your arousal to your clenching hole that oozed more wetness. “Here’s the thing, you’re already mine, so who am I to deny you- mm, fuck!”

Falling chest to chest, your nails clawed up his back at the burning sensation of his girth breaching your seizing walls. Eddie’s forehead dropped to yours, as the mixture of both your hot breath confined what little space was left between your gaping lips. “Slow, slow!” You urged him, as his bangs crumpled against your head with a fervent nod to listen to your pleads. Every clasp of your cunt had him harshly breathing through his nose, fighting the onslaught of sensations that were subsequently bringing him closer to the edge far faster than anticipated. “Uh! Fuck, you’re so big!” Inch by inch, your body was giving way to the pleasure of his deliberate intrusion, welcoming him in with a warm hug from your cunt. 

Nearly lacerated by his nails, Eddie hoped the balling of his fist would defuse the overwhelming feelings churning in his chest, but suddenly being submerged balls deep into your body had his mouth spewing with all he felt for you. “Fuck, you really don’t understand what you do to me.” He whined against your face. “First time I saw you, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I don’t really get in situations like these often- hell, fucking ever, but you! I just had to do whatever I could to get you. Honestly, it kinda pissed me off.” Eddie breathlessly chuckled against your lips, driving his greedy hips to drag his cock along your walls. “Holy s-shit, fuck, how the hell was I letting some girl have this affect on me. But you’re not just some girl, Y/N. God, mm, you’re fucking everything.” 

Leave it to Eddie Munson to confess his feelings from the tightness of your pussy. 

“Eddie!” His cock found no trouble in abusing that spot within you that had your legs occupying his waist like a lifeline, toes curling from the rapture that trembled your legs. Your hands forced his head to your lips, swallowing each other's moans to consume the desperation of night. Where spit messily slicked your lips, a ring of cream surrounded Eddie’s cock that smear the wetness against your pussy. 

“Fuck, just wanna do everything for you.” His lips dragged against yours, bodies bumping with every pound of skin slapping Eddie caused with his dick. “Got your holes all plugged up, nasty, little fucking thing.” Pursuing that desperate high, your pelvis began meeting his with an impassioned gyrate; the swollen head of his cock bruising your g-spot, all whilst the tickle of his pubes itched at your inflamed clit. “You wanna come, baby- fuck, I know you do!” His stomach clenched with every squelch your pussy created under the squeezing hold of his dick’s continuous reentry. 

Licking and rubbing your cunt to a tender mess of cum and slick had your second orgasm of the night pummeling quickly under Eddie’s intrusive cock, and you were pleading to see white stars from the fucking of his body to yours. “Yes, please, please, sir! Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna- mm!” 

Sweat coated your rubbing bodies together, where you nipples abraded against his to have you wailing with all sensations, yanking that orgasmic string within you. “Squeezing down on my fucking cock, yeah, baby, you can cum, but not until I say so.”

Eddie Munson was torturing himself when his body stilled inside you, but seeing your desperate face twist into a crying mess was far better than dumping inside you within the first five minutes. “No, no, sir, please!” Your hips attempted to fuck themselves deeper onto his cock, but Eddie’s harsh hand imprinted itself to the fat of your curves, holding your down from any endeavors to cumming. 

“Hey, hey, listen, listen, sweetheart.” He took a hold of your jaw, forcing your eyes upon his. “Remember, you’re my good girl; gotta be good for me.” All along this is what Eddie wanted, turning your mind into deprived mush to cloud those overcrowding thoughts that hurt your little head. And he watched it transpire before him, seeing you desperately nod to his words, completely at his mercy with full trust to care for you. “I know I’m being mean, baby, but you gotta believe me when I say this will feel so good.” His puffing breath fanned your face. “I’m so proud of you, so proud of you getting all that shit off your chest, so proud of you letting me play with your holes, being this perfect, dirty girl for me. Now, I want you to come, okay, just gonna play with your pussy-”

“Ah, fuck!” Your body jolted under the tight, circling rubs of his rough fingers against your clit. 

“Sh, sh, don���t want your folks disturbing us, baby.” His devilish sneer taunted your face. “Just tell me you wanna come, okay? Say it.”

Your lips incoherently spewed out. “Iwannacomesir-” 

“Slower, pretty girl, slower.” Eddie demanded, with each pinch to your buzzing pearl fueling that plucking string of hot cum inside you to burst. 

“I want to cum, sir.” Your trembling hands secured his hot cheeks to bring him forth, as your lips whispered against his with tiny kisses. “I… want to… cum, sir.”

Eddie smiled against your lips, before planting a fat sucker on them. “Good, now shut the fuck up, and you better listen to me.” With your heads bound closely, all of the world became lost in the homey environment within Eddie’s curtain of hair. Where his two-in-one shampoo clashed with your coconut hair mask, and the smell of sex fermented the humid air of hot breath, Eddie began hammering his cock into your sopping pussy, with spurts of wetness jumping to souse your connecting bodies. “You are so fucking gorgeous.” He huffed. “Anyone can see that plain as day- so fucking incredible. You deserve the fucking world, deserve to be taken care of, and I swear, baby, I swear on my life to be that man.” Eddie moaned into your ear, his wet lips exciting every nerve in your body with hot whispers, that had you mutilating his skin with streaks of unbearable red. “Just feel me playing with you, pleasing you, only you, pretty girl- f-fuck! Tell me I’m yours, fucking tell me.” 

Your legs tightened around his backside, driving the heels of your feet to the tiny plush of his ass, forcing him deeper into your cunt. With your hands caressing the beauty of his face, you managed to find the strength to open your screwed shut eyes, and meet the round ones that were pouring desperation into yours. “You’re mine, Eddie.” Spoken so delicately from the hoarseness of your throat, whilst the filthiest actions were occurring to your body. “You’re all mine, Eddie. No one else. Just you.” Sealing it with a searing kiss that had him sobbing groans onto your tongue, in a heated mix with your whines. 

“When I tell you, cum for me, okay, baby? Ten.” His heavy hand forced a grip to your leg, hiking them higher for an angle unbeknownst to you, leaving you to squeal into the crevice of his neck. “Nine… eight… seven, love how fucking greedy your body is, almost there, my pretty girl.” Eddie’s balls were seizing with twitches, as his engorged cock was building up a hot load that was on the precipice of flooding you. “ Six, look right at me, five… four, wanna see your pretty face when you finish.” Too much pressure was mounting on your cervix, as your body began losing itself to the thrills of an impending orgasm. “Three… two, tell me you wanna cum.”

“I wanna cum!”

“Louder!”

“I wanna cum on your cock!” Singing it to his ears with cries of harmony had his body cramping with pleasure. 

“One, fucking do it, cum for me!” Your back arched with the snap of your orgasm, a scorching gush of creamy white invading his cock with unfathomable squeezes and squelches. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… f-fuckkkk!” A hose of his sizzling seed fucked itself into you with stuttering hips that had you wailing into his buff shoulder, nails bloodying his alabaster skin with reds of passion, as your bodies convulsed in the aftershocks of pure hedonism. “T-There you go, fucking ride it out, sweetheart, ride it out with me.” His muscles flexed under the intense explosion of his bust; beads of musky sweat falling down the length of his body to infuse the creamy cum that matted his pubic hair. “God, you’re so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful.” 

“Auugh!” Your fogged mind whined in the lost stars of white that flashed your vision. 

“It’s okay, my baby, just relax, you’re alright.” Eddie brought you back to reality, peppering kisses of adoration along your perspired skin, cementing every word he ever uttered to you in the heat of the moment. A brief cry of discomfort from his cock pulling out had him comforting your body with gentle caresses, all while witnessing the artistry that was a pearly concoction of both your hot cum painting the pink jewel of your butt plug with a filthy iridescent. “Fuck, you really are fucking mine, Y/N.”

Your soft voice ripped through the sounds of heavy breaths, as your body felt like waves of crashing water under his touch. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

You weakly laughed. “Yeah, you can definitely be my boyfriend.” As if that was ever a question.  Your gentle mewls echoed into his ears, as his thick fingers made the move to smoothly twist out your butt plug from your needy hole, that felt the need to keep its clamping clutch onto it. Eddie swore under his breath, falling in love with the winking gape of your asshole. While a clean-up was surely at hand, your beckoning voice had him dropping your toy to lay by your side. His lips found solace in the company of your own, as he brought your sticky being of sweat and cum close, snug under the protective arms of his body. “Yeah, I’m your boyfriend, and you’re my girlfriend.” Eddie Munson’s lips upturned to a damning smile that had you clinging to his closeness for the rest of the night.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Slow Cooked

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, torture, burns, body horror / gore, isolation, touch starvation, rescue, caretaking

just some whump that wouldn't leave my head. i'm on an AU kick. 2 pieces in a day!! woo!!! also posted a catharsis chapter earlier :D

-

It was day one-thousand one-hundred and thirty-three since they’d left Kane in the sun.

Unlike in his cell, it was easy to count the days out here. Impossible not to, unless he lost count amid the endless pain. He couldn’t see, hadn’t opened his eyes in years, but fire licked at his toes once more, slowly working its way up.

Kane did not scream. The last time he’d screamed, a hunter had wrapped a cord around his throat and threatened to leave it there forever if he made another sound, leaving his lungs perpetually empty. That was day 14.

He had air. As his already burnt-beyond-recognition body lit up once more under the unforgiving heat of the sun, Kane reminded himself he could breathe. It was the only thing he had left.

It hurt. It hurt, hurt, hurt, always. There was no end to it, not even at night, when his wholly maimed form was given far too little time to even start to heal. There was only agony at night and more agony in the day.

He missed his cell. He would do anything to go back to his cell, in the blessed dark.

The morning sun rose enough to reach his face, his entire body once again swallowed as he burned alive.

Please. Please make it stop. Please, somebody help me! I’ll do anything. I just need it to stop. Mercy.

Every day, the same wish, unanswered. Kane was left to his unbearable existence, forgotten.

-

Somebody touched him. It was the first time Kane had been touched in over three years.

It was a light touch, just the graze of what he thought to be a hand to his jawline. Not enough to make it hurt more than it already did. Whoever it was said something, but he couldn’t make it out. Melted flesh had filled his ears for quite some time.

Kane did not move. He didn’t think he was capable of moving, anymore. But he had to do something. Maybe if he did, they’d let him inside, just for a little. Just for a few days. He would do anything to be allowed inside for a few days, even if they tortured him.

Please, I need help, please help me! Make it stop!

A small, raspy whine escaped the back of his throat, muffled further by his sealed-shut lips. It was all he could manage.

The hand retreated.

If Kane was capable of crying, he would. If Kane’s tear ducts hadn’t melted away under the sun years ago, he’d never have stopped.

Please. Please. Somebody. Help me.

His heart cried out, yearning for the touch to return. Even if they never helped, even if they hurt him. He just needed to feel for one moment like he wasn’t alone.

He keened again, a quiet thing, though he tried. Wordless begging to not be left.

The hand returned to his cheek, and he quieted once more. If the agony never stopped, at least he had this. The ability to breathe, and one gentle touch.

Without warning, something pierced his chest, and his cursed consciousness was blissfully lost.

-

Kane did not wake outside.

His arms and legs were no longer spread into the corners of the board, ensuring every vulnerable inch of his front was exposed to the sun. The board no longer touched his back, in fact. Instead, he laid on something soft. The sun did not shine.

Either it was nighttime, or he’d been allowed inside.

It was almost unthinkable that he’d be allowed to rest on something soft and let inside. Surely, it had to be nighttime.

Despite his relative freedom–he could still feel a shackle on one ankle, not silver, but nothing else–he was far too mangled to move around. He simply laid there, trying to bask in the wonder of the soft thing.

“Kane?” a voice asked, hours later. He could hear it, he realized. His ears were cleared.

He knew that voice. That was the human’s voice. Jim’s voice.

The fragile hope that he might be allowed to remain on the soft thing vanished.

“Are you awake?” Jim asked. “I saw you… twitching and stuff.”

He would cry if he could. He was crying, he realized, tears falling down his burnt-up cheeks.

“It’s okay, don’t be scared. I mean, that’s–that’s a tall order, yeah. You’re not going out there again. You’re gonna be okay.”

That gentle hand returned, to his hair this time. There wasn’t much of it left, he was reasonably sure. Jim stroked what was there, his touch feather-light, like he was afraid Kane would break into pieces.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. It’s over,” Jim promised. His voice shook like he might be crying, too.

Kane wanted to believe it so, so badly. It was everything he’d ever wanted, for someone to help. Finally, finally, for the pain to end. It hadn’t even ended yet, his body was a horrific mess of seared skin, but it had been promised. No one had ever promised to help before.

He couldn’t be dreaming. It never hurt this badly in dreams, his only refuge.

“Can you open your mouth?” Jim prompted.

No. He couldn’t. He tried, just to prove it, and…

His lips popped open, revealing a perfectly-preserved, unburnt mouth.

How long had he been out? Days? Had he not been touched by the sun for days?

“You’re doing great,” Jim encouraged. “I know you’re hurting pretty bad right now. So, um, I just…”

“Here, I’ve got it.” A different voice, female, unfamiliar. Before Kane could even worry about who she was, a lid opened with a pop, and the smell of blood filled the air.

Kane did manage more than a whine, then. A desperate howl of need.

The blood poured into his mouth, cold and refreshing and salty and sweet. There was so much of it. He drank and drank and drank until there was no more. He was actually sated for once.

“That’ll help him heal faster?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. Should do the trick.”

“...Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

Mad? How could he possibly be mad? Jim took him away from the sun. Jim let him inside. Jim gave him blood. He was going to be allowed to heal!

“I think he’ll just be happy to be out of the sun,” the other voiced his thoughts.

There was a creak on the soft think–a bed? A couch?--as someone sat next to him. “Three years ago, the hunters told me they had you,” Jim said.

Three years. That was the end of it, then? Kane had paid his price, he wouldn’t have to do it anymore? It felt too good to be true.

“I told them to kill you,” he continued. “I was scared. I thought you would be like… before. I thought you would come after me. I didn’t know what they were doing, and they told me they’d done it. I thought you were dead. I never wanted you to suffer, not like this.”

Did that mean no more? It was truly over?

“No m-more?” Kane rasped out, his voice struggling to find itself after so long.

“No more.” That gentle touch returned to his hair, and for the first time in years, there was hope.

-

taglist in reblogs

[astaroth1357]

The Demon Brothers + Dateables Bodycare

Is it the domestic in me that likes the idea of helping my SO wash up and relax? Probably.

Contents: No warnings, just fluff.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Preens his wings daily, always once in the morning and once more at night.

The whole routine usually involves a shower then carefully running his fingers through his feathers to apply the right oils and get them back into place.

Loose or shed feathers are typically collected then promptly burnt (because Mammon got caught trying to sell them as powerful hex materials a couple centuries ago. He'll be damned a second time before he gets turned into a commodity! )

Before MC arrived, he used to have to go to Asmo for help getting the spots he had a hard time reaching. He'll never admit it, but he still lets Asmo help him from time to time just because he misses the bonding. Asmo is 100% that chatty hairdresser whenever he helps his brothers self-care routines, it's very entertaining.

If MC has the time to help him preen, he'll consider it the highlight of his day! The skin below the feathers is incredibly sensitive, so the feeling of their fingers running through it and knocking away any dead skin makes him purr.

It takes about an hour to get through all four wings though. Fair warning.

Mammon

Very, VERY protective of his wings. They don't look like much, but what skin and bone are there are delicate af. He once knocked one into a bookshelf and nearly passed out from the pain.

Cleans them every other day. He doesn't use his demon form much, so he doesn't worry about them getting too dirty. That said, if a photoshoot wants him to have them out, he'll make sure to freshen up.

Mammon usually sponges off any dirt on his wings then applies some moisturizer (Asmo recommended of course). Exfoliating dead skin is... well let's say it's a process he takes only with great reluctance so he tries his damnedest to keep them from drying out in the first place.

WHEN exfoliating day comes, he used to only undertake it by himself because he didn't even trust Asmo not to rub his skin so raw that he'd be in agony for weeks. It took months for him to trust MC enough to try it. Though now that he does, he could never go back!

He adores how gently the MC treats his wings and their little check-ups like "Are you okay?" or "Is this too much?" Their attention is fully on him and he lives for it. Sometimes he'll just shyly nudge the exfoliation brush into their hands when he really wants to feel loved that day.

Leviathan

Has the easiest day-to-day upkeep of all the brothers, really. Dunk his tail in some water and boom. Done. It's shedding time that he actually dreads...

About once a season, Levi's tail becomes unbearably itchy as the old skin lifts off to make way for the new. The whole process lasts about a week and he calls it his personal hell.

Levi becomes a completely different person whenever he's shedding. Bitchy, irritable, and extremely quick to lash out. He stays in his room and his brothers just leave his meals outside the door, lest they risk a visit from Lotan...

Everyone, including himself, thought the MC had a death wish when they insisted on helping him but he quickly discovered that it was something he never knew he needed.

He looooves being spoiled by their attention even more than Mammon. He'll sit on their lap and latch himself on like a kola bear while they carefully work to peel the shed off of his tail. Sometimes he games, other times he just quietly basks in them even being there at all. He adores their kindness and it makes things go faster, so really it's a win-win for him all around!

Satan

His tail is a bitch to manage so it is one of the many passing irritations that irk him throughout the day.

The bone/scales collect a lot of dirt in hard to see crevices, so when Satan goes to clean it, he often has to pull out Q-tips and metal picks just to get around all those edges. He uses a magnifying glass too, so it can look like he's cleaning up some kind of museum artifact.

He can and will accept help from basically anyone who offers (except Lucifer) and Asmo is very used to him coming in to get the thing cleaned up when he's just too frustrated to do it himself.

Lowkey wishes that MC could just take over Asmo's place as his go-to helper but he doesn't want to burden them.. It takes a good 2-3 hours to get the whole thing clean and he doubts that they have the time for that every day.

Took to the idea of MC helping him the fastest out of anyone, though they needed a bit of training on his part in order to be as proficient at it as him or Asmo. Unfortunately, his tail instinctively responds to his emotions whether he wants it to or not. That means it often wraps around the MC's wrist and won't let go which complicates things...

Asmodeus

Obviously the cleanest boy in the House.

Asmo has his self-care routine ON LOCK plus everyone else's to be quite frank. He's always on the lookout for new products or care strategies to help himself or his brothers feel their best (even the ones who don't let him help in person.)

He keeps "Care Kits" for each one of his brothers to use in the event that they have a catastrophic emergency that needs resolved. Seriously, the amount of times that he's had to pluck Lucifer's ripped feathers or cut out matted chunks of Belphie's tail fur is just...

Asmo takes his own wing care very seriously, so much so in fact that he begged Solomon to come up with the "perfect moisturizer" centuries ago which he still sells as part of his own personal product line. Even Mammon can attest to its effectiveness!

Simply loves it when MC comes in to help him! They both know that he doesn't really need it, but there's something so sweet about letting your special someone wash your hair or massage your wings... He'll melt into a puddle every time!

Beelzebub

His wings are SO DELICATE. Mammon and Asmo go on and on about how their wings are fragile but Beel has to constantly be sure that his don't straight up break.

You would think that would make him more hesitant to clean them, but not so. In fact, Beel is right up there with Asmo in terms self-grooming as far as his wings are concerned.

The reasons are two-fold. One, because they are so sensitive and temperamental that even a small layer dirt on them feels very irritating. And two, because Beel cares a lot about his body. Not in a vain way, just in a "this is the one I get" sort of way. His fitness goes hand-in-hand with his personal hygiene!

Beel never uses soapy water to clean his wings because it dulls them out and makes them feel sticky... He's much more likely to run a damp washcloth over them a few times a day which seems to do the trick.

He prefers to have Belphie or MC help him over Asmo, as he needs to have a lot of trust in a person to let them touch such a fragile part of his body. It's almost like another bonding exercise between the three as Belphie cleans one wing and MC cleans the other. Just some wholesome pamper Beel time for everybody!

Belphegor

Dirty boy. Filthy boy. Bad Belphie.

Belphie is very much a "I'll only take a bath if my hair gets greasy" kind of guy. Thankfully, Beel or Asmo usually shove him into a bathtub on a semi-regular basis. It's not that he loves filth, he just loses track of the days and baths/showers make him extra sleepy... Somebody has to be around to be sure he doesn't drown.

Unfortunately, that also means his tail care is just pitiful. He'll put off brushing it because he thinks it takes too long, which only leads to it getting matted up and taking even longer to clean up.

Asmo has dragged his sorry ass down to the bathroom many times to hose him down then de-mat his tail like he's a stray dog. Belphie whines the whole time, but lets him because it still beats having to do it himself...

Thankfully, all the MC ever had to do was float out the threat of no more cuddles for him to finally take his hygiene seriously. He may still beg them to "help" him in the bathtub or brush his fur though. He claims it's so relaxing that it put him to sleep, but we all know he was already going to do that anyway...

Diavolo

So we know that he has a legion of servants and a Barbatos to help him keep clean, but I promise you that the MC could come up to him with a dollar store hairbrush and this man would still be over the moon.

He emphatically adores literally any kind of care or grooming the MC gives him. Even if they objectively suck at it, he'll still love it anyway.

Dia could sit for hours, completely content, while the MC brushes the same bit of his hair over and over again. He's in it for the intimacy, so who cares about the results?

He's totally down for anything they want to do to him. Put his hair up in silly clips? Sure. Tie bows and streamers to his wings? Absolutely! Give him middle-school faux tattoos with pens and highlighters?? Which arm do they start with??

Barbatos and Lucifer, however, are NOT totally down for anything that the MC wants to do to the demon prince. So, reign it in, chief, they'll be monitoring them closely...

Barbatos

He doesn't get a lot of time to just take care of himself, so his morning/evening cleaning routines are quite important to him. That includes the care for his tail.

Barbs' tail is more amphibious than it is reptilian like Levi's, so it's actually better for him to wash it sparingly to keep it from drying out.

That said, he is still quite defensive of it. Asmo has tried for eons to get Barbs to let him so much as massage it and has nothing to show for it.

Needless to say, he is quite jealous that the MC gets to hold onto Barbs' tail if he has it out. Even more so that they have helped him wash it once or twice before, but still not often. Barbs doesn't let them abuse their tail privileges, after all.

When Barbs does let himself relax enough for some spoiling, he's very fond of letting the MC just glide and slide their hands along his tail for a little while. He knows the texture is slippery, but warm, and can feel quite nice on the skin so he's certain they enjoy it as much as he does.

Simeon

Simeon has a similar preening routine to Lucifer as their wings aren't too different, though Simeon wings are much, much bigger. His shirt isn't backless for nothing.

Simeon's wings also feel a lot different from Lucifer's. They're both soft, but it's the difference between stroking wool and petting a cloud, the two just can't compare. Simeon's wing feel light as air but brimming with sheer strength. They're just very impressive all around.

Unlike Lucifer, he doesn't burn his discarded feathers if they need to be plucked. He'll save them and either use them for writing quills or give them out to ill witches because angel feathers can be used to make excellent cure-alls. Solomon sometimes asks for a few as well.

Simeon gets very flustered whenever MC offers to help him preen. The first time they did it, he spent the whole time lightheaded and giddy. It was probably the most intimate part of his body they'd be allowed to touch for a long while, so he soaked in every moment of it.

Is always too shy to ask them for their help directly, but will literally jump at any offer they give him. Sometimes he pulls a Mammon and tries to subtly hint at it by mentioning how much his back is sore or worrying about his feathers outloud... Please help him, he is desperate.

(No Solomon, he is human, but I can assure you he bathes for whatever that's worth.)

[citrusx0xo]

I've been reading too much dirty shit and now all I crave is affection bear with me guys Not proofread!!

Ever so itty bitty trigger warning, angsty poetic fluff

To be loved by Suguru was to be loved by an artist. Loved so gently, like a sculptor etching his final details into your supple skin. Or like a glassmaker, soothing his hands over your body so softly it was like he thought you'd shatter at any moment.

To love Suguru was to be dragged through a twisted, gorgeous display of torture. You could feel each word drag along your esophagus with another jagged claw because no word seemed worthy for him, no word could convey any amount of pure devotion you could feel.

When he'd dip his head into the crook of your neck, hiding himself from anything that wasn't his lover, you swear you could feel yourself chip away. Every time his hands caressed your stomach in a hug, his chest slotting against your back like he was made solely for loving you. Your chest would cave in, crumbling into itself as you felt him hold you so tenderly. Suguru was a calm pond amidst your clashing waves, his oh-so-soft breath fanning along your rotting skin.

"You're trembling."

"I'm scared."

"What are you scared of?" a voice you've grown to be infatuated with mumbled into your bare shoulder.

Suguru had you in his arms, shifting his head slightly as his lips rested against your collarbone. You had one arm being used as his pillow, hand carding through his inky hair as you pressed your lips against his temple absentmindedly. You'd both found the best way to waste away the day being in bed, only wearing your matching pairs of boxers that you'd picked out together on impulse. The only light you had, was the light that managed to creep past the thick clouds that spilled rain droplets towards your window.

"I'm not sure." It was the truth, the only answer you could give. After a few silent moments of digging into your fuzzy mind, you found no reason to feel the way you did. Having Suguru's body entangled with yours so naturally, it had mellowed everything you felt. Lines of thought quickly dissipated in your mind, only able to bask in the glow of whatever this foreign feeling was. "Maybe you're not scared then."

"If not, then what?"

You peered at the ashtray that sat at your windowsill, a half-melted candle keeping it in place. You and Suguru had grown together, lived together. You knew each other, and it was no secret that your connection was the closest you'd both ever get to comfort, the closest you'd ever be to health.

"Maybe, we're just in love."

And there it was again, that sweet agony you craved, only ever able to be fulfilled by him. Like he was covering you in a silk blanket lined with poison, his adoring kisses slitting your skin.

"I like that answer..."

if you read this far im gonna give you a big fat kiss

Sorry, purely self-indulgent lol. Just wanted to write some fluff but angst is my spirit animal, disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed type shit yk

Look after yourselves!!! Drink water!! Eat food!!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You

So I went from listening to "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry (because it was stuck in my head for some reason) to listening to Burying the Dead by Kevin Kiner from Star Wars The Clone Wars and all I could feel was angst. Obviously I have to pass it on.

Summary: Astarion realises he's known all along what it means to live, all thanks to you

He can feel the stickiness of the liquid sandwiched between your palms, feel it sliding down his wrist and trail along his forearm. He can feel your hand slowly slipping from his grip, your fingers weakly grasping at his palm for purchase, unwilling to let go. He doesn't want to let go either, but your ragged breaths remind him of the pain you're in, the hurt in your eyes tearing his soul apart.

"It's alright, love. Everything's going to be alright." A lie. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes and swallows as hard as he can, willing his sorrow away.

Just endure it for a while. Until they move on.

Your chest is barely moving, crimson bubbling from your lips as you desperately suck in whatever air your weakening lungs can. Your eyelids flutter, your body fighting to shut down and Astarion has to force his hands to stop trembling, his undead heart crying out with each weak gasp that slips from your fading body.

He brings your bloody hand to his lips, hating the way the sweet taste floods his mouth. The smell fills his nose and his fangs reveal themselves, his body urging him to drink but he forces his mouth shut, pushing down the hunger that threatens to take over.

Your lips move, but Astarion can't make any of them out, rendering your final words lost forever. His hand shakes as it clasps tightly around the hilt of his dagger, his eyes squeeze shut as he inhales deeply. He can't do this, he can't.

He can't kill you. But he has to.

His dagger trembles as its tip hovers over your heart, the steel of the blade reflecting the setting sun. The evening sunlight casts a beautiful yet saddening glow over you, framing you in its radiance like it has a thousand times before, but today is the last time he will ever see you bask in the sun.

The poison has chewed its way through almost your entire body, your pained laboured breathing is all that remains. He has to do it now, put you out of your misery or the poison will drag your suffering out until your lose your mind, and he can't let that happen.

His fingers tighten around the hilt, hoping that it will stop the dagger from shaking so much and forces his hand to move downwards.

One strike and it will all be over. One strike and you wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

Blood springs forth from the new well he has created and he gags. He loves your blood, yes, that is an undisputed fact. It nourishes him, tastes absolutely divine, but only when it's you giving your blood of your own accord. Not like this, not when it's being poured out all over the ground, not when it steals you away from him.

He watches as your body twitches for the last time and hears your last breath leave your lips, a quiet thank you for everything he's done. He stares blankly at your now dead body, mind and body numb to the core.

Where does he go from here?

He sits on his heels, feeling the pent up tears trickling down his cheeks. It starts out with quiet sobs, soft whispers of words he never got to say to you that grow louder as he starts to cry, his heart shattering into a million pieces. Reality hits him hard. You're gone now, forever. He will never see your radiant smile again, never hear your melodious laugh again, never feel the warmth of your skin as you hold his hand tightly, never feel the softness of your lips, never…never see you again.

He wails out his agony to the deaf gods above, the tears flowing freely as he curses the hand he's been dealt, wanting nothing more than to have you back. He'd made a promise to you, to always be by your side, to never leave you but that promise lies broken at his feet, buried beneath the dirt you too will soon lie under. He will live on, alone once again, with the weight of world crushing him.

He cries until he has nothing left to give, cradling your now cold body against his chest, and feels exhaustion taking over. The sun has set, turning the sky pitch black with few twinkles from the stars above. He remains where he is, kneeling in the bloodstained dirt surrounded by the forest and the creatures that inhabit it, holding your cold corpse tightly and ignoring his body's call to rest. He doesn't want to rest, he wants you, he wants your warmth.

He wants this all to end.

He contemplates the idea, nearly giving in when a familiar whisper pulls him back from the brink.

"I want you to live."

He lets out a pained chuckle, even in death you're still there for him, catching him when he falls. He remembers exactly when you had said those words. It had been at his tent after everyone else had fallen asleep, under the moonlit sky as the campfire was fading out. You'd held his hand in yours, a fiery earnest look in your eyes as you delcared out loud that you didn't want his body in exchange for keeping him around.

"I want you to live. That's all. What living means to you, I don't know, but I suppose that's what life is for, to find out what all these fancy words mean. I know you'll find it, you're the kind of person who will."

He presses his forehead against yours, drawing a shaky breath and closes his eyes. He steadies himself and lets the breath out, opening his eyes to take in the sight before him.

"Darling, I…" His throat clogs. This is stupid, he's talking to a corpse. You can't hear him anymore, you're dead. His words will never reach you, but he has to get this weight off his chest, and maybe by some miracle your soul will hear what he has to say. He regrets not being able to tell you this while you were alive, but he supposes it's better late than never. Besides, it's more than just words he wanted to say to you, it's a declaration to himself, a reaffirmation of what he's discovered alongside you.

"I've found out what it means to live. It's more than just staying alive, more than just waking up to the next day. It's making my own decisions, choosing what I want to do, knowing who I am and who I want to be. You've taught me all that, you've shown me what it's like to live, and I…I thank you for that. It's because of you that I'm free from the shackles of my past, it's because of you that I know the path I should take. I owe you so much, more than I've been able to repay you, but knowing you, you don't care about it."

Astarion lets out a huff of amusement, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"Still though, love. You could've asked anyone else to ease your suffering. It's not fair, to make your beloved vampire do all the work."

He looks to the sky, wondering if you're able to see him through all the damn clouds and laughs. He can't stop laughing at the absurdity of it all. The laughter soon turns to sobs, fresh tears dripping onto your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, darling."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: she at it again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Her 

Bucky leaves the leftovers in the fridge, his included, and the tea on the counter. He didn’t heed your protests before he went, insisting that it’s for you. You didn’t put up much of a fight. You’re too tired. 

Alone, you settle onto the couch and stare at the door. You’re used to being on your own but now it seems so scary. What if that man comes back? Bucky says he ran off, that means he’s still out there. You blow out at the ceiling as you lean your head back; just another problem. 

Your mind shifts to him. To Bucky. The man that saved you. It only sets in then that it’s been the nicest day you’ve had in a while, outside the break-in. You can separate the day from the night in that regard. 

It isn’t just nice to have food in your tummy, but you forgot what it’s like to have someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t your doctor or a government admin bartering about your stipend. Not only that, but the way he looked at you. So intent, as if he truly could care for a stranger like you. As if someone broken could ever be special. 

What are the odds he would like that noodle shop too? You suppose it’s rather popular. A coincidence can be just that. Maybe for once luck is on your side. You want to believe that but it’s just so hard to accept. You lost faith in it so long ago. 

You sidle down and ease yourself across the mattress. It feels good to just be still. You close your eyes and long for a hot soak. Showers are nice but you can’t stand for very long and the shower seat has the water spraying over you so that it feels cold. 

You languish across the thin bed but don’t sleep. Even if your hip wasn’t screaming in agony, your mind won’t settle. You might just have to take one of those pills Dr. Grissam prescribed. 

You keep the light on with little mind to the electric bill. You can’t sleep without it. You keep the curtains drawn and each time you wake with a start, you drag yourself up to check that the door is still locked. You give in to consciousness as a headache thrums behind your brow. 

As much as your fear keeps you up, you know it’s the bed too. Each night gets harder. What else can you do? You don’t have any better options. The floor would surely only leave you utterly helpless. 

You have a cup of the new tea. It’s just as delicious as at the noodle shop. You bask in its warmth until the very bottom of the cup. When it’s all gone, you stretch the way the physio showed you, and move around with your cane. You still find that awkward. 

You go out to check the mail, nervous at opening the door. The alley way is empty and quiet but for the noise of the upstairs neighbours. You pull the single envelope out of the dented mailbox and retreat. Thunk, thunk, you’re certain that both locks are firmly in place. 

You know by the stamp what it is. It’s your stipend. You’ll have to go cash it. You keep everything in bills. You can’t afford the bank fees for an account. Another journey outside. 

You tuck the check into your bag and get dressed. You wear a loose pair of cargo pants and a tee shirt with daisies on it. Your clothes are outdated and worn. You feel even more invisible when you walk past the stylish women on the streets with their stilettos and designer purses. It’s all just another fantasy you’ve let go of. 

You head off, your gait even more off-kilter than usual. It isn’t the joint that troubles you today but your anxiety. The pain is tolerable, as neutral as it can be, but that worry in your head won’t calm. You keep your free hand on your bag and clack your cane in time with your feet. 

The bank isn’t very far. You join the queue inside and lean on the cane as you pull out the check in anticipation. Your heart drops as you see the amount. It’s less than last month. A whole hundred dollars less... 

Why? You should’ve read the letter with it. You’re dumb. You’ll have to call the municipal office again. Hopefully, this time they don’t send you to hold and waste all your minutes.  

You step up and try not to show your disappointment. You get your money in a slim brown envelope and thank the teller. You head off to figure out what to do, if there’s anything to be done. 

You walk past a new stand and slow as you recognise a face on the glossy cover of a magazine. It’s Bucky. Huh. He really is famous. You shift to face the shelves and lean in as you see yourself in a smaller frame with him. Oh gosh, you look feeble next to him. 

The big bold letters scream out the question, ‘who?’ and proclaim you as a ‘mystery girl’ as others ponder if you’re a charity case. Is Bucky Barnes giving back again? Visiting with one of the many civilians he’s saved from danger? The truth is much less flattering. 

You peer up as the clerk watches you. As he approaches, you turn and quickly limp off. That’s so embarrassing. 

You can’t worry about it. You have a lot more than some clueless reporters to figure out. How in the hell are you going to afford to live? 

Bucky 

He watches her through the lens. She empties out her cupboards, the meagre pantry spread out on her counter. She makes note on the small pad, the same one she used to write him the thank you note. The one he keeps in his chest pocket. 

She drops the pen and huffs. She leans her elbows on the counter and holds her head in her hands as she bends forward. The last few days, she’s been grim. He wish he could be there but he’s stuck at this stupid fucking training. Something about lethal force and when to use it. As if he doesn’t know. 

“Hey,” Sam whispers without looking over, “stop texting your girlfriend.” 

“I’m not,” he counters and blacks the screen, hiding the cell in his lap. “She’s not my girlfriend...” 

“Not yet,” his partner laughs, “one day, right, bud?” 

“Quiet, I’m listening,” Bucky nods to the front of the room. 

“Sure,” Sam scoffs. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and clutches his phone tight. He’s antsy as all he can think about is her. What’s wrong? Something’s happened and he can’t figure it out. 

Fuck it. He flips his phone, keeping it against his thigh as he frames it with his hand. He unlocks the screen with his thumbprint and she appears again. Her shoulders are shaking as she’s wracked with sobs. Shit. He can’t just sit here listening to this nonsense. 

He stands up without thinking and slides his phone into his back pocket. Agents look at him and the suit giving the lecture pauses. Bucky doesn’t hesitate. 

“Emergency,” he states with a wave of his metal hand. No one protests his weak excuse. Not when they see that. 

He steps around Sam’s chair as he makes no effort to move out of his way. He lurches it with a scrape and huffs at his deliberate obstacle. Sam makes a noise but doesn’t resist. Bucky quickly marches out without looking back. He has to get back to her. Now. 

The helicopter ride isn’t fast enough. Bucky is restless and barely able to sit. The pilots tell him several times to do so. At last, he gets off and hurries across the tarmac. There is only his mission; her. 

He zips off on his motorcycle, weaving through traffic recklessly, until he has the mind to reel it in at a red light that nearly sends him spinning. He stops and plants his feet. He pulls on his helmet and curses himself. He’s no good to her all beaten up. 

He tries to measure his impatience but he’s never been very good at that. He can see her sobbing in his head. It makes his chest rent. He veers into the alleyway, his motor echoing, and dying as he twists the ignition. He tears the key out and kicks the stand down. 

He charges at the door then stop short. What is he doing? Shit. It’s too late. He sees the curtain stir. No doubt she heard him coming. He cringes and his treads scuff with his weight. 

She opens the inside door and peers out. He can see the dampness on her cheeks, her eyes are still swollen. She must’ve been crying this whole time. Something is seriously wrong. 

“Hey,” he says dumbly with an even dopier smile. 

“What--” she mops her face with her bare hands. She doesn’t have her cane, instead she hunches to one side. “What are you doing here?” 

“You know, I realised I never got your number and I was in the neighbourhood so...” 

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have any time on my phone,” she sniffles then winces. She lowers he eyes and shakes her head, “I’m sorry. I’m... I’m dealing with some stuff.” 

“Oh, I... well, I was in the mood for ice cream--” 

“I can’t--” she snaps and stops herself, slapping her hand across her mouth. Her eyes round through the black iron grating and suddenly she’s staggering. Her leg crumples under her and she lands on her hip with a worrying crash. “Ow!” 

“Oh god,” he exclaims. It’s all his fault. He didn’t think. Why didn’t he think?! “Are you--” He grabs the handle but the outer door is still locked. Whatever. He breaks it easily and reams it open, “are you okay?” 

He drops to his knee and touches her arm. She’s trembling. 

“No,” she babbles as she covers her face with one hand, her other arm shaking as she keeps herself propped up. “No, I’m not okay! I can’t-- I can’t go for ice cream because I can’t-- I can’t walk that far. And I can’t-- I don’t even have two dollars to spend on a scoop—and--”  

He can hear her heart hammering as it all spills out of her. She’s been holding it in for so long, he can feel it roiling off of her. He knows better than anyone she needs this. 

“Please go away!” She keeps her face hidden behind her hand, “I’m a loser. Please. I can’t-- I don’t want you to see me like this.” 

His breath is completely gone. He feels like he’s been punched in the chest. He can’t bear to see her in so much pain. He’s sat and watched for so long. He can’t do it any more, just like she can’t. 

“You’re not... a loser,” he says as he rubs her shoulder, “I don’t think that at all. You’re stronger than anyone I know. You’re stronger than me.” 

“You don’t know me,” she rips her hand away at last, her eyes sparkling with tears and pain. “How would you know?” 

“I can see it. Right now. But you don’t have to hide it. You don’t have to send me away. You don’t have to be embarrassed. You shouldn’t be,” he drawls gently, “you’re not broken.” 

“I am,” she pushes herself to lean forward on her own weight and hangs her head, “I’m all messed up. No one cares about me. They just think I’m a burden. I'm lazy and useless.” 

“I don’t--” 

“You don’t know--” 

“I do,” he insists, “I’ve been where you are. I--” He looks down and retracts his hand. His own heart is pounding.  

He sits back on his heel and unzips his jacket. He slips his hand up his shirt and feels along his chest and shoulders. He finds the release and pushes, hooking his fingers until the weight drops off. His arm lands by his knee with a metallic noise. She gasps. 

“I know you,” he repeats as he watches her, more terrified than he’s ever been. 

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Chapter 7)

summary: you wake up to the harsh realities of your new life, and realize that your lover is terrible at keeping promises.

rating: E

word count: 5.9k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. angst, abandonment issues, impulsive reader, alcohol abuse and using alcohol to take advantage of someone, visual depiction of violence, blood/vampire bites, smut, oral (f! and m! receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, praise kink, blood as an aphrodisiac, light choking. full list on ao3

new update every friday!

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I was given a heart before I was given a mind

A thirst for pleasure and war, a hunger we keep inside

We fell from sky with grace, and life gave us a sweeter taste

You can drink, you can feast

There's beauty in your beast

-

Pain.

Raw, gut-wrenching, agonising pain.

Your awakening into your undead life is nothing like your last moments alive. Where your death had been bliss, lulled to eternal sleep as you were still basking in the aftermath of your climax, your rebirth is violent. Every bone in your body hurts as you suddenly regain consciousness, not with a new breath, but rather a monstrous hunger. Your vision is red, and there’s a faint metallic aftertaste in your mouth that you yearn for, as a churning in your stomach makes you twist in agony. It’s even worse than what you had gone through during the days spent in your cell; claws ripping you from within, an urge to devour anything and everything on your path, a never ending pit inside you, it’s–

“Shh, you’re alright my love. There, there, drink.”

Someone’s arm surrounds your shoulders, keeping you sat, as a cup is brought to your lips, and you do just as the voice commands; drink, until there's not one drop left. You go through its contents as if it was the air you needed to breathe. Whatever it is, you want more. You need more. It’s barely enough to keep the pain at bay, lest satisfy your hunger. The air around you is suffocating you; you need to get out, need to fix the pain. You fight through the hold the person has on you, as you muster a rough “more”.

“Aren't you a hungry little pet?” The voice speaks up again, less distant than it was before your first drink. “Hm, I suppose you deserve it for going through this. You've been so very brave.”

He turns around to fill the cup once more, and as you force yourself to take a deep breath, you smell the unmistakable scent of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy. The aroma brings you a familiar comfort, and you don’t know what it is about the voice, but it soothes you. Even though you can’t quite put a name on it yet, you feel secure, and you stop fighting the man’s embrace. When you’re finally calm, he brings another cup to your lips, only to pull it away when you try to grab it.

“Ah ah! Careful now, this is your last one for the time being. You'll have to learn to control yourself.”

You growl as you reach for the cup, violently gulping as you drain it dry and lick your lips for any remains of the cup’s content. Although the cup felt big in your hands, it also felt as if it was barely filled. You drank the liquid in mere seconds and, surprisingly enough, it was all you needed to ease the unbearable pain you woke up in. The world gets clearer, the ringing in your ears tones down; you’re finally able to make out where you are and who’s holding you. 

Your beloved, your Lord, your creator. 

You’re glad to see that, as promised, he stayed by your side, and he’s taken care of feeding you. With you calm at last, Astarion takes the empty cup from your hand to leave it on your nightstand, before bringing his attention back to you.

“How is my precious consort faring?”

“I… I’m fine now,” you clutch down at your stomach, noticing that the hunger was gone as fast as it appeared. “Thank you.”

“Of course, little love.” He smiles down at you. “And It’ll only get better, I promise.” He kisses the top of your head before you lay your head against his chest, still wrapped between his arms, as he strokes your hair. “Try to rest for now, you'll need all the strength you can get.” His voice sounds like a lullaby, a soft melody that brings you the warmth you had lost within.

Someone knocks at the door, and you can’t quite make out what they say in a rush – something about a shipment – or even who they are, but they sound alarmed. They didn’t even bother to wait for an answer before barging into your room. Whatever he says has Astarion pull away from you too soon, leaving you alone in bed in a disgruntled state; barely covered by the satin night dress you wore the night before, with your messy hair all over the place and blood tainting your chin.

“I need to attend to some matters that I’m afraid I can’t leave unchecked, I’ll do my best to take care of it as fast as possible.” He says, his tone back to its cold, methodical self, as he stands in front of your mirror, straightening his jacket and fixing his hair, making sure the reflection before him was the depiction of perfection, before turning to you. “Can I trust you to be on your best behaviour?”

You frown in disbelief before turning your gaze away from him, pensive. 

He’s already leaving. He promised… 

He walks back towards you, noticing your disappointment, and bends over the bed to take your chin between his fingers. He brings you closer to him once more and wipes away the blood remaining at the corner of your lips with his thumb. 

“Come on now, my treasure. Don’t you want to be wonderfully obedient for me? I promise, I will be back before supper.”

There was something about the way he looked at you, the way his voice resonated in your mind long after he stopped talking, how he held you just right. Something about being his; body and soul. He knew just how to act towards you to make you surrender to him. Your walls break down and you nod, caving into his demands. You trusted him enough to take your life, you could extend your trust a bit more, he’s not going to abandon you now, right?

He licks his thumbs, tasting the leftover blood and hums. “That’s my girl.” 

As his hand sneaks into the base of your hair to pull you into him, you part your lips to welcome his lips embracing yours. He lightly pulls at your hair to tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and you melt into his embrace. Should you still have the need to breathe, the air would’ve left your lungs in this instant. He parts from you, admiring the state he put you in one last time as a smirk appears on his lips, before leaving your room without another word. Supper was hours away still, so this would give you time to do anything you wanted, and you were free to roam the palace after all – it was as much his as it was yours now – and with your new nature, you couldn’t risk going outside with the blazing sun, unless you wanted an awfully painful death. 

You quickly pick and put on a casual dress from your wardrobe for the day and start your research within the palace. As expected, the kitchen only has food meant for the living. All of it extorted disgust out of you now, the smell alone made you retch, putting an end to your search of this part of the building almost as soon as it started. You walk down the hallways, opening any door that wasn't locked to give it a peak, out of the mere chance that it contains anything remotely interesting for you to discover, only to be faced with empty rooms, for the most part. To your despair, all things that could’ve been worth your attention were locked and out of reach behind a single door that remained locked. When you ask Amedee about it, she only mentions that, “some places are only meant for the Master’s eyes''. You don't notice the day go by as you search every nook and cranny of the palace waiting for Astarion’s return; from the biggest room to the lowest dungeons. You have never been more frustrated as your search ended, tired and anxious, and with nothing to speak for it.

When you go back to your room, defeated, you notice the sun had set, and yet, Astarion was still nowhere to be seen. On your very first day as a vampire, in the very first instant of your transformation, he left you to fend for yourself, breaking one of the only three rules you had instated. A familiar impulsive idea crosses your mind, and without the Lord of the house to stop you, you pick a dark cape, along with some gold from his office and leave for the nearest tavern. This is where you would drink away your pain back in your living days, the thought of experiencing this again is comforting after the day you had.

“My Lady? Where are you going?”

As you make your way to the exit, your personal servant intercepts you.

“It would be better for you not to get involved, Amedee.” You keep walking until she moves in front of you, blocking your path.

“Far be it from me to contradict you, but the Master explicitly requested for you not to leave the palace!”

“I’ll follow the Master’s demands when he respects mine!” You push her aside to make it to the door when she grabs your wrist, stopping you right before the door.

“I would really advise you against it please–!”

When you look back at her, it’s with a boiling anger in your eyes, an anger that should be directed towards Astarion, you remind yourself, not her. She’s just following his orders, you tell yourself, preventing yourself from acting irrationally towards her.

“Amedee, I don't want to hurt you. Let me go, now.” Your words are gentle, but your voice sounds like a warning.

She looks at you with eyes pleading with you to stay, “I’m sorry my Lady, but I can’t let you go. He ordered it.” Her grip on you tightens and you understand the implication of her words. As much as you had appreciated her recent company, it was going to take you more to stop you from falling back into your old habits.

“I’m sorry too.”

Before she can react, you flip your arm around, making her twist in pain, before knocking the back of her head with your elbow, effectively knocking her unconscious. You look at Amedee with a pain in your chest, before walking out, slamming the door on your way out.

You had no intention of following anyone’s orders.

—

The tavern you reach is filled with mostly men, of all ages and all races, and in the past, chances are you would’ve bedded one – or a few – of them after a couple of drinks, but that wasn’t your goal this time. Your intention tonight is to get wasted, absolutely and utterly hammered, and you don't intend on leaving until you can’t walk properly; this was always your go-to to deal with high emotions, and it's not death that was going to change your ways. What you didn’t yet know was that your new vampiric powers made you unable to get inebriated. Not on alcohol, anyway. So you drink – for almost an hour – and the more you take, the worse it tastes, but you feel absolutely nothing. That’s until a charming, young tiefling approaches you.

“Let me offer you something more convenient for a lady like you.”

He smelled delicious. 

Your bitter attitude quickly makes place for a pleasant smile, “What would you suggest?”

“How about some plum wine?” He orders two cups for the both of you and cheers before taking a first sip. You imitate the gesture only to grimace behind your cup. Just like the previous beers you’ve had, this drink is simply sour. Nothing would ever taste good anymore. Nothing, aside from whatever this tiefling had on him, Gods, the smell was simply intoxicating. It was almost unbearable to keep drinking this piss for wine when he was right there, hiding away that sweet nectar from you.

That’s when you get an idea. A terrible one.

“This is… nice, but I’m more the kind of girl who enjoys stronger drinks.”

“Oh? Is that so?” He leans closer to you. “Tell me, what’s your poison of choice?”

“Only if you promise to share a bottle with me.” Your voice is lustful and your hand easily finds its way on his thigh.

He smiles lustfully, “I think I might be tempted.”

You’re surprised by your ease to charm the man. You might’ve bedded countless strangers in the past, it usually took you at least two bottles of wine to get touchy with strangers, let alone get near them at all. This realisation gives you a sudden confidence boost and you find yourself getting closer to the tiefling, and open up your cape to reveal the plunging neckline of your dress which highlights your generous chest. You know your action has the desired effect when you notice him biting his lower lip at the sight of your breasts, unable to look elsewhere.

With the man now completely enchanted by you, you take a step further to secure your catch of the night. You order “the strongest drink you have” from the server, and you start drinking along. As the bottle gets close to empty, the tiefling grows more and more inebriated, while you are as fresh as the moment you stepped in. With the bottle almost empty, you throw some gold over the counter and whisper in his ear “let’s take this party somewhere else”, before grabbing him by the wrist to guide him out of the tavern. You don’t make it that far, as your thirst was guiding your every step and it was only growing stronger. 

At the next corner, you pull him into an alley far from any scurrying eyes and abruptly pin him to the wall with your newfound strength.

His eyes widened in surprise, “Hells lady, I didn’t take you for a woman of experience.”

Poor guy, if only he knew.

He was barely able to hold his own weight, he looked downright pathetic next to a creature of such power as you. You take one, long sniff at him, taking in his aroma; he smells of plum, peaches, and bergamot, and unlike the food from earlier that reeked, the fruity notes he wore were as pleasant as you remember it from your living. Before long, you cover his mouth with one hand, tilting his head away, and dive your fangs into his neck in one swift movement. The moment his blood hits your mouth, relief overcomes you, finally indulging in the drink you didn’t know you had been waiting for all night. This man’s life be damned, you needed this, and you couldn’t handle any more teasing.

You feel him trying to scream and fight his way out of your hold, but it's no use; as every sip you take makes you stronger, and him weaker.

And you drink, and drink, and drink, until he's limp and you can't feel any more of the warm liquid coming from his neck.

You finally understand how Astarion felt that night he first drank from you. You're happy. Ecstatic, even, but a bit drunk. That was a lot of blood for your first time, but it was perfect to satisfy you. You feel as if you could take on an entire army by yourself, finally, strong once again, stronger than you’ve ever been.

It’s only as you pull back and the tiefling’s corpse falls to your feet that the weight of your actions dawns on you, taking you out of your blind confidence. A sudden panic rises in your chest when you realise what you’ve done, and you backtrack out of the alley, until you accidentally bump into someone.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

That’s when you recognize the familiar voice, and you freeze in place, hardly believing it at first. You wipe off your mouth with the back of your hand, hoping to get rid of any evident trace of your feeding before turning around to face the voice.

“Shadowheart?”

She steps back in shock when she recognizes you as well, choking back a sob as she smiles, before she rushes to embrace you tightly. You reach out slowly to hold her back, still processing the shock of her presence. You’re confused by your own reaction, shouldn’t you be happy to finally see her again? Why were you… afraid?

She finally pulls back, after what feels like an eternity, to take a look at you. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“I… sent you a letter,” your voice is quiet with hesitation.

She sighs, “Ah, I just got back to Baldur's Gate, I’m afraid I haven’t received it – where were you?!” She reaches out to cup your face when her smile is replaced by worry almost instantly. “By Selûne, you’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you try to brush it off, reaching out to pull her hand away from your face almost in disdain, when you see her eyes flash in horror.

“You’re hurt!” She exclaims as she grabs your bloodied hand to inspect it. “Who did this to you? Are you in danger?”

“I’m not hurt!” You raise your voice, snatching your hand away from her forcefully, and in the lighting of the full moon, that’s when she sees your eyes. 

Your brand new, ruby red eyes.

She gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth as she takes a step back, connecting the pieces together in horror.

“Gods, no… what did he do to you?…”

You pull your cape back over your head as you avoid her gaze. “He didn’t do anything… I did. I asked him to transform me.”

“But why would you?! After everything you told me… what could make you change your mind? What did he say that could possibly make you do…” She pauses, looking you up and down, “this?”

You shake your head, “I–” The words get stuck in your throat, unable to explain to her what had happened just the day before. “I don’t expect you to understand, but–”

“You’re right, I don’t.” She says, cutting you off. “You do realise that the last time we saw each other, you wanted to forget about him? You considered leaving the city, with me.” She reaches out for your hands and looks for your eyes. “Nothing is stopping you from doing it, you can still run away from this, from him–”

“I don’t need protection!” You growl, snatching your hand out of hers as you back away. ”He’s helping me.”

“Whatever for?!”

You pause just before the answer makes it to your lips, as you realise just what you’ve become, and your face softens as you speak up. Your voice is but a whisper as your eyes fall to the ground before you. “Revenge.”

She scoffs, “You really do make quite the pair.” She sighs heavily, now shaking her head. “You’ve made your choice, clearly there’s no stopping you, but… I won’t stand here and watch you go down that path.” She looks up to you with sad eyes as she backtracks. “I hope you find whatever it is that you're looking for, truly.”

With those last words, she turns and slowly walks into the noisy tavern without giving you another look, leaving you alone with your thoughts in this empty street.

You, your thoughts, and the body of the man you had just killed.

Shit. The body.

You suddenly remember your actions and go back into the alley to do your best attempt at hiding him away – which turned out to shove him inside a barrel that you hid behind more boxes – before running away to the Crimson palace.

—

As you step back into the palace, you’re instantly faced with Astarion who had seemingly been pacing around the entrance, belittling Amedee, who was awake once more, for what you assume was letting you get out of the palace. He becomes furious the second he sees you, speaking up as he rushes towards you. 

“Where were you?”

“As if you cared.” You brush him off, walking past him as you make your way to your room, when he puts his arm in the way to stop you and lean over you.

“Believe it or not, I was extremely worried,” he says, his voice darkened.

“You don’t need to be! I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, all thanks to you.” You taunt him, trying to move away from his intimidating form, but he cages you under him.

“Do I need to remind you who is out there?” He almost shouts, lowering his voice to continue. “You were supposed to stay here, where you are safe, and you deliberately ignored my only command.”

“You can give orders to your other spawns, but don’t get to command me, remember?”

He growls under his breath, “You’re making this very difficult for me, pet.”

“I’m not your fucking pet!” 

As you roar, Amedee and a tiefling spawn you recognize from your days in the dungeons move carefully towards you, with the intention to restrain you, but they stop in their tracks when Astarion raises his hand to them.

His attention remains on you, but something changes in his eyes, his tone becoming suddenly cold, “Don’t make me compel you now.”

“Why don’t you try.” You push him backwards as you say your last words, and he barely moves, only stepping back to keep his balance. “Go on! Break yet another one of your promises. Compel me.”

He looks up to the two spawns, commanding them. “Leave us.”

They look back at each other before the tiefling tries to speak up, “My Lord, are you sure–”

“Now!” He shouts.

They bow and quickly leave the hallways, leaving you both alone. When he looks back at you, he seems more composed, but just as stern as before. “As much as I want to, I won't control you.” He stands upright once again, taking a deep breath. “I will respect your wishes, as difficult as it may be.”

“It seemed rather easy for you to abandon me merely minutes after I awoke as a monster,” you spit out.

He sighs, “It hurts me so dearly when you see yourself as such. My darling, you are so much more than that, and so much greater than a mere spawn.” He pauses, his gaze piercing through you. “No, you are my consort.”

You get more frustrated by the mention of the title, as if being his most beloved spawn changed a thing. You continue, your voice slowly rising, “I am not your prized possession, and I will not let you treat me as such. I should be free to do as I wish.”

“We spoke about this, dear. Circumstances changed. Once that’s settled, I would gladly let you parade in the lively streets of Baldur’s Gate as much as your heart desires.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. “It isn’t as much parading as it is haunting when night comes.” Your anger leaves room for despair. How you had gotten there, how you had let yourself be guided by the simple means of revenge… “I should’ve known better than to trust you.”

He leans over you, stopping barely inches apart from your face, his breath hot as he murmurs against your ear.

“I did exactly what I promised I would do; I shared my gifts with you.” He grabs you by your chin, pulling a gasp out of you as he forces you to look at him when he growls, “And I intend on showing you exactly what I mean.”

You don’t get to react as he grabs you by your wrist and walks away, pulling you along with him. When you walk past your room and approach the door to the dungeons, a dread starts to set in within you.

“Astarion, where are you taking me?” He ignores your question as he keeps walking, and you try to pull away only to feel his grip on you becoming tighter. “Astarion, answer me!”

Your fear is replaced by confusion, as you walk past the dungeons, and enter a room you’d never been in before: the only room you noticed was locked earlier. As he drags you inside, you observe that it highly resembles yours, aside from the gigantic mirror placed near the bed. 

He slams the door shut behind you and locks it, before walking back to you, “I never, ever, want you to think of yourself as nothing less than a goddess. Do you hear me?” You back track until you hit the wall on the other end of his room and his arms fly to the side of your head, caging you under him. His aura is dark, possessive, and not a single coherent thought inhabits you when lowers himself, leaving but a breath between you two. “I said, do you hear me?”

“Y-yes.”

“You – are sublime.” You blink anxiously, and you swear you could feel your face grow warm from his words. They were said with such admiration, yet his tone was bordering on madness; you had never felt so incredibly small under him. “Let me show you how I mean to worship you.”

As soon as the last words leave his lips, he removes the cape from your shoulders, before ripping your dress open, completely ruining it. As you stand almost bare before him, he notices the blood on your pale skin, and he smiles as he reaches out for your hand.

“Oh? Did my little treat have a treat of her own?” he purrs, licking the blood from your hand, and a sinister chuckle escapes him. “Poor bastard probably had it coming. Tell me, dear, how did it feel?” His tongue trails from your hand, along your arm, up to your shoulder, leaving a faint kiss there before whispering. “To take a life?”

A short puff of air escapes you, before you manage to speak up. “It was… terrifying… and exhilarating… all at once.” You didn’t need to breathe anymore, but it didn’t stop your breathing to become fast paced as he continued to kiss your body, down to your navel.

“What about his blood? Tell me exactly how he tasted.” He pulls your panties down painfully slowly, as he sinks to his knees, while staring right into your eyes as he waits on you.

“He was… sweet. We had plum wine right before– ah–!” His hand finds its way between your legs, slipping right between your lips to find the accumulation of your desire. “Astarion…”

“Don’t let me stop you, dear. I want to know every sordid detail.” His fingers continue their rumination, encouraging you to retell your experience. “Go on.”

“We– we had wine, plum wine, and I could taste it in his blood.” You struggle to complete your sentences; between having Astarion on his knees before you and him  fingering you, it was difficult not to. “He– Gods, he tasted like peaches, and– and bergamot–”

“Bergamot, huh?” He interrupts you. “Even when you’re looking to get away, it seems as if your senses bring you right back to me, don’t they?” A small cry escapes you as his fingers enter you, picking up a languid rhythm. 

“I wasn’t– mmh– I… wasn’t looking to get away from y– you. I– ahh…” You try to grab onto the wall for support, as your legs start to give out while his fingers coax your inner walls, and his thumb teases ever so slightly your sensitive bud. ”I was mad at you.”

He removes his fingers, dipping them into his mouth to taste you, “Mhh, I suppose I deserve that. I promise, I will absolutely treat you with the utmost attention moving forward.” He places his face between your legs, and pushes your legs over his shoulders, his arms circling over your thighs, giving you the support you need to stay up. “Starting now.”

He dives right into your cunt, his skilled tongue lapping over the mess he made of you. He growls against your entrance, as he tongue-fucks you, and his nose provides a delicious friction over your clit. You reach out for his head, grabbing onto his silver curls for support, and you feel him roar between your legs, the vibration sending a delicious wave of electricity through you. You buck your hips against his face, chasing the relief his tongue was providing you, while your moans only grow louder and louder.

In this position, he couldn't say much, but you begged him nonetheless, “Astarion, please, don’t stop.”

There’s nothing but him in your mind, him and his devilish tongue working wonders. 

“Believe me, I want nothing but to ravish you, my dear.”

You look down on him with a frown, not understanding how he was able to speak so clearly when he was very much drowning in your juices. Breathless, you ask, “What– How did you–”

“Our minds, little love.” He answers in your mind, without ever stopping his labour of love. “Our bond is stronger than the one of regular spawns. They can only receive commands, but you, as my dark consort, can communicate back and forth with me.”

You remain silent, processing this new information, when you see his eyes looking back at you, still ravishing you. “I told you you were special.”

“But how–”

“You’ve already opened yourself to me, now, reach out to my mind.”

You close your eyes, focusing on his presence; his hands firm over your thighs, his soft curls brushing against your skin, his tongue devouring you, his nose teasing your clit, pushing you towards the edge…

“Oh, Astarion…”

“There you are, my precious darling.” He pulls away and gets up just as you were getting to your peak, and you whine at the loss of his touch, as if he took away the very air you needed to breathe. The smile that appears on his lips as he caresses your cheek is devious, almost cruel.

“Tsk tsk, only good girls get their reward. You want to be very good for me, don't you?” You nod vigorously and he smiles, wickedly. “I thought so.”

He removes his trousers, finally freeing the raging erection he was keeping caged within, to sit just over the edge of the bed. He brings his thumb to his mouth and punctures it with his fang, before smearing his own blood all over his leaking cock. 

“Time for your treat, darling.”

Your legs finally give out and you crawl your way to him, enchanted by the sight before you. You recognize the smell of his blood from earlier; that was the liquid you drank this morning. He had fed you his very own blood. 

Had he made you…

A full vampire?

“Come, now. Aren't you eager to taste me?”

The sight of his cock brought water to your mouth; the way his precome mixed with his blood made it glint in the light of the fireplace, your hand barely circling around his impressive girth, and the veins adorning it made for a delicious treat. You open your mouth, with your tongue sticking out, and lick from the bottom of his shaft up to the head of it, closing your eyes as you taste the sinful mix of his fluids.

The blood from your earlier catch was good, but it was nowhere near comparable to the delectable nectar Astarion bestowed upon you. This was downright heavenly. 

“Mmh, doing so well for me, pet. My sweet, sweet consort.”

You're not sure if it's because of the taste of his blood on your tongue, mixed along with his sweet praise, but you find yourself more lenient on the pet name you previously disliked. Somehow, it was growing on you, and you weren't sure how to feel about it, but in your lust-drunken state of mind, the name rolled beautifully on his tongue. 

Softly, he pushes aside your hair falling over your face, holding it back as you finally take him in your mouth. When you look up to him, you find him admiring you with half-lidded eyes, and his mouth agape. The moans that leave his mouth encourages you to go further, and with each mouthful of him, you take him deeper down your throat, until your lips are flush against the base of his cock.  

“Keep going,” he breathes out. “Gods, you feel, aah– amazing.” To know that you had reduced the mighty Vampire Lord to whimpers fueled a newfound confidence within you, and it pushes you to suck more fervently on his dick, “Yes, just like that, pet. Fuuuck, darling, I should've fucked your pretty little mouth earlier.”

You bring your hand to his shaft, twisting and sliding along its length with each thrust of your mouth, while your other hand cups his balls, softly squeezing them in your palm. His hips thrust upwards into your mouth, almost moving of their own accord as he was nearing his climax.

“Are you ready to taste me, love?” You look up to him, and using your bond you answer “yes, please”. The corner of his lips turn back into a smile. “That's my good little girl.”

It's not long before he groans as you feel his cock throbbing inside your mouth, releasing his hot, salty seed down your throat, and you swallow every single drop. Maybe if I'm really good, he'll let me taste his blood again, you think to yourself.

You suck on his hardness a few more times through his climax, making sure to clean it from any remaining blood or come. When he stills, taking a second only to catch his breath, you finally release his dick with a loud pop, looking up to him with pride and lust in your eyes. 

He leans towards you, catching your face between his hands to crash your lips together, and you open your mouth, welcoming his tongue begging to taste himself on you. When he pulls back, a trail of your mixed saliva hangs between the two of you, and as he wipes it off from your lips with his thumb, he smears more of his blood on your face. You stick your tongue out trying to taste more, the scent alone driving you to the border of insanity.

“You've been so good to me, my sweet. Now,” he gets up, pulling you up on your feet again. “Let me show you what it means to be my consort. To be mine.”

You yelp as he takes you in his arms before throwing you on the bed, and climbs over you. Nothing could've prepared you for what came next, when he flipped you onto your belly, and pulled you back up by your throat.

“Look at yourself.”

Before you stood the large mirror you had ignored up until now, and in it, your very own reflection, along with Astarion's. You can't believe your eyes. Clearly you weren't a spawn, he told the truth all along, but then…

“What… am I?”

He leaves kisses over your shoulder, slowly making his way to your ear. “My beautiful consort. My precious little love. My greatest creation.” He leans over your shoulder, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispers. 

“My bride.”

-

Come on, and feel alive, lover

Come on, and feel the love like a sinner

Shout it louder, shout it for the ones who could never say

I won't feel ashamed, mother

Can you break the chains off her?

Shout it louder, not a sinner, she's a lover

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil

[reasaph]

"I don't believe in God, but I believe that your my savior."

Soshiro Hoshina x Suicidal Fem Reader!

Summary: (name) a person with no beliefs, no reason and will to live gets hospitalized after another attempt. There, she meets hoshina soshiro and she's been looking forward to waking another morning since.

TW:mention of death, reader got hospitalized for attempting, mention of bedrotting.

Title is from the song "sailor song" by Gigi Perez!

Part 2!

You and Soshiro talked for hours, the cans of the coffee he's got you both long forgotten and moist. To say they were the most comfortable hours of your life wouldn't be an exaggeration. Your sure hes got you hooked. Humbly, you ask anyone; be it fate or any god. You wish, you beg, you 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 to whoever in charge to extend the hours with him. One minute more to bask in his presence, thats it. You've never desired something so much that you decided to pray. That was something you never thought you'd do. You didnt dwell your whole personality on just a mere belief. But he's got you on your knees, hands claspped with eyes screwed shut, asking for another more minute.

"So so, what d'ya do you think the doctors here do on their free time?" A silly and deranged question. From the short time you'd spend with him, not even a day Long, you had keeped count of those incoherent questions of his. You dont know if he was doing it On purpose, but those questions are the ones That sat you here on this bench fo hours.

"well, This is a tiring job. So they'd probably want as much rest, right?"

"Probably, Your right. I like to think they gossip about patients."

"Thats completely unprofessional."

He laughs. You laugh to, and you dont evem realize it. The vibrating echo of Your laughter didnt sound forced this time, it didn't need to be ripped and snatched out of your throat. It was sincere, you could say it would only be with him. This is new, clutching your stomach in futile attempt to control the laughs that keep escaping, incredibly new. You dont even know what your laughing at anymore, you just are. Hoshina had stopped making noise the moment you did. It was his first time hearing someone laugh like that, so raw and free. He could tell your unfamiliar with the sound of your own happiness, it wasnt rocket science. He feels like he'd just unveiled an artifact, so precious even when kept and hidden for centuries. It would mean the world to him if he could keep making you laugh like this. He didn't say anything, he'd be so guilty if he interupped you at your highest.

But all good things must come to an end. You know that the most. Your familliar with the bitterness that comes after everything worth hanging on to. It all seemed to short, even now. The moment Hoshina checked the time, you knew what was coming next, you could smell it a mile away. Yet you still hopped you were wrong, you dont want this conversation to end just yet. You dont want to face everything head on again. That face he made told everything, it screamed 'i have to go' and it wrathed over your chest. You dont want him to go, you dont want to leave the comfortable atmosphere with him. And above all, you dont wanna feel like an empty walking corpse once more. Hoshina turned to face you, a mourning look adorned his features. That was a new expression of his you've witnessed, you've only seen him giddy and silly until now. Now, he looks upset. You know your time with him is over for today.

"Hey, (name), really sorry but I hafta go now. That smug of a doc said I have prescriptions to take." Thats odd, why is he apologizing? Could he perhaps feel the same agony as you? You believe its impossible, but not because you think he doesn't care. Because he cant possibly match the ache in your chest. He cant, for its to much to even put into words. He hasn't even moved from his seat yet you already long to be in his presence again. Hoshina is sad, yes, but you are 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

"Its fine, I really uh— enjoyed talking to you."

"Hey now, dont say it like we wont see each other again. Yer still treating me tomorrow, dont forget about that now. "

"Right."

You guys parted ways after waving goodbye and mumbling 'see you'. The walk back to your hospital room, you felt even more empty and hollow each step your feeble legs took you. Because each step signicates a meter added to the distance between you and him. You dont know where Hoshina is right now, you cant pinpoint his exact location in this big of a hospital and If you could strap a beacon on him, you would. Your chest boils once again, you could feel your lungs close to giving in. It was hell all over again, yet this time, the pain your experiencing is caused by longing. Not because of something so unpleasant, but because of something beautiful. Beautiful, despite being so painful. You pass by many people on the way back, patient and worker alike. You wished you'd pass by a man with a purple bowlcut instead.

You arrived to your own quarters and just collapsit, headfirst on the hospital bed, burrying rour face onto the pillow. It smelled alcholic, to much chemicals used to cleanse it. You inhaled a breath full despite it, the smell left a blazing path in your nostrils, on their way to Polute your lungs. You laid back up right, now met with the pristine material of the crystal white ceiling. Why does every hospital have to be white? Its always so blinding. Not to mention your now having a staring contest with the very source of light in the room, that antagonizing light bulb. It'll turn off automatically at a certain time, but you want it to close now. The darkness was always your comfort, there you were able to lay yourself bare without anyone having to see you.

Your mind wanders back to Hoshina, it seems he put a leash on you as to why you keep thinking about him for more than a normal amount for just a day. You dont wanna be where you cant see him, you wanna hear his sickenly joyous voice and his flashing smile that outshines even the farthest of stars, you wanna talk nonsense with him again, his nonsense never failed to Lift the corners of your mouth to a smile. And you will, tomorrow.

Tomorrow, 8 am. Thats the time you've both agreed upon. Usually, you wouldn't get up until late in the afternoon, just rotting on your bed, the walls would always cave in and the atmosphere was suffocating. You never got up. There was no good reason to, you almost convinced yourself to throw all common sense and self hygiene out the window and just get buried rotting on your bed. Because every time you'd get up, it feels like every misfortune of the whole globe are dumped on your shoulders. It weighs you down, it weighs you back on that sickenly sweet mattress and there you stay there until the next blue moon.

But now, you want to drift to sleep faster and when you wake, your ready to meet Hoshina again. Your so eager to see him, it cant be controlled. His face is the only thing you'd never get tired of. You think its hilarious, you've only met him but you were sure he could mean more. This isn't just some high school crush, your confident about your feelings towards him for you've never felt something this intense your whole uears of living. Not even your longing of death can overrun this feeling. You sew your eyes tight, seeing only pitch black, all this so you could finally sleep and who knows? Maybe even see him in the phantasms of your unconscious state of mind. Thats how low you've stooped. You'll sleep so you can see him faster, you dont like waiting long.

Eventually, you do fall asleep. But not Hoshina. Yes, he's still awake, in his own room, fresh bandages wrapped around his injuries he got from fighting. And yes, if your wondering, hes thinking about you to. He yearns to be in your presence as well, almost as much as you. He doesn't know why. He talks with everyone like that, but he's enjoyed his time with you exceedengly more. Hoshina has been put aside his whole life, all because of his talent and preference for blades over guns. Just because of one measly difference, he was treated differently and looked down upon. But with you, he felt cherished. Its a first for Hoshina to not get judged by first meeting. He doesn't have to train hard or change anything to impress you, it'll come naturally. Hoshina turns around on the matress, facing the window so the ripe rays of the moonlight slapped on his face in result. 'I wants to see her again' was the last thing he talked about before falling asleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Its 6 in the morning and your half awake. You woke up to early, just how excited are you? But its not a good thing that theres still alot of time before the agreed upon time. You just know that the next 2 hours will double tenfold when waiting to see Hoshina again. Your not a morning person, not at all. Your regular routine is not for the faint of heart. If some woke up at 6am, you'd be turning off Your phone and tucking yourself to bed. So your shocked by your eagerness to see him, to the point where you'll try to get better. Your convinced Hoshina has hit you with a pan, because your aacting absolutelyInsane.

You brush your teeth and hair, and thoroughly clean your bruises as to the doctors said. You wonder when you gonna get discharged but thats for later, dear reader. You dread the fact that you have to wear that awful hospital gown again, but alas, it is required. You try to look as presentable as you can. You usually wouldnt bother putting effort in your physical appearance, but you figured it would be nice for once. You were sat on a chair, waiting impatiently like a child waiting for they're treat. You were milimeters close to just turning the Whole building upside down just so you can see Hoshina.

So imagine how excited you were when the clock had acutely hit the digit 8. The minute it did, you were busting out of the room, with your injured leg by the way. The pain had seemingly went away and healed, or it was Just overpowered by your giddyness that your nerves didn't have the space to make up for physical pain. So here you were, dragging yourself across these hallways once again. You passed by that same old lady on a wheel chair that you did yesterday. She gave you a judging face back then, which a wasn't such rare occurrence, you were used to having such glares dumped upon the entirety of your shameful being. But now you wondered if she found any difference, between the walking dead body you were yesterday and the eestatic, hungry, affection driven limp you are now.

Whilst you were rushing like you were catching up to a work deadline, he was enjoying his walk through these glossy, hauntingly white hallways. Taking each step according to the comfort of his legs, hands crossed on the broadness of his chest as he struts the hallway. Soshiro Hoshina has always been scary great at maintaining his composure. Those under his wing back at the third division are well aware of it, they have front row seats to how he switches from acting all goofy to having a stoic face in a matter of miliseconds, they even kidded around about how his control over his expressions is the work of witchcraft. However, don't be fooled by his calm demeanor, he's excited to see you as well. But as Vice-captain, it wouldn't be very ideal to him if he just jogged as fast as he can in patient filled hhallway. Hoshina disciplined himself to the bone, he wont let up now.

After what seemed like an eternity of turning corners and navigating his way through these hallways, Hoshina finally sees sight of the cafeteria. He steps in, and the homogenous smell of the food slaps him in the face. If he was weird enough to concentrate and differentiate the aroma, he probably can guess whats on the menu for today. Hoshina wastes no time in trying to find your presence, your presence in which he couldn't get enough of yesterday. His head startes whipping around, turning left to right, right to left in search of a peek of your appearance. He was baffled to say the least, shocked at the population of the people present here this morning. He wants to see you, asap. He started walking to those with even with the slightest resemblance of what your physical appearance looks like, in hopes that it would be you. He saw someone with the same hair color as yours, kinda fooled him there for a brief second. He just kept circling around the vastful room, so distracted in finding you. He doesn't wanna merely sit down and wait, conclude that your not here yet and he should just sit tight. Scarlet eyes scanned the whole cafeteria, but eyes always had blindspots where they provided no visuals, thats why he didn't notice your presence coming up from his south.

You tapped his shoulder from behind.

He doesn't think hes ever whipped his head back that fast his whole life. Hoshina turned his head so urgently he swears he heard a subtle pop in his neck. Upon seeing the sight of your face, he was 'joyous', actually thats underwhelming what Hoshina was feeling at the moment, he was euphoric. His skin feels like its being roasted and his lungs are short of gas. He feels weird, he doesn't know what to do or what to say so hoshina just stood there agape. You didn't move a muscle either, mouth zipped shut with no intention of letting put any sort of noise in fear that he'd back away. You didn't dare try to make a distance, everything else caved in, nothing else mattered, just the one in front of you. He looked so right, and by that you dont mean he's handsome (although he surely is very attractive). By 'right' you mean you'd never get tired of his appearance.

Hoshina Soshiro, to you, is the finest work of art exhibited in museum of life, the most astounding creation of matter you've laid your eyes upon.

Oh shit, you like him, the Hoshina Soshiro.

[littlefireball]

I know you got a Seongwha and Yeosang request for F**k away the pain. But could you do the others too? Ik that is alot. But I'd like to see those

ahh okay 🤣but let me complete it slowly lol (sometimes im out of inspiration TT)

ᴊʜ|ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴛ (ᴍ)

F**k away the pain series: Yeosang, Seonghwa

ᴀɢᴇɴᴛ ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ x ᴀɢᴇɴᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ|ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.1ᴋ

Masterlist

What was worse than having period pain?You may say, having menstrual cramps during missions in the harsh winter. Fuck, it was so hurt. Despite the excruciating pain, you maintained your composure and remained dedicated to the task at hand.

Now you two stayed in the wooden house, not far from the enemy's base.

"We have to penetrate the enemy's encampment…"Jongho's calm instructions were lost on you as you traced the infiltration route on the map. The pain was too distracting, and you couldn't focus.

"Y/N? Are you even listening?" Jongho's voice broke through your haze, urging you back to the present.

"Huh?What?" you stuttered, feeling embarrassed. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" His brow furrowed, revealing a hint of impatience.

"It's just period pain," you sighed, feeling helpless. The ache surged once more, prompting you to clutch your abdomen, your complexion paling in an instant. "You need to rest," Jongho insisted. "I can handle the mission on my own." "No, I can't let you do that," you protested. "Alright, convince me how you can do it with period pain," Jongho challenged.

You groaned in agony as the pain once again gripped you, feeling as though a sharp blade had sliced through your stomach. He felt a pang of sorrow as he gazed upon your pallid complexion, unable to bring himself to continue speaking harshly.

"But you can't go out in this condition," he stated firmly. The two of you peered out the window. The unforgiving wind and snow raged on, creating a blinding white landscape. "Perhaps once the blizzard subsides, you'll feel better." "Alright." "Don't worry, I'll accompany you on the mission." Jongho hesitated at your words. Oh well, there's no way to carry it out in this weather anyway.

You remained curled up on the sofa, enveloped in the quilt, yearning for warmth to seep into your bones. Alas, the chill persisted, sending shivers down your spine. Perhaps, setting yourself ablaze would be the only solution.

"Still feeling cold?" he inquired. "I'm alright," you replied, attempting to mask your discomfort. "Don't pretend. Let me take care of you," he insisted, draping his coat over your shoulders. His masculine scent enveloped you, causing a fleeting moment of blush to grace your cheeks.

If only you could bask in his fragrance forever.

As he tended to the fire, the flickering flames cast a mesmerizing glow on his handsome features, captivating you entirely. "Do I truly look that handsome?" he teased, catching you off guard with his sudden question, leaving you blushing.

"Who said I am looking at you? I am looking at the fire." You pouted, looking away, not daring to meet his gaze. "Really? I don't mind you falling in love with my face." A mischievous smile danced on his lips as he found your reaction endearing. He took pleasure in teasing others, especially you.

"Feel better now?"You shook your head, the chill still lingering. "Perhaps you should move closer to the fire?" "I would move there if I could." "It's easy." "What?" His arms slid down to your inner knees, lifting you up effortlessly. "See?" He settled you on the ground slowly as if you were fragile goods. "Th─Thank you…" You two were so close, close enough to feel each other breathing. And, you swore that you saw him blush even though it was short-lived.

"Okay, rest well now. I gotta prepare the garment." You nodded in agreement as he ascended the stairs, leaving you in solitude in the parlor. Goodness, he was on the verge of losing composure when he was so near to you. 'Concentrate on the equipment, don't drift off…' He whispered to himself, slowly regaining composure from the recent panic.

Leaning against the wall, you were embraced by the warmth, causing drowsiness to wash over you. The sight returned to the scene of him carrying you in his arms, you could feel his breathing, heart beating, and warmth…Mustering up the courage, you leaned in to kiss his─ wait, why was there a burnt smell? You opened your eyes slowly and found your blanket was burning.

"Jong─Jongho!!" You put out the fire without a second thought, calling out for help. "What happened?" A thud rang as Jongho stormed out of the room, splashing the water in his hand directly on you when he saw the burning blanket. Fortunately, the fire was out but you were all wet.

"Brrrr" A shiver ran down your spine as you sneezed, causing the blood to spill out, leaving you frozen in place. He gazed at you with a sense of helplessness, unable to do anything but let out a heavy sigh. "Damn it…" You felt a wave of embarrassment as you remembered the intimate dream with him. "I'll fetch a towel for you," he said, breaking the silence. The pain once again tortured you since the sneezing and you got colder.

Another sneeze escaped your lips, causing you to shudder. My goodness, this was even more severe than the time you laid on the sofa. "You gotta change your clothes. They all wet." he remarked as he assisted you in drying off. "But first you have to leave the fire." As he dragged you, holding your hand, you winced at the sudden twinge of pain, prompting him to halt. "Did I hurt you? But I don't use too much force." His voice tingled with worries. "It seems to be getting worse…" You rested your head on the back of his hand, trying to catch your breath.

"Is that me causing you like this?Oh gosh, sorry." He knelt before you, a look of concern etched on his face. "What can I do for you?" "I need something hot…" "So, you need hot water?Or…?" "No." You grasped his hand just as he was about to fetch the hot water. "It's useless." "Maybe painkillers?" You tightened your hold, pausing for a moment to collect your thoughts before exhaling deeply. "There is a better and faster way to reduce the pain…" "Hm? What?" "Can…can you…ah nothing!" NO WAY!HOW COULD YOU ASK HIM TO FUCK YOU?YOU WERE JUST PARTNERS BUT NOT COUPLES!

"What?Do you need my dick to help you?" He chuckled, thinking it was only a joke. "But what if I say yes." The two of you shared awkward glances in silence, your faces flushed like ripe tomatoes. "Are you serious…?" Jongho murmured, breaking the silence. "I…I'm not kidding…" You trailed off, biting your lips and lowering your head. You were too shy to ask him to fuck you directly.

"Can you take it?I may not be that gentle." he raised your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his own. "Do me a favor." His lips pressed against yours upon hearing your answer, making your eyes widen in surprise. His tongue delicately danced within your mouth, intertwining and caressing each other's essence, as if two flames melting together, burning with passion and burning their souls.

Your kisses intensified again after he unbuckled his belt. "You have no idea how long I have waited for this." He whispered against your skin as he explored every part of you; first your earlobes, then slowly descending, burying deep in your neck, leaving marks with gentle sucking sounds.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, his erect member was deeply buried between your thighs. "Jjong…" He silenced you with a fervent kiss, causing you to gasp for air as if it had been stolen from your very being. The aroma of his presence enveloped you, overwhelming your every sense. "So that's what you mean you need something hot. It's quite hot indeed." You bit his lips as a non-verbal refute, pouting. He must tease you with this joke afterward.

"Oh, an angry kitten." He bit you back before leaning over you. Your head rested on the hard wooden ground and he knelt in front of you, pulling your pants down but he hesitated once he saw the blood. "Hmm…You can stop if you don't want to." You said with covering your face. "Just wait for a second." You could hear him leave and come back within a minute. You thought he just brought you a cup of water and painkillers as he couldn't accept it. But he gripped your thighs and placed the towel under your hips instead of running away.

"I don't want others to find us making love here." You smacked at his thighs slightly as he let out a smirk while a blush creeped up your face. Sometimes you just wanted him to be silent for the whole day. He guided his member that wrapped a condom up to your entrance, leaning over your body to allow you wrapping your legs around his waist. Both of your fingers intertwined as he eased into you slowly.

You threw your head at the back as the weird sensation washed over you. And Jongho, also, being surrounded by hot blood was not that easy to accept. You two stayed still as a non-verbal adjustment;his size was a bit too big for you and your blood made him feel uneasy. But the pleasure started to take over as time flew.

Jongho found he could move in and out effortlessly, not to mention to reach your sensitive spot. "Oh my god. It feels good." He thrusted in a steady and rhythmic peace, hitting all the right places, not to mention his ball snap into your ass every time. Falling his head into your crook of neck, he brought your arms to wrap around his broad shoulders, allowing him to give you a hard thrust over and over again.

The grip on his nape tightened, causing your nail to dig into his skin, leaving clear marks. He hissed at the pain but he found pleasure among this. Slowly, the pleasure took over both of your minds and you two moaned at high-pitched. Locking with your lips again, his tongue seeking entrance with a hint of aggression, a silent declaration of his claim over you.

You moaned in his mouth with each hard thrust of his cock, your whole body trembling from his movement. He became rougher and rougher, slapping into you without mercy. Your wrists were pinned against the cold floor, unable to move. "Jongho…jong…too fast….!" "Just hold on." He fucked you as fast as possible, his pelvis rubbed against your clit each time he bumped into you.

"Fuck it." Jongho let out a deep growl as he was on the edge and you also. A knot was formed in your stomach, urging you to release. You rolled your hips to push yourself closer to him. "Stay still. I'm close." He placed your leg on his shoulder for deeper thrusting, this new angle brought you to the climax. With a few slow but powerful thrusts, both of you came. Instead of pulling out, Jongho leaned over you again to cup your face, making out with you gently.

"Hot enough?" A grin played on his lips after he broke the kiss. "Yah." You caressed his round cheeks, letting out a light chuckle. "Thank you. I love you, jjong." "As a co-worker?" "No." You sat up straight, pulling him into a sudden kiss. "It's a partner." "What?You mean my girlfriend?When did you become my girlfriend?"He teased, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you firmly. "Do you want to be irresponsible?" You replied. "You should be the one who takes responsibility, Y/N. I helped you during your period."

"Then I punish you for being my girlfriend and take responsibility." "Sure." You leaned down to kiss him again.

The snowstorm ceased, and you found yourself in the most exquisite state. Undoubtedly, the task was not overly challenging, and the two of you managed to complete it effortlessly. Unexpectedly, Jongho has become remarkably affectionate and protective since that day. You had always believed he was not particularly fond of physical closeness, yet now he frequently embraces you from behind and carries you around, seemingly fearful that others might not recognize you as his significant other.

"Babe?" He murmured against your ears as he rested his head on your shoulder, his arms sneaking down to your waist. "What?" Your focus was still fixed on the phone. "Are you cold?" "Cold?The heater is 28 degrees." You looked at the heater with confusion, holding his hand to check if he's cold. "You are warmer than me, jjong." "Then it means you need something hot." "Wait─jjong!" Before you could say something, he pounced onto you and took away your phone, claiming you into a hungry kiss.

[orbitariums]

home this christmas | carmen berzatto x black reader smut

happy christmas! wrote this in a pinch, hope u love

also, all my steve rogers fic readers— what say i finish up girls on film over winter break? just for shits and giggles. enjoy!

the drive to your family’s heirloom brownstone in brooklyn was almost impossible as you and carmy took turns navigating the snowy roads and the panic attack that was new york traffic during the holidays. it would’ve been absolute agony if you weren’t right by your lover’s side and didn’t have tons of r&b christmas classics blasting through the entire time. at the first hotel, the two of you were too exhausted to even talk to each other, but carmen’s arm still found its way around your waist like something of an unconscious mechanism. you had to smuggle yourself free in the morning. by the morning, the two of you were determined to finish up the four-hour drive and make it home for christmas. 

no time for rest though. the minute you and carmy stepped in, you were bombarded with the sound of luther vandross belting christmas classics. the smell of good cooking — candied yams, sweet potatoes, collard greens, and glazed ham- overwhelmed your senses. any tension that had built up on the road was immediately released the moment you walked in, carmy holding a huge crate of ingredients that he would use to make chicken piccata.

“cuzzo!” squealed janae, your favorite girl cousin, and a recent howard u grad, as she ran up with her arms opened wide like a snow angel etched into the snow. 

“hey boo,” you grinned, basking in the warmth of her hug. you held on for so long— halfway through today’s trip, carmy’s car heat stopped working and the both of you had to opt for multiple blankets and layering up in all the coats and scarves you could find, plus whatever slightly warming object was in the back of his trunk.

“hi baby, hi carmen. merry christmas!,” your mother, hustling over to the sink with a large pot full of hot water cooed out.

“merry christmas, ms. __. so good to see you, can i help you with that?” carmen asked, setting down his crate and heading over to your mother, getting straight to business.

“carmen, you know to call me denise,” your mother nagged, waving her hand at carmen dismissively. “what i keep telling you about that?! you’re family. now leave me alone and ‘gon get started with your little chef shit over there.”

carmen smiled, that deep dimple sinking into his cheek that made you fall in love with him all over again each time you saw it. 

“yes ma'am,” he relented.

“ooh, your man is so fine, yn,” your sister announced as she walked into the kitchen. “and a gentleman, but we been knew that. hey, carmy. it’s good to see you, boy.”

“yeah, good to see you, too. how’s uhh— how’s benny?”

your sister scoffed,

“stupid, as always. and he don’t even cook. hey, yn!”

your sister laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“home sweet home,” you grinned, jumping right into the business of the kitchen. 

the rest of the day was chaos, but the kind you could only ever love. if anything, carmy preferred this chaos to that of his family’s thanksgiving and back home. this chaos felt organized and loving, not to mention hilarious. it took so long to convince your family that carmy could really cook, but once they finally met him just a few months before and he put down a peach pie like never before, they could not shut up about how fine and talented your man was, and how he was one of the good ones.

today, the same routine. this time, watching carmen cook for your family in your family home revved up a stir deep inside of you that would linger on your mind for the entire afternoon. everywhere you turned you couldn’t help but eye him — his big arms, littered with tattoos, flexing as he stirred a pot of mashed potatoes; the way his brow dug into his forehead with concentration as he definitively scattered parsley over the chicken; his tongue darting out to lick the side of his lip when he was focusing deeply on something. 

for the first time in the past 24 hours, you were practically separated from carmy. he was focusing on his dish and tending to the demands of the practically all-female kitchen (no men were allowed, bar for carmy and your aunt’s husband), so he didn’t get to talk to you, doubly engrossed in your christmas dinner duties, much either. though the times that he could sneak away or had to pass by you, he reassured you with a light squeeze around your hips or a hand on the small of your pack as he got by you. unbeknownst to him, it was only feeding the stir that was increasing by the hour between your thighs, and polluting your mind with the most unholy thoughts. 

the air was thick with flour, smoke, and the smell of a grand dinner by the time you all were finished cooking. while you let the food cool, you opened gifts. carmy had something for everyone in the family, even your baby cousins, nieces, and nephews. by the end of the gift opening, everyone had agreed that carmy was their new favorite. 

“merry christmas, baby,” carmy muttered against your lips, pulling you in for the first kiss you had shared for a few hours now. he placed your gift in your lap. 

“merry christmas,” you smiled against his lips, which tasted like sweet wine and marshmallows, as you pulled away. 

“c’mon now, what’d he get you?” your aunt hollered from her seat, clapping her hands together joyfully. 

you grinned, sloughing away the paper, which was wrapped to perfection, just like everything carmy dared touch. you nearly squealed when you saw the box: black and white with big bold letters: chanel. 

“baby, you did not,” you whined, frowning as you looked over at carmen. again that dimple reappeared and it took you everything not to jump his bones. he stroked his hand with his chin in that pensive way of his, his smile sheepish and yet smug.

“open it.”

you opened it slowly as if you were scared. then you practically tore it out of the box when you saw just what it was — the metallic pink chanel bag you had liked just once on instagram, posting it on your story with the caption “need.” you didn’t expect anything to come of that, and yet, here carmy was, going above and beyond to keep up with your expensive and exquisite taste. you couldn’t help but screech in excitement, waving the bag in the air while you stuck your tongue out.

“y’all look what my man got me!”

“my man, my man, my man,” some of your cousins echoed, humored, in the background.

the entire living room practically erupted with noises of affirmation and disbelief from your family. 

“girl, let me hold that for you!” your cousin janae pleaded jokingly. 

you broke out into a little dance on the couch, ending it with another kiss planted on carmy’s lips, pulling away with a loud smacking noise. 

“you really didn’t have to, baby. i love you.”

“i love you. that’s why i did it,” carmy grinned, his eyes boring deep into yours, promising his love to you. 

“i just know that’s right,” your mother called out. 

dinner was active and loud, as always. carmen’s chicken piccata barely lasted, and folks were starting to compare it to your aunt’s famous fried chicken, but carmy shut that down immediately.

“nah, don’t get me in trouble,” he smirked, holding the plate you had made for him. 

there was something so indescribably sexy about watching him just standing there. that he was so easily integrated with your family, so helpful, and charming enough to please your own mother and father had you weak in the knees. not to mention the insane gift. he told you he’d been saving up for a few months ever since he saw you post that, and that only made your heart melt more.

when carmy wasn’t so in his own head, he was a man of true, deep intention. you were the one who brought him back to homeostasis, to equilibrium. his mental state seemed to clear of all the “bad shit” when he laid his head on your chest, on your lap, your hands figuring their way through the ringlets of his curly hair. 

“yeah, don’t get him in trouble,” the aunt in question echoed as she walked past.

“don’t worry aunty, i still like your fried chicken better. sorry baby,” you awarded carmy an apologetic kiss on the lips. “but i stand on my shit.”

“as you should,” carmen nodded, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “you like other things about me better though, yeah?”

that last part came as a low murmur against your ear, his lips just barely brushing against the lobe. the words, in tandem with his warm, familiar breath fanning against your neck, made you squeeze your legs together involuntarily. you could practically taste the wine on his lips and it made you dizzy. the stir that had been brewing inside of you for an entire day now was now changing pace, becoming quicker, more violent. if you didn’t fulfill your needs soon, you’d overflow. 

you smiled to save face in front of your family, squeezing carmen’s hand as if to say “later.” but god, later couldn’t come fast enough.  

the rest of the night you were glued to carmen, practically hip to hip. you sat on his lap while your family talked around the tree, and he made sure his hands caressed your thighs ever so softly, just enough to keep you reeling from his trickling touch. you wanted him to squeeze, wanted him to sink his palms into you and then some. 

it wasn’t until nearly midnight that people started to pile out, and only then did you find it appropriate to head upstairs with carmen, bidding adieu to your family. 

“aww, it was so good to see you yn, and you, carmen. what a blessing you’ve been to this family,” crooned one of your aunts as she also made her way out the door.

“blessed to be here. thank you guys for welcoming me, seriously. i couldn’t be luckier, holy shit. excuse my language,” carmen rambled,

the words spilled out with ease because of the wine and because he genuinely felt this way. his whole life, he’d been blessed with found family, reminding him that sometimes water could be just as thick as blood. and when you came with the package? he’d never let go. 

people began to peeter out late into the night, and by the time everyone was gone, only then was it appropriate for you to bring carmy upstairs to get ready for bed. 

both you and carmy spilled out a few more jokes and goodbyes before you took carmy by the hand and led him upstairs. as you were walking up there, it hit you that it was his first time being in your childhood room. you only ever stayed here when you were visiting, so it still had a very y2k theme to it that you hadn’t changed since high school. a poster of lil kim with her legs spread was plastered on your walls, along with nsync, backstreet boys, and a couple other 90s-2000s classics. you still had a half-used bottle of juicy couture viva perfume on your desk, the bow wrapped prettily around the cap. 

“oh shit, it’s been a while,” you chuckled. 

carmen was taking it all in, looking around with a thoughtful grin etched across his lips.  

“always been a fashion girl, huh?” he prodded you.

“oh forever.”

you sidled up in front of him, so close you could feel him up against you.

“you were amazing today,” you reached up to kiss him as he towered over you, in height and energy. a soft, wet kiss that left carmy wanting more. so much so that he unconsciously wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you in even closer. 

“yeah?”

“yes. i love watching you with my family. and with the kids, you just…”

“y’know, when i was cooking i kept feeling eyes on the back of my neck. any idea who that could’ve been?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow up as he gazed down at you.

you shook your head knowingly, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth, returning his gaze tenfold.

“no,” you replied, your voice sweet like honeydew and so, so telling. 

“fuck,” carmy’s gaze seemed to deepen as his lids sunk lower, drinking in the sight of you. “don’t look at me like that, baby.”

he started to pull you closer towards him, back and back and back until you were plopped down on his bed. his legs, wide and bulky, forced you to spread yours over his lap, welcoming his thighs into a straddle. 

“like what?” you asked, your eyes twinkling as you looked down at him and he looked up at you, his hands roaming your thighs freely, like an expanse of land that was entirely his property. 

“like that, like you’re gonna make me do something you’ll regret.”

“regret? how could i ever regret anything you do to me, baby?” you questioned with a very intentional roll of your hips against him. you felt him grow, blossoming against your own crotch, which made you moan quietly.

“if you’re loud enough—” carmy punctuated his words with a kiss against your neck as his hands went to take off your shirt. you lifted your arms up and your shirt came sliding off, your skin exposed to the cool air. “you just might regret it.”

carmy kissed the side of your neck, eliciting a quiet huff of pleasure from your lips. you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the pleasure. his fingers danced delicately against your bare sides until finally, he rested the whole of his palms against your body, easing them up and down like he was smoothing you out. 

“mm, i’ll be quiet, daddy,” you hummed, arching your back just so, his hand connecting with the small of your back and fitting right in.

“take your pants off,” he commanded quietly, his eyes practically closed as he studied you with heavy lids. the exhaustion certainly didn’t assist the horny daze he was sinking deeper into, tired and full of lustful thoughts that seemed to weigh him down.

“only if you take your clothes off too, carmy,” you whined, but you shimmied out of your pants anyway, watching him with hungry puppy-dog eyes while he did the same, yanking off his shirt, belt, and pants and throwing them halfway across the room.

“and your bra, too,” carmy said softly, his words coming out delicate like petals falling off a flower. he was completely focused on one thing, and it was you— nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. time moved slow when he watched you like this. 

you started unhooking it, then carmy’s hands flung to your clasp to help you, removing it in record time and throwing it across the room. you opened your mouth to make a joke, but you were immediately silenced when his lips attached hungrily to your breast, closing in on the fat surrounding the small of your nipple while the other hand grasped onto the other. 

you whined quietly and started to roll your hips against carmy even more now, grinding deep against his crotch which was covered by his boxers. you could practically feel him poking inside of you, lubricating your pussy even more than it already was. 

“carmy,” you whined. “can feel you.”

“mhm?” he hummed brokenly, his breaths heavy and dysregulated. you were so warm, sharing in each other’s heat, in the still dark of your bedroom. the sheets all done up, practically untouched. he pulled away from your breast, unlatching with a soft pop of his lips. his hand replaced his mouth, feeling the warm trail that his lips left. “can feel you too, sweetheart.”

he let his hand drift down to your crotch, cupping you over your underwear, which had a big wet spot in the center. 

“yeah, that’s what i feel. you’re so fucking wet, honey,” he crooned into your ear, making sure his lips brushed against your earlobe before he traveled down to kiss on your neck some more, sending shivers down your spine that made you buck your hips involuntarily into his hand. carmy chuckled that dark, smug chuckle that made you hate him and want to ride him all the same. the kind that only came out when you were being desperate— when he had control over you and not the other way around. “what’re you doing, baby? go slow, yeah? be patient.”

he made a wreck of you, obliging you anyway by circling a finger against your clit through your panties, feeling the way your slick seemed to pool endlessly at his touch. wanting to feel it on your skin. 

“shut up, carmy, fuck!” you moaned quietly, your arms wrapped around his neck for balance. 

he played with you just a little more, wondering just how far he could take it until your quiet moans turned into pleading whimpers, until he made you start to beg just for his fingers, so that by the time he sat you down on his lap, letting you sink all the way down onto his cock, you had no more voice to beg. that was on his mind, and yet, in his tired, sex-drunk haze, he knew to give you what you wanted now, before you went and turned the whole house into a personal fuckfest. 

still, he couldn’t help but tease just once more. 

“it’s christmas, honey. what’re we doing?”

“i don’t care,” you huffed. “it’s practically tomorrow, it’s like 11:30.”

carmen nearly snorted,

“need it that bad?”

you didn’t reply, and so he asked you again, this time with a kiss of his lips against your neck, sucking and attaching firmly to the sweet, soft skin there, and with his fingers, pulling down your underwear. slick sounds filling the air as it detached from your wet core, a trail of your arousal in between the cloth and your heat. 

“hm?” carmy hummed, letting his fingers dance along your slit, ever so gently and delicately, like they were trailing up your entire being.

“god, y-yes, carmy. need it, need you. please,” you whimpered, muffled as you buried your head into the crook of his neck, lurching into him like you were surrendering, a natural lull you didn’t even realize you gave into every time without fail. full disregard, letting him take over, letting yourself let go. 

“need my fingers inside you, yeah?” carmy panted, finding it hard to control himself.

all he wanted was to be sheathed fully inside of you, whether that meant twisting you open with his fingers, lapping you up with his tongue, or fucking his cum into you as deeply (and quietly) as he could. he obliged, slipping one finger inside with such gleeful ease, feeling the digit get soaked in your arousal. 

you gasped sharply, lurching forward involuntarily. carmy brought you back down with another hand wrapped firm around your waist.

“no no no, stay right there. and answer me, what do you need?” 

“need you carmy, need your fingers, please, another,” you nearly cried out, your voice going up an octave just to beg. perhaps carmen’s favorite sound from your lips, and it didn’t even sound like yourself— it sounded like someone who was forced into impenetrable bliss and didn’t have a vessel to express it, just the voice.

“okay, okay, sweetheart,” he was sweet and giving, so generous, so dazed and yet still so in charge. dipping another finger into your slick, wet heat and burying his fingers to the hilt inside of you, causing you to squeak out. “fuck, gotta be quiet, honey.”

“yes, yes, i’m sorry,” you scrambled to apologize, which only made him want you more. hungry, he grunted, jerking his hips up to feel something, anything. your hands flew to his crotch, palming him over his boxers, but he gently pulled your hand away. 

“don’t worry about me, baby. don’t worry. gonna have you bouncing on my cock in a minute, just wait. wanna make you feel good first,” he assured you, and in your haze, you nodded agreeably, eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

he moved, slowly, so you could feel his fingers sliding against your walls. you threw your head back, a muffled noise of pleasure escaping from your throat. he kept his eyes on you, unblinking, pumping in slow and controlled one, two times, then he picked up the pace, and with it, you got wetter, slicker, soaking his fingers and his thighs. 

your breath caught in your throat, you couldn’t even make any noise. just stilted from the pleasure that you felt, feeling it burn and rev in your stomach— that slow, churning stir back again, working towards completion. all you could hear was your slick as carmy fucked his fingers in and out of you, fast and dangerously deep, hitting every single spot inside of you because his fingers were so thick. carmy’s eyes glanced down for a minute to see his fingers disappearing inside of you like they fucking belonged there, like they were supposed to be inside of you, making you so wet that it was all you could hear. he watched as your arousal painted your mound and spread across your thighs, breathing out heavily in disbelief. he started to fuck his fingers into you faster now, and you whimpered in a pitch he’d never heard from you before. with his other hand, he assisted you in bouncing your hips at the same pace as his fingers. the room was filled with the sounds of squelching as his fingers fucked in and out of you, carrying along your slick with it.

“fuck, you’re so fucking wet. your pussy’s so fucking loud, baby, you must feel so good, huh? feels so good? don’t wanna wake anybody up, do you?” he was delirious, saying whatever came to his mind, his grip on your hip tight and his fingers wrecking you at such a torturous pace. 

“mm-mm, mm-mm,” you cried, rocking your hips against his hands and damn near taking his knuckles— his interjections of “such a pretty wet pussy” and “you’re doing so good for me, you sound so fucking good, baby” brought you to your high, and you rode it out whale bouncing your hips up and down. legs shaking and thighs trembling as you tightened around his fingers, releasing all over him. your voice a muddled mess as you cried out. “fuck, carmy, i’m coming. i’m coming.”

“fuck,” carmen said through gritted teeth, his cock jumping in his boxers. “fuck, you’re so good. you’re so fucking good, yn, that’s it. that’s it sweetheart.”

you whimpered as you came, his fingers still deep inside of you and thrusting while you rode it out/

“i know, i know,” he muttered reassuringly, letting you get yours and then pulling his fingers out softly, resting his head against your rising and falling chest. 

his hands returned to a smooth, kind roam as he let you catch your breath, touching every part of you to comfort you. when you had found your basis again, you sighed lovingly and wrapped your hands around carmen’s neck, pressing your forehead against his and gazing into his eyes. 

a soft smile tugging at your lips, you whispered,

“i love you, bear. wanted to be around you all day, even after spending two days straight with you. still wanted you.”

“i always want you,” he replied without skipping a beat. he lifted his head up to kiss you. “and i love you too. if we can survive a twelve-hour road trip we can survive anything.”

“shit, if we can survive christmas with my family we can survive anything,” you giggled, kissing 

his forehead.

“yeah, i love your family though. mom’s dope. sister’s hilarious. cousins are wildly talented. it fucking runs in the family. i don’t know what runs in my family, maybe… i dunno, bad shit,” he chuckled with a huff, shaking his head. 

“hey,” you pouted. “don’t say that, bear. you’re sweet… attentive… loving… a perfectionist until it kills you, but, that’s valuable. isn’t it?”

you punctuated each word with a kiss, trailing down his neck and around his clavicles.

“fuck,” he breathed out. “don’t start something you can’t finish, now.”

“try me,” you grinned devilishly. 

[runningmunson]

My Fierce Lady - Part 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.7k Summary: After the events of your attack, you felt helpless. You asked Aemond to teach you to fight so you can gain some control back into your life and finally feel brave. Part 2 of My Fierce Lady. Warnings: traumatized reader, mentions of previous attack, use of a sword, slight angst, fluff, soft Aemond

Masterlist

Agony. You were in agony. Everything had been so different since you were attacked and forced to take a man’s life. Anyone would change if it had happened to them, you believed. Aemond reminded you daily that you are strong and brave, that you and your children were still alive and breathing, and that the man was in the ground where he belonged because of you. Yet you still lived in fear every day, terrified that someone would strike again, but you wouldn’t be so lucky. 

That’s not to say that your husband and his family didn't try to make you feel safe. Your personal guards had been doubled. You were seldom left alone. You wouldn't step into your chambers, so they allowed you to move rooms. They exhausted resources to find whoever plotted to attack the Targaryen household. However, their attempts were futile. They never found who did it, and no matter what they did, you never truly felt safe.

Nightmares often plagued you. Too many nights you dreamed of Maelehra being murdered. You soon followed, only to be woken screaming and crying in the arms of Aemond as he tried to calm you. Your stress and anxiety were so severe that the maester put you on bed rest until the birth of your son. 

You thought things would be better after you brought your son, Rhaegar, into the world, basking in the joys of a newborn, a male heir for your husband. You were sorely mistaken. The maester chalked it up to melancholy as your body adjusted to a new state of motherhood. The royal family tried to keep it hidden. Everything was always kept in the family, never wanted to reveal their personal weaknesses to outsiders. But it was hard to ignore the whispers around the Red Keep with rumors of you going crazy and behaving worse than your sister-in-law, Helaena. 

You spent a lot of time with Helaena in her chambers, doing needlework as your children played on the floor together with the nannies. Rhaegar was usually fast asleep in his cradle. You had a feeling your mother-in-law, the Queen, had something to do with your time spent behind closed doors, not that you minded too much. You dearly loved Helaena and preferred her company over the other ladies in court. 

—

For once, you were having a good day. Your anxiety was at bay and manageable. The children were behaving excellently. You knew everyone was safe, and you finally settled in once you checked several times that there were two guards outside the door.

“That looks quite lovely, sister! You stitch our sigil far better than I could,” Helaena’s eyes were wide as she smiled brightly, complimenting your work. You were working on embroidering the Targaryen sigil on a new dress for Mae. 

“That is very kind of you to say. Your spider looks exquisite,” you smiled back at her. You genuinely meant it. While you did not share the same affinity for insects, you were always enthusiastic about her interests and ready to learn.

“Thank you, it’s a zebra spider. We have these in our garden,” she replied, then returned to her work. 

It was relatively quiet in the room, with an occasional sound coming from the children. All your focus was on the dress until your concentration was broken. The door opened without anyone knocking, and an unknown man stepped inside the room. 

You immediately stood up, a scream slipped from your lips. It startled your son awake, and he started crying. Your heart was racing, and you felt as if you could be sick. No, you thought, this cannot be happening again. As quick as you stood, you backed into a corner. You sat down with your hands over your ears and eyes tightly squeezed shut. 

Helaena shooed the man out of the room and told the nannies to remove the children. She slowly approached you, afraid to disturb you even more. You could see her mouth moving but heard no sound. The only thing you could hear was ringing. Tears welled up in your eyes. She turned to the guards and demanded they go get her brother at once.

Aemond made his way to his sister’s chambers in record time. “I am so sorry, Aemond. It was a new servant, he didn't knock first.”

“It’s fine, Helaena.” He looked at you, seeing you in a catatonic-like state. Your hands had not moved from their spot on your head, but your eyes were now wide open, blankly staring at the wall. It made him angry to see you as a shell of what you once were, no longer the carefree and lively woman he fell in love with. He turned to his sister, “May you give us some space please?”

Helaena left the room, and Aemond made his way to you. He crouched down, blocking your vision of the wall. Your eyes finally focused when you saw your husband in front of you and not another stranger coming to kill you. He reached up to take your hands off your face, noticing the scratch marks your nails left behind. With your hands in his, he gently kissed the back of both. 

“I’m here now, love. I got you. You are safe. Nothing is going to hurt you,” he spoke in a soft, calming voice- one reserved for only you and your children. The words he spoke were familiar as he often said these like a mantra in the dark of your room after your nightmares. You threw yourself in his arms, catching him off guard as he almost fell. He steadied himself and pulled you in close, once more repeating those words.

When your heart was steady and mind clear, he pulled you up to the ground and led you to the comforts of your own chamber. As soon as the door was shut, you turned to him. 

“I cannot do this any longer,” you said to him, voice cracking in desperation.

“Do what, my dear?” he questioned.

“Live in fear, no longer feeling safe in my own home. I wish to be free of this anguish! I want to feel as brave as you say I am. I want you to teach me how to fight,” you said to him. It was something you had thought about for some time but too afraid to address until now.

“I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. 

You knew it was unbecoming of a lady such as yourself to fight, but you were at a complete loss at what to do. It wasn’t as if Aemond thought that of you though. He always believed you could do anything you wanted. He never tried to control you or put you in your place unlike the other men of the court. Fighting could be dangerous, and he just wanted to protect you. 

“Please, Aemond. I need this. If you love me, you will grant me this wish,” you begged him, grabbing his hands and looking into his eye. You needed nothing more than to gain back some control of your life.

He nodded his head, “Then I will do just that, I promise you.”

—

Aemond led you to an empty room in the castle. You were adorned in pants and a tunic, your hair in a single braid falling down your back. He was finally going to teach you how to fight with a sword.

When you made your way into the room, he shut the door behind you for privacy. You noticed a few weapons were already laid on a table. There was a dummy filled with sand in the middle of the room as well. 

“Now, today we will learn the basics of defense, just a simple thrust and slice. Let’s go pick you a sword,” he walked over to the table. and you followed. You knew how heavy swords could be, having handled Aemond’s sword once to see what it was like and almost dropped it in the process. 

He handed you several, having you do a few mock swings to see which one felt best in your hands. You picked a lighter sword, the blade a typical silver color with a black and red hilt. The pommel housed a blue jewel. How fitting, you thought when you noticed it was similar in color to the sapphire where your husband’s eye once was.

When you were satisfied with your choice, you made your way to the middle of the room where Aemond was waiting. With the sword placed tightly in your hand, he led you into the proper stance. He used his leg to move your feet where he wanted them. His back found its way flush against yours. One arm wrapped around your waist to straighten you out. The other helped you hold your sword to the correct height, pointing to where you needed to strike. Whiffs of your scent flooded his nose as he held you close. You were disappointed when he pulled away.

“Alright, keep that stance. This should be an easy one. Draw your arm back and simply thrust it forward,” he said, his hands placed firmly behind your back. He was intensely watching your every move, making you a bit nervous. You drew back the sword and plunged it into the chest of the dummy. When you removed the sword, sand spilled on the ground. 

“Good, you have just defended yourself. Now put yourself back into the same position, and I’ll show you how to slice,” he explained the movements once more and let you do your thing. 

You stood the way he told you, doing a spin to gain momentum before slicing either side of the dummy. Once more, sand flowed from the cuts. Aemond started clapping. You turned to smile at him, finally starting to feel a small amount of control for the first time since your attack.

“My, oh my. Who knew the Gods blessed me with a wife who is a natural in the art of the sword,” he smiled, looking proud.

You laughed, “ Well, I have watched you practice in the courtyard often, my dear husband. Maybe I can be as good as you one day.”

“I’ll make a fighter out of you in no time, my fierce lady.”

[midnight-bay-if]

Hey, Hey! 🖐✨

How would ROs react if Mc decided to do the “Ignore them for 24 hours” challenge? (It would just be an innocent joke, of course. But the ROs don't need to know🤭)

(Are you all tapping into Umbra's greatest fears on purpose? LOL. I want to answer these light-heartedly, but there's no way this wouldn't freak Umbra the f out. Or maybe it's my fault for making Umbra a mess of hang-ups, haha.)

S: S catches on pretty quickly. The first time they engage with you and you blanket ignore them, their itching for manners begins to scratch. They're not your parent; it would be strange for them to start giving out etiquette lessons. When it keeps happening, however, it dawns on them you're doing it on purpose.

So, they play along. "This is a very serious ailment, MC. There exists creatures so small they can crawl into your ear cavity, burrowing their way to your brain. Once inside, they play havoc on your cerebral cortex, and manipulate you into thinking you do not wish to talk with those closest to you. They isolate you from everyone you love before striking. You might think you're choosing to ignore me right now, but you're being controlled. I'll call in some favours. I know a particularly good surgeon who will operate on short notice."

They smile at you ominously as they pull out their phone. "Try not panic, MC. I'll sort this out for you."

Rain: Rain is pouting. It takes a while for them to understand what is happening. There are a few moments of genuine concern as to why you are ignoring them before they get it. Then, when they do, they're whining. "MC, pleeeeease... this is killing me." If you still do not break, they opt for literally prodding you instead. A poke to the cheek, a poke to the lips, a poke to the ear.

They'll get you to break somehow, even if it means putting together a whole comedy routine.

Taj: Totally unbothered at first. In fact, they gloat about the silence as they bask in their newfound peace. "Ahh, the day is surprisingly serene, isn't it, Koel?" They tease, stretching out lazily. When you don't respond, they shrug.

As the day goes on, however, the silence begins to grate like nails on a chalkboard. Like any good cat, they should receive the attention they desire when they desire it. Don't think you can get away with ignoring them. They might even start knocking stuff over. "Koel, talk. Now. Or I will keep you awake all night."

N: Good luck. It won't work, haha. N has the unfair advantage of being able to slither into your mind at a moment's notice. You're not talking to them? Very well. They pointedly stare at you before their voice appears in your head. "Oh, fun. Is this the game we're playing now? We can have private, naughty conversations outside of your little friend's ear shot. How very daring of you, my dear."

It would take great skill and practice to silence one's thoughts so you're not instinctively replying to them, haha.

Umbra: The first time it happens, Umbra doesn't think much of it. Perhaps you didn't hear them. So, they repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Their voice gradually increases in volume as the panic slips in. "MC, I'm here! I'm right here! Why can' you hear me?! No, no, no, no, no. It can't happen again. Please, don't let it happen again."

When they fall to their knees, tears streaming down their face, you know the jig is up. You don't understand their agony, but it's visceral in their screams.

Once you soothe their shaking and explain the nature of the joke, they are embarrassed by their fragility. "I am sorry, MC. I will learn how to drag myself from this pit of despair. I will burned you no longer."

[upsidedownmvnson]

So nervous in sending in a request…but could you write an angsty/hurtcomfort where the reader never shows Eddie her body and avoids sex? And he shows her how much he loves her body? (Me cuz I absolutely hate my body lol)

my sweet <3 thank you for your courage <3 <3 remember that your body is your home, and your wonderful vessel and its the reason the people around you get to bask in your presence <3 Eddie would agree.

Wrote the story based on what helps me, I hope it helps you too <3

"Are we okay, babe?"

The question made your stomach hurt. Eddie was nothing but sweet all the time, he had always been willing to wait for you, for anything. But lately, it's just been harder. When he touches you, it's a painful reminder that once he saw you naked, he may not... what if he didn't like it?

You'd been dating for months, and he never, ever pushed anything. But you could tell he was cagey, wanting more from you. And even though he never let it show, you could tell he was disappointed. What teenage boy wouldn't be?

You didn't think he'd be hard on you or anything, but, what if he saw what you were offering and he didn't like it.

"Baby?"

Snapped out of anxious thoughts by Eddie's calming touch, you were reminded that he was here, he loved you.

"Of course we are," you whispered, agony peeking through your eyes, caught by Eddie's attentive nature.

"Sometimes, I feel like when I touch you, you recoil." Eddie sounded kind, and you knew he was just communicating his feelings. "I'd like to talk about it."

You didn't want to talk about it. But you couldn't avoid it forever. You picked at your nails, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

"Honey," he said, voice softer than feathers as he spoke, trying to coax you out of your own head. "What's going on? How can I help you?"

"Mm," you mumbled, "I don't know."

"Well, if you can tell me what you're feeling, maybe I can help figure it out, yeah? I'm always here for you, and I wouldn't judge you for anything."

He could tell you were skeptical, something in his eyes always told you the truth. As you met his puppy dog eyes, your truth was given away to him. You were hurting, and you wouldn't tell him why.

"I just think..." you started, but stopped, picking at your nails again. "Like, what if you go to the next step, and you don't... like me?"

"What?" Eddie looked genuinely surprised, "How could I not like you, baby? I love you."

"I know that," you replied, "but what if you see... and you want something different."

"Baby, I don't know what you mean."

"I don't look like Chrissy," you whispered, "or any of the cheerleaders."

Eddie smiled sadly, finally realizing what you were saying. He was disappointed in himself that he'd never seen it before. From refusing to swim at Steve's on the hottest days of the year, to the big sweaters mid july. You were hiding. You wanted to hide from him. And he should've noticed, he should've been proving you wrong.

"Baby," he cooed, running his thumb over your cheek. "I don't want you to look like them, and I hope you don't want that either. I like you and how you look. Be nice to your body, baby, it's the only one we got."

"But-"

"No buts. I'm not accepting buts, unless it's..." he winked, and you giggled. "Seriously, my love, I can already tell you with confidence, that I love every fucking inch on this beautiful body." He ran his fingers down your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and he toyed with the hem of your sweater. "Can I show you?" he asked, and sensing your hesitation he added, "say stop and I'll stop."

You nodded, totally hypnotized by the ticklishness of how softly he was touching you.

He smiled at you, all loving and tender and kind, and you could've melted right there. One hand sliding to your hip, the other cupping the side of your neck, he brought his lips to the side of your throat, planting gentle kisses there.

The hand on your hip slowly slid the fabric up, detaching himself from kissing you only to pull the sweater over your head. Instinctively, you moved to cover your chest, but Eddie stopped you, using a soft grip to interlock your fingers, and move them to his hands, kissing each knuckle.

"I love holding your hands, they're so soft," he whispered, "I like when your nail polishing is chipping, and every time you redo it you make sure to show me."

"I like your arms," he said, trailing small kisses up your forearm, stopping at the elbow to switch to the other side, giving the soft skin there the same treatment. "I like when you wrap them around me, and snuggle into my chest. I like how they feel when you let me cuddle with you."

Eddie used his hold on your hand to guide you to the couch, asking you sit by gently guiding you by pushing your shoulder. His hands reached for the hem of your shirt, and he stopped, checking your face for any uncertainty before he removed it, leaving you in a bra.

You sucked in air, nearly choking on it. Eddie moved you again, having you lay down on the couch. You kept your eyes on him, unable to focus on anything else but his praises.

"I'm gunna keep your pants on, okay? I don't want to... not like this, not while you're unhappy."

He wedged himself in between your thighs, hovering above you with a goofy grin. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," you whispered, sucked into the beauty of his eyes. You wanted to say more, scream about how much you loved him. But you were frozen, too vulnerable to speak.

"I love your shoulders," he said, leaning down to place a trail of kisses down each side, "and your chest," and his kisses traced kisses between your breasts. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, equally as hypnotized as you. "And your tummy," he said, as if he'd seen it a thousand times but this was the first. "It's hot, you're hot, I mean, it's so soft, and I can't-" he grinned, "I can't pull my eyes away baby, I really don't know how you thought I wouldn't like this."

He kissed, and nibbled, and sucked himself across your stomach, leaving a trail of light hickies across the skin.

"You... you like it?" you asked, blush creeping onto your cheeks. He smiled softly up at you, removing his lips from just above your navel.

"I love it," he replied, leaning up so he could use his hands to run his open palms down the sides of your body, you shivered at the sensation. "Every inch, I meant that."

Your heart was racing, with anxiety and with excitement. You loved how it felt, but you couldn't push down the feelings. But, he was helping.

"It's okay," he said, smile as gentle as ever. He pulled you up by your elbow, conjuring a band tee from nowhere and helping you put it on. "Baby steps," he said, helping your untuck your hair from the collar. "We'll work on it together baby," he said, cuddling up with you, spooning you from behind, and placing kisses against the shoulder that peaked out from the opening of his shirt. "You're worth it, you're worth every minute."

"I love you," you whispered, falling into comfort with him there. He sighed contentedly, nuzzling his nose into your hair, smelling the florals of your shampoo.

"And I love you," he said, voice tickling the back of your neck. "But can we make a promise?"

"What kind?"

"Promise me you'll talk to me, when things get sad or scary in your head. I'm your guy, I'm here to help."

"I promise," you said, interlocking your fingers, "you're my guy," you repeated softly.

[synnamonroll666]

Intoxicating Scent

Prompt 27: Breeding Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: Being in heat was difficult for Syzoth. Every three months, he would struggle to keep himself from tackling you 24/7. But he always managed to refrain from doing so. However, when you end up in heat at the exact same time, he loses all control... Warnings: HUGE Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Syzoth In Heat, Dirty Talk, P In V, Creampie, Talk Of Oviposition... Word Count: 1.2k Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot, and @mmeerraa.

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When I wake from my slumber, I am drenched in sweat and my heart is racing. I swallow a few times, discovering that my throat is feeling sore and dry, like it hadn't seen water in days. It roars within me—my Zaterran instinct—demanding that I succumb to my desires.

Usually, this voice was redundant, constantly reminding me of the purpose of my reproductive system when I was in heat. But today, its whispers have become screams. Being in heat was hell, but this was something else—I had never experienced a feeling like this before. And when I am breathing deeply to catch my breath, I smell something—something that makes my blood boil with need.

I look to my side to see my lover lying naked between the sheets. She is fast asleep, exhausted from our activities earlier this night. She looks so pretty—the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I always found my mate attractive, but something about the way she looks now is just too addicting to pull my eyes away. I lean over her and inhale deeply to take in her scent, and it hits me: she's in heat too. She is at her most fertile at this moment, and my body is going absolutely crazy for it.

Both of us are in heat at the same time; the poor girl doesn't stand a chance.

My reptilian instincts kick in, and I nudge her neck with my nose—a small courting ritual Zaterrans do before breeding. I bury it just under her jawline and take a big sniff, letting her scent fill my lungs and intoxicate every corner of my feral mind. She wakes, her pretty eyes glancing up at me as the corners of her lips curl into a sweet and loving smile.

Luckily, it doesn't take long for her to figure out what I want, and I am relieved when she lays flat on her back and spreads her legs.

A low growl emits from somewhere within as I stare at her willing form. The rest was a blur. I don't remember ripping the bedsheets from her body or how they ended up in a torn-up mess on the floor—I don't remember how I ended up bending her so she was ass up in the air and her face was buried within our pillows.

All I remember is sinking my twitching, aching member into her core and sighing as her warmth finally cured the agony I had suffered from. But that moment of peace was merely the calm before the storm, because that primal voice within screams at me, ordering me to stuff her full of my seed. I have to get her pregnant.

I NEED to!

I pull out quickly, earning a soft whine of disappointment from her. But soon, those displeased sounds would be turned into moans of ecstasy when I would reenter with brutal force, my tip instantly bruising her cervix. I hold her down by the shoulders with one hand and hold her hips up against me with the other. I pound into her over and over, allowing her tight walls to milk me of everything I have.

I press my chest against her back, enjoying how her form trembles beneath me as I trap her between me and the mattress. She has no room to move—barely any room to even squirm like her body naturally desires to do in this state. I croon her name as the heat radiates off of her feverish flesh and warms me like a fire. I could stay buried within her for hours, siphoning that heat from her and basking in its company.

She whines and begs as I claim her—as my nails dig deeply into her flesh as my hips hastily snap back and forth furiously on a mission. Though her words fall on deaf ears, since I am too in my wild Zaterran nature to comprehend them. My throat grows more torrid by the second, and my tongue intuitively lashes out to lave her throat, flickering against her rapidly fluttering pulse to collect the droplets of sweat upon my pallet.

I can't hold back my moans, as it tastes sweeter than any drink I have ever consumed. It is like I have been stranded in a dry desert—dehydrated and dying from thirst—and she was the oasis that saved me from my fate. She is not only my goddess but also my savior.

Her trobbing core embraces my length tightly, suctioning on to it and pulling me back each time I begin to pull out. That is the only language I understand now. This shows me that she needs me just as much as I need her in this moment, and I am more than willing to provide for her what she so badly craves.

However, I am unable to fully focus on what she wants now, as my nature has me wanting one thing and one thing only—that one thing that I'll do anything to get, which is fill her with my children. I am already leaking within her, but it is not nearly enough. No, I won't be satisfied until her little belly expands with my seed, pearls of it dripping down her legs since she is too stuffed to contain it all. But I would make sure that she would take as much as she could.

"I'm going to fill you to the brim with my seed and make your stomach swell with my kin! I'm going to put a whole clutch within you and make you the mother of my children!" I growled deeply, my voice growing daunting as it now sounds more animalistic than anything, much like the voice I hear inside my head.

With each pump of my member into her soothing heat, that bubble of arousal grows larger, threatening to pop at any moment. And when it does, a feral roar tears from my throat as I release all of my semen into her gentle womb to coat its walls. I place my hand on her stomach, feeling it finally swell with my seed as I stuff her full. After my member showers her womb thoroughly, she collapses on the bed, rolling slightly onto her side since she is unable to lay face down now. Soon, I see why

As I rest on top of her, I look down at her now-inflated stomach. I gently brush a hand over the rounded flesh, and knowing it will soon grow even more as my seed develops into my offspring makes me smile. I feel my heart flutter as I imagine them fresh from their eggs—my little hatchlings will look so adorable. And their mother—she looks so beautiful right now, my heart can barely handle it. But... Something is still wrong.

She is not nearly swollen enough—she needs more. Instinctively, my hips retract and push back against hers once again. She responds with a tired whimper, but I ignore it, too distracted by my yearning desire to release yet another load into her already-overflowing womb to focus on anything else. I will not stop until I have emptied myself fully in her—I won't stop until she is filled completely with my young.

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