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klausinamarink · 7 months

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I Reach For You On Faith Alone

rating: G | cw: none | wc: 1.6k | tags: post S4, getting together, fireflies | prompt: Love is having hope for the future together

written for @steddielovemonth

“Mind if I join you?”

Steve’s voice broke Eddie out of his wandering thoughts. He lifted his head up to see Steve was already on the roof, dangerously crouching by the edge. Steve was still in his work uniform so either he had just left the video store or was too tired to change. Eddie betted it was the latter if the deep bags under his eyes indicated anything.

Eddie hummed and patted the empty space on his right.

“Sweet.” Steve said, scooting over until he was next to Eddie. Then he suddenly sat up, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t bring anything with me. You want anything? Food? Drinks? Your cigarettes? It’s cold as hell too, do you need a blanket?”

His concern was adorable but understandable. Eddie just shook his head and returned his gaze back to the sky.

Night had fallen moments ago but Eddie was too content to get back inside yet. The stars were bright, a galaxy belt spanning from one corner to somewhere that it hurt to crane his neck back. It was also quiet, save for the crickets. Benefits of a new government-says-sorry house being located on the country roadside forty minutes from Hawkins.

“It’s really nice.” Steve said quietly.

Eddie grinned, “You haven’t seen the best part yet.”

He could feel Steve staring at him with a raised eyebrow. If they were standing, Steve would definitely have his hands on his hips.

“You have a galaxy beaming down at you and this isn’t the best part?” Steve made a tsk-tsk noise. “And yet you defile me as the one with shit taste.”

Eddie chuckled and propped himself up by an arm. He looked to his left where the grassy fields were at. Almost on cue, a small green light blinked in and out of existence. It wasn’t until a few more appeared that Eddie finally reached over to Steve and pointed towards the field. “Look over there.”

Steve sat up again and squinted his eyes. Then he blinked, rubbed them with his fingers, and blinked again. He said, “What am I looking at?”

A scandalous gasp erupted out of Eddie’s mouth. He lurched backwards with his hands planted on his chest as if he were stabbed. “Steve Harrington has never seen fireflies? Oh, the humanity!”

Steve did a double take, “Wait, those are fireflies?”

Eddie paused, “You… never did that thing as a kid where you go outside and try to catch them?”

Slowly shaking his head, Steve replied, “Not really, no.”

This time, Eddie made a tsk-tsk with the click of his tongue. He reached over to grab Steve’s hand. “Then allow me to show you the missing joys of childhood.”

After a careful jump from the roof, Eddie ran to the field, Steve’s hand still in his grasp. The other man gave out a startled laugh with every urgent pull from Eddie. “Hey, man, slow down-!”

“You seriously need to do this!” Eddie said over his shoulder as they entered the field. The grass was as high as their thighs, tickling Eddie’s arm. As they dashed through, more fireflies flew up and around them.

“Woah.” Steve whispered after Eddie finally stopped. He watched as the other man stared wordlessly at the fireflies, his eyes full in wonder as each insect flickered its glow. A few landed on Steve’s hair and shirt. It would’ve been hilarious for Eddie to laugh at if it hadn’t illuminated him in a way that brought the perfect highlights to his face like the slope of his nose and growing softness of his cheeks.

It was such a perfect portrait that it made Eddie wish he had gotten into photography. He would have a camera ready in his hands and used up the entire film roll to snap the same shot over and over.

Eddie cleared his throat, shaking himself out of the stupor. The other man slowly looked back at him, his eyes covered with a thin layer of unshed tears.

“Cup your hands like this.” He instructed, showing Steve the correct position. Steve furrowed his eyes but copied him. Eddie took a second to glance around himself before his eyes landed on the closest firefly. With careful precision, Eddie grabbed at the firefly, keeping his palms closed but far apart so as not to squish the bug. He slightly opened his thumbs apart, allowing the light of the firefly to shine out.

“Can you do that?” Eddie asked. Steve lightly scoffed, already shaking his head. “C’mon, don’t quit already!”

“You’re like a better expert than me.” Steve said, pausing when a firefly landed on his wrist. They both watched as it crawled up to his fingers and then entered Steve’s cupped hands.

Eddie smirked, finally releasing his captured lighting bug. “Looks like you already are. You just took the patient route.”

They stand together far longer than either of them would like, but neither of them complained. They eventually sat down on the ground and watched the fireflies flew right above their heads as if the stars in the sky were chasing each other.

“Beautiful.” Steve said in a soft voice as he stared upwards.

Eddie nodded, his eyes stuck on Steve’s face. “Sure is.”

They both fall into silence. Until Steve speaks again, “Eddie?”

His heart was already breaking his ribs with how rapid it was going. He swallowed quickly, “Yeah?”

“What-” Steve stops himself, a conflicted expression on his face. “Sorry, it was gonna sound dumb and sensitive. Ignore that-”

“Steve.” Eddie said, bumping the toe of his shoe against Steve’s leg. “No dumb questions. I won’t be offended. Promise.” He added when Steve looked over at him with mild disbelief.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I was going to ask if.. you had any idea what your future was like.”

Eddie gave out a dramatically weary sigh like he was an old man returning from an odyssey. He spoke like one as he responded, “Ah yes, the future. Let me spin you a yarn-” He broke down into cackles when Steve playfully punched him at the shoulder with an exaggerated eyeroll and a smile of his own. It pinched Eddie’s scarred cheek but it was a small cost to make Steve look happy.

After he settled down, Eddie answered a little more seriously, “To be honest, I’m just focusing on making it, you know? Like sure, I survived literal hell and got my diploma, but I just wanna take my time with the recuperation and just-” he spread his arms out, his hands brushing against the non-flattened grass around hum, “-make it.”

“And after that?” Steve was staring at him. Vulnerability shone in his eyes, hunched his body little forward so that Steve was almost curled into himself.

Eddie shrugged, “Find a trade that doesn’t care about my past or my name. Maybe mechanics or electric. Move out of Indiana. Maybe I’ll turn Canadian.”

Steve snickered, “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Steve looked away. He started tearing at some of the smaller grass. Sniffed loudly and quickly brushed a hand over his eyes. Eddie wanted to say something but if he did, it might just startle Steve away. And he doesn’t want Steve to leave.

His silence eventually paid off because Steve spoke again, “I- I thought I had a good one. Before I graduated, I thought that I was going to university to study the same boring degree my dad did just to take over his chair when he drops dead. Then I didn’t get into any of the colleges so-”

“Six little nuggets in a Winnebago.” Eddie had eavesdropped on that conversation. He had remembered thinking oh shit, Steve is actually going back to Nancy until he had suddenly hated himself so much that he wanted to rip out his guts and eat them. The usual reaction of having a crush on Steve Harrington.

“Yeah, I still see that happening.” Steve smiled again. His body became less withdrawn into a shell and more open.

“With someone in particular orrrr..?” Eddie drawled out, not willing to say any name aloud.

Steve stretched his arms out and leaned back until he was laying on the ground. Like a magnet, Eddie felt compelled to do the same. Steve’s eyes were on him again. There was something else behind them that Eddie couldn’t decipher even under the billions of dotted lights shining on them.

“I thought I would have that future alone.” Steve said as Eddie laid down. Their shoulders were pressed together, sending goosebumps up Eddie’s arm.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there.” He said casually. Then he just barely held back a gasp when he felt Steve’s pinky finger resting on top of his.

He dared to turn his head. Steve was already looking back at him.

There was no telling who leaned in first. Or who laid his hand on his bicep. Or who fluttered their eyes shut to savor the other’s taste even though neither of them showered in the morning and smelled of unwashed carpets and countryside musk.

All Eddie knew was that his lips were now touching Steve’s. And they felt so soft and plump.

Eddie refused to pull away. He pressed closer, rolling on his side. Steve’s hand slithered onto his chest, spaying his fingers across his shirt right on Eddie’s heart before gripping the fabric. Then he pulled Eddie up, just enough so his torso was nearly aligned on top of Steve’s.

They broke apart, catching their breaths together in their new proximity. Eddie peeked through his eyelashes, almost taken aback by the great tenderness on Steve’s face.

“But it was with you.” Eddie nearly swallowed the words from how Steve’s lips still touched his.

“Hm?”

“That future I still want?” Steve smiled despite a tear that trailed from the corner of his eye. “It was with you too. Even if you don’t even want it at all.”

What other way was there for Eddie to prove otherwise except to cup Steve’s cheek and kiss him again with the stars and fireflies as their witnesses?

#klaus writes #steddie #steddielovemonth

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lavenderfluorite14 · 4 months

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 10: Want

Summary: Astarion finally leads Tav to a pretty, private clearing. ❤️‍🔥

Rating and Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content ❤️‍🔥. Kissing, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Unprotected Sex But No Pregnancy, Sexual Abuse and Recovery, Dissociation, Flashbacks. A/N: Please mind the tags! This will be a horny and hopeful story, but I also want to honor and explore Astarion’s sexual abuse and recovery journey. Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 9. Read from the beginning. Tav was late. Astarion resisted the urge to pace and instead stayed in position, leaning against a thick oak tree. He had brought a spare bedroll with him, which he had fluffed and arranged nicely on the forest floor, alongside a fresh bottle of Ithbank he had stolen from their supplies. He had even brought the nice glass chalices he had “found.” He didn’t have any flowers or chocolates, but at least he had decent wine. Obviously, he had removed his shirt. Once Tav entered the clearing he would reveal himself, his lean body a vision in the soft moonlight, and begin the romantic monologue he had prepared.

He was looking forward to it. He had used the same rote moves over and over again in the bars, the flop houses, the brothels. With strangers, it was better to stick to a safe script, even the repetitive one that had been trained into him. But this was a rare moment of theatricality he could plan.

Crickets chirped. An owl hooted. A few fireflies flickered and danced across the clearing. It really was a lovely spot.

He had spent a long time thoroughly choreographing this encounter. It had to be perfect. Would Tav like it soft and romantic? That was always a safe bet. Or would she surprise him? Was Tav secretly a naughty little thing underneath her do-gooder veneer? Was she as bossy in bed as she was outside of it, or would she attend his every command? He wasn’t completely sure what Tav would like, but he had a few educated guesses. Most people liked the same kinds of things anyway.

Tav was a bard. Given their reputation, he assumed she would at least be competent.

Finally, he hears new footsteps approach and Tav steps gingerly out of the darkness. She’s freshly bathed and dressed in a loose, flowing peasant blouse that sits low upon her shoulders, revealing her gorgeous collar bones. On cue, Astarion strides forward into a moonbeam, angling himself so that the light catches the hard planes of his chest, the hills and valleys of his abdominals. Tav is appropriately awestruck: she looks him up and down and up again, her pupils dilating with undisguised surprise and desire.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting,” he purrs eagerly. He prowls towards her. “Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you.” His voice is soft and low with promise. “Waiting,” He pauses for effect. “To have you.”

Tav’s lip quirks. “Really? From the moment you laid eyes on me?” She questions. “So, was it from the moment you saw me on the Nautiloid and thought I was a Mindflayer? Or was it when you threatened me at knifepoint?”

Astarion purses his lips. He had forgotten about all of that sordid business. He was just trying to say something alluring.

“The point of the matter is, I’ve been aching to have you,” he counters smoothly.

“Well, you don’t have me yet,” Tav teases.

“Don’t I?” He softly calls her bluff. “You’re here! And I don’t think you want to talk.” He steps forward, bringing his hand up to her face. “I think you want to be known.” He brushes a few stray locks behind her ears. His fingers linger against her cheek. “To be tasted,” he whispers.

“And what do you want?” Tav breathes, her eyes wide and glassy. What a question. He wants so many things. Power. Control. Vengeance. Freedom. Safety. But in this clearing, there’s only one right answer.

“What do any of us want? Pleasure.” He holds her gaze, lowering his lashes in a sultry stare. “Yours.” His hands grab her waist. “Mine.” He pulls her body close. “Our collective ecstasy.” He studies Tav’s face, his eyes flickering back and forth across her features. She studies him back, her eyes boring into his own like she’s searching desperately for something. Suddenly, Astarion feels insecure. Why else would she be here if not for this?

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks apprehensively. “To lose yourself in me.”

It’s what they always want. In these moments Astarion is not himself. If he exists, he is a pair of pecs, a ripple of abs, talented fingers, a wet mouth, a hard cock, a tight and willing hole. He is merely a reflection of his partner’s desires. It doesn’t matter what he wants.

Tav places a hand upon his own, leading it up to her mouth. She places a light kiss across the back of his knuckles.

“What I want is the chance to get to know a man who seems-" she turns his hand over. “Clever.” She kisses the palm of his hand, her soft lips lingering against the sensitive skin. “Witty.” She kisses his wrist. She ghosts her mouth up his arm, her warm breath trailing over his cool flesh. “Cunning.” She places a scorching kiss on his shoulder. “Ambitious.” She lays an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his neck and Astarion stifles an involuntary sigh. She moves upward, finally to his mouth.

“Fierce,” she declares. He instinctively leans in and captures her lips with his. She parts her lips for him and Astarion stops himself from groaning into her mouth. She kisses him back softly, her plush lips moving against his with a tender fervor that makes him feel dizzy. He forces himself to break the kiss, dropping his hands to the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up. Tav instinctively knows to jump as he lifts, wrapping her legs around him as he pivots smoothly to press her into the trunk of the nearby oak tree, pinning her there with the weight of his frame.

He kisses her again, basking in the passionate, sensual slide of her mouth as they embrace against the tree. It always felt wrong to allow himself to enjoy the tenderness of a kiss, knowing what awaited his partners. But this is a moment of his own. As he dips his tongue into her hot, wet mouth he finds that it is not enough. He wants more. More heat, more touch, more connection. Tav’s fingers thread through his curls and he shivers in both delight and dread. But her fingers stay soft, her grip stays kind and the longer she caresses him, the more he finds that he likes her attention. He squeezes her ass and Tav releases a breathy sigh into his mouth.

“Please,” she breathes. He buries his face into her neck, where he can’t help but smile against her skin.

“Please what, darling?” He teases, the smirk evident in his voice as he lays a kiss against her throat. Tav guides his face back up to hers. She pushes herself against him, clinging to his chest, and for a moment they are perfectly balanced upright. Then, Tav uses her weight to tip him backward and they tumble into the downy grass. They land in a playful tangle, Tav now seated atop him. She arches her neck in a sinful curve.

“Bite me,” she begs. “Please.” Her thighs clench around his waist. “Please, Astarion.”

Astarion surges forward, flipping them over. He was ready to forego this, but now that Tav has asked for his bite he has no qualms about giving it to her. He dives down to her neck, sinking his teeth greedily into her. Tav cries out, but her cry of pain quickly turns to pleasure as he takes his fill. As he drinks, he slots himself between her legs, settling his weight on top of her as she trembles under him. She’s perfect like this, pinned beneath him with his fangs in her throat. His neglected cock throbs for attention.

Too soon, Astarion rips himself away from her neck. As much as he loves this, he wants her alert. He needs her to feel everything he plans to do to her. He laps at her pretty wounds, swallowing every last drop. Tav bucks beneath him, seeking friction. He has mercy, grinding his hardness down against her.

“As delicious as this is, there’s something else I want to taste,” He whispers in her ear. He moves lower, pulling the loose fabric of her top down beneath her perfect, round breasts. She isn’t wearing any kind of bra or stays, a delightful surprise. He lavishes each breast with nips and kisses, her nipples hardening under his touch. He takes one in his mouth, circling her nipple expertly with his tongue as he kneads the other. Her tits feel perfect in his hands, their softness a beckoning temptation. Tav quivers and sighs as he caresses her, petting his head in a way that he imagines is loving. He wonders what it would be like to bite her here. To lay his head against the pillow of her breast and hear her hypnotic heartbeat. But as beautiful as that thought is, her chest is only an apéritif. Tav groans when Astarion moves even further down her body.

Astarion smirks to himself as he descends. He is very, very good with his mouth.

He unlaces her skirt, then hooks his fingers into her smallclothes, sliding them both completely off and depositing them somewhere irrelevant. He lays a kiss on her ankle, then her knee, then on the inside of her thigh, where a major artery throbs with precious blood. He wants to sink his teeth into it. Instead, he lays another kiss against her plush skin.

He leans forward between Tav’s splayed legs where her wet, pretty cunt glistens. He inhales deeply, openly enjoying the musk of her arousal. He looks up at her from between her legs and catches her staring, propped up on her elbows, as he knew she would be. Maintaining eye contact, he dips down and licks a slow, sensual line across her opening and up to her clit. Tav sighs, her freshly-kissed breasts heaving as she arches her perfect neck upwards. The bruise of his bite stares back at him as Astarion dips back down.

He begins with hot, heavy strokes of his tongue, savoring her taste. Her essence mixes with the lingering taste of blood still on his tongue and he moans at the heady combination. His cock twitches and a spurt of precum suddenly drips from his tips as he sucks and laps at her delicate folds. Gods, she's making such a mess of him.

He circles the delicate pearl of her clit, gradually increasing speed and suction as he works. Her hole clenches needily and he dips one, then another, elegant finger inside her, stroking her silken walls in time with the swirl of his tongue. She’s dripping with want, her channel slick and eager for him. The glide is practically effortless. He adds just a little bit of oomph behind his thrusts, jostling her hips as if he were fucking her with his cock and not his fingers. A small prelude of what is to come. She is going to take his cock so, so well.

“Astarion,” she pants. He moans against her in answer, a deep purr of approval. He crooks his fingers inside of her, massaging her relentlessly. He can feel her twitching, tightening around him. She’s almost there, he can feel it. She grinds against his face and he holds firm, providing her with the sweet friction she needs.

“Astarion!” She clenches around his fingers, gasping as she comes in tight, rippling spasms. He rides her through it, never stopping his ministrations. Not until the sweet undulations of her cunt cease and Tav relaxes in a sweaty, spent puddle. His face is a lovely, sticky mess. He gives her one last sinful lick before moving back to nuzzle her inner thigh. She whines at the loss of his tongue and fingers but he peppers her body with apologetic kisses. She grabs a desperate, but still gentle, fistful of his curls, rubbing his scalp in smooth, soothing circles. Astarion shudders at this new, intimate pleasure.

“Bite me. Please. Again,” Tav whimpers.

“How could I refuse you,” Astarion groans. He hooks one of her thighs over his shoulders, opening her up even more for him. He finally sinks his teeth into the artery in her thigh, relishing in the decadence of such an intimate bite. It’s perfect, exactly what he had wanted. He sucks hard and Tav jerks beneath him, her cunt gushing with renewed wetness. As he drinks, he snakes his hand back up to her clit, rubbing fast circles against her slick flesh. Tav cries out, whining as she quickly approaches a new peak. He releases her thigh, lapping at his bite needily.

“So good, Tav,” he slurs huskily, both her blood and her cum dripping messily down his chin. “So good for me, my darling.” Tav shudders, looking up at him with open adoration in her eyes. “My favorite.” Her face scrunches up, her body pulled tight with pleasure. He holds her gaze. “You’re such a good girl,” he moans for her.

Tav comes for the second time, her back arching off the forest floor as her empty pussy spasms. She releases the sweetest moan as she orgasms again. When she’s finished she reaches for him, pulling him up her body and back to her mouth, where she kisses him with her own deep and fervent hunger.

“You’re perfect, Astarion,” she says, kissing his cheek, then his neck, then his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs worshipfully. She reaches down to cup his aching cock, rubbing him through the fabric of his trousers. Astarion groans softly at the contact.

“Your turn,” she says with a playful smirk, and Astarion realizes that she intends to work her way down. Tav begins to flip their positions but Astarion holds firm, anchoring himself above her. He wants her. But that’s not the point of this.

“Not tonight, my love. Tonight, I want to positively ravish you,” he insists. Tav groans with thwarted longing, but still arches herself up against him to kiss his treacherous lips.

“You sweet, sweet man,” she says, laying back down beneath him. He knows it isn’t true. Tav only has half of the story, by his own design. Astarion knows he isn’t sweet or kind in reality, but maybe he could be. For a night. For Tav.

“Let me show you just how sweet I can be,” he says, returning his fingers to her swollen pussy. He knows she’s already dripping for it, but he longs to feel the proof of her desire again. He did this to her. He lines himself up, teasing the tip of his cock against her drenched opening. He rubs himself languidly between her legs, coating his cock in her nectar as he continues to tease her.   “Astarion, please,” Tav whines, grinding her hips against him to match his rhythm. A shiver runs up his spine at her wanton cries. He loves it when she begs for it, desperate for anything he will give her. He wants to push it, but he stops himself. He said he would be sweet.

“Anything for my favorite,” he hums, easing himself inside of her with a shallow thrust. He works his way slowly inside of her, enjoying the way her body stretches to accommodate his girth. Tav mewls when he’s finally seated inside of her, and Astarion gives an experimental grind that makes her gasp in pleasure.   When he feels her body relax around him he sets a firm, but steady, pace, humping into her with practiced abandon. His cock drags along her tight walls, spearing her core over and over. He angles himself up against the delicious spot inside her that he knows will make her see stars. He finds it easy to fall into this rhythm, to let his mind wander away while his partner writhes in ecstasy. To let his hand find their clit, toying with it perfunctorily as they languish beneath him.

“Faster, please,” someone begs.   

“So polite,” He chuckles darkly, increasing his pace. Sweat begins to bead along his brow. A hand comes up to wipe it away, jolting him out of his reverie. Lips find his own, but it’s too much right now. He gives them a quick peck then straightens his spine, keeping his face far away from that tempting and forbidden throat.

“Astarion,” a voice calls, breathless and keening. Fingers trace over his chest, running down his side, grasping at his hip. They begin to move across his back, dangerously close to it. He immediately laces those curious fingers in his own, pinning them above their head. He begins pounding in earnest, obfuscating with his body.

He feels his partner shatter underneath him, their hole clenching and sucking around his length. Their pleasure ripples through him in tight, pleasing waves and he slows his hips to a gentle roll as they come down from their climax. Tav squeezes his hand in hers, turning her face to kiss his knuckles again.   “Come here,” she beckons, drawing him down to her chest with her other hand. Astarion obeys but turns his face away from her delectable neck. Any moment, He will interrupt-

“That was so good,” she says. “You’re so good.” She coaxes him further up her body, angling his face towards the crook of her neck. She allows him to hide there, unaware of the tempest that wells inside of him.   “Please, take your pleasure, Astarion,” she urges, rubbing those diabolical circles into his scalp. “I want to feel you come,” she pleads. His hips twitch and he jerks inside of her, his body moving of its own accord. He has whispered words like those a thousand times, but Tav sounds so sincere when she says them.

It’s been so long, too long since this happened with another person. He doesn’t know if he can. But he wants to. Her arms cradle him as he moves against her, trying to lose himself in the way that he’s supposed to. That should be instinctual, that should be his by right.

He buries his face in her neck, resisting the desire to bite down. He feels the warmth of her body, breathes in her comforting scent. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Tav. Tav. Tav, Tav, Tav, Tav, Tav-

He comes hard, releasing himself deeply inside of her. A moan tears itself from his throat as he is wracked with full-body contractions, pleasure coursing through him like lightning. He takes big, gasping, unnecessary gulps of air as he hurtles over this unexpected cliff. Tav holds him through it all, whispering kind, encouraging nothings.

She turns to kiss him and he lets her, grounding himself in the push and pull of her lips. He opens his mouth to her, wanting to feel it all. Tav props them both up on their sides, brushing his sweaty curls out of his face. He can feel her smiling into the kiss and it makes him smile too, just a little.

“You forgot handsome,” he says after a moment, breaking their kiss.

“What?” Tav asks blearily.

“Handsome. Funny, clever, cunning, ambitious, fierce, and handsome,” he explains, as if it were obvious. Tav snorts inelegantly, a cute puff of air tickling his face.

“And very, very handsome,” she concedes, settling against his chest.

They stay like that for a long time, silently luxuriating in each other’s arms. Astarion can’t remember the last time he trusted this peace. He’s waiting for it to be interrupted by the the click of a door handle, the muted tap of a staff against ugly carpet, and the red glow of his sire’s cruel eyes, freezing them both in place on one of the overstuffed, impersonal beds of the palace.

Tav shifts in his arms and he resists the urge to hold her tighter. Her hand strokes his chest in a consistent, easy sweep that lulls them both into a deep, peaceful rest.

Chapter 11: Fun

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #a taste of plums #astarion smut #astarion pwp #astarion fanfic #astarion longfic #the night shift #astarion romance

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flash-exchange · 4 months

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Clavis Lelouch and the Cauldron of Goop

Characters: Clavis & Gilbert Writers: @lorei-writes @yarnnerdally @scorchieart Rating: all ages Warnings: none Notes: We played Frantic Fanfic in voice chat and decided it was too much fun not to share it. Strap in for the chaos! (3 minutes mode)

It was a dark, dark night, somewhere deep in a forest. No light. No houses (aside those made from gingerbread and candy, and who knows how many children skeletons -- chicken feet not included). No nothing, aside from the trees and the chirping of rather unamused crickets, and perhaps a little something special: the magic of being arch-not-quite-enemies. ("Frenemies" had to start somewhere).

Clavis leaned his head back, drinking in the cool night air. His eyes narrowed as he gazed upon Gilbert. His eye (singular) narrowed too. He put his cane in the cauldron and stirred.

"Why is it purple?" he questioned.

"Why shouldn't it be purple?" Clavis replied. Indeed, why?

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"I would think that adding the spirulina would have made it blue," Gilbert mused. Clavis laughed, raising an eyebrow.

"Dear me, looks like someone needs to brush up on their color theory." The smile slowly faded from his face as the pot began boiling more than anticipated.

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"Of course," Gilbert said sweetly. "You'll have to excuse my condition. Color-blindness is often a consequence of cyclopes. However, it also keeps us acutely in-tune to incoming disaster."

"Hahaha, you may want to consider investing in glasses!" Clavis laughed nervously, keeping an eye on the brew. "Or perhaps, a monocle?" He added. The cauldron bubbled evermore viciously. "In fact, I'll bet Sariel has a pair you can snap in half. Why don't you go ask him now?"

#clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #ikemen prince clavis #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen prince gilbert #frantic fanfic night

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aquidragon · 2 years

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Halloween fic idea: You are in a haunted house with a few friends and you come across a painting on the wall. And although you leave, you couldn't get this painting out of your head, so you go back to go admire it one last time. However, much to your surprise, the man in the painting comes to life. and his name is PLAGAS LEONNNNN

DUD DUD DUH DDDDDUUUUUHHHHHH

i may have put too much effort into this than i thought, but fuck it, we ball!

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Rating: T

CW(s): none (that I'm aware of)

Word Count: 2083

---

Everyone knew not to approach the haunted mansion on top of the hill, which casted it’s shadow down upon the small, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t sure why you allowed yourself to be dragged along by your friends to explore the abandoned house, especially the night before Halloween.

You panted heavily as you reached the crest of the wheat colored hill, dried grass and leaves crunched underneath your laced boots with every step. The mansion itself must’ve been beautiful once, in it’s hayday, but now the white paint was mostly faded and chipped off. All the windows were shattered, or boarded up with wooden planks. Overgrown plants took over the main balcony, a garden of uncontrolled weeds twisting and weaving around eachother.

Most of your friends, to your dismay, had already entered the mansion; leaving you to your own disposal. You looked up at the impressive, crumbling structure, a cold ball of dread sunk down to your stomach. You felt sick. The doors loosely hung on their rusted hinges, you were surprised that the entrance was never sealed up.

With a deep sigh, you stepped into the mansion. You marveled at the giant, vintage chadiellor that hung from the ceiling; it’s crystals catching the setting sunlight, twinkling patterns over the tall walls. You stepped forward, in the center of the large main room, despite the chill that rattled down your spine; the decaying space felt peaceful.

You inhaled sharply, the scent of mildew, dust and what smelled like a distinct copper filled your nose. You instantly coughed, your lungs protesting the intrusion of dust alongside the favored oxygen. You tried to peel your ears, to see if you could hear your friends’ excited chatter, but you were met with silence.

“Guys?” You called out, grabbing the flashlight from your bag, shining it down the dark hallway to your right.

Silence, again.

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking up the massive staircase that was ahead of you. Many of the wooden stairs were missing planks, with jagged rusty nails sticking up, just waiting to give someone tetanus. You walked to the base of the steps, shining the flashlight up, frowning. “Are you guys up there?”

Crickets.

“Great,” you mumbled, heart pounding in your ears. You figured your best bet would to search the first floor of the mansion first, and was the safest. The evening breeze whispered through the gaping doorway of the entrance, as you decided to go down the hallway to your right. It was pitch black, without your flashlight, you would’ve been practically blinded.

Portraits of what seemed to be high-ranking individuals lined both walls, you shone your light on them, a brass plaque with their name and the year was placed below each painting. You paused to read each name, getting a glimpse of the manor’s history. To your surprise, it seemed that the dates were recent, instead of ancient; like you had figured.

You continued to walk down the black corridor, before almost colliding into a closed door. You knocked on the oak surface, hesitantly. “Are you guys in there?” You asked, more loudly than you intended. Suddenly, a freezing gust of wind blew down the hallway, as you swore the eyes of each portrait pinned on you.

You swallowed deeply, a trickle of sweat lingered on your forehead. You turn around, ready to head back to search the other hallway, before the yellow light of your flashlight catches a dark figure. At the end of the hallway, staring back with you with empty eyes, motionless. Your knees almost buckled with dread, not recoginzing the silhouette to match any of your friends’. You felt more eyes digging onto you, watching for your next move.

You swung your body back around, as soon as you heard footsteps coming behind you. You glanced back, the mysterious figure was gone, but the steps kept getting closer. Without a second thought, you yanked the door open, flinging yourself inside the room. Against your better judgement, you grabbed nearby desk-chair, and barricaded it underneath the brass doorhandle.

“No way.” You gasped to yourself, feeling adrenaline pumping through your veins like morphine. Was this place really haunted?

You looked back at the small room you had locked yourself into, noting the small fireplace; and the large portrait that hung above it. The fireplace crackled to life, making you jump, and effectively making your blood run cold. Orange light flooded the room, illuminating the painting hanging at the hearth.

A man of ash-blond hair, with fringed bangs sat before you. His eyes were painted a brilliant shade of bloody crimson, with high, handsome cheekbones. A faintest hint of a smirk graced his pale blush lips, as his gaze pierced through his portrait. You timidly approached the painting, the bronze plaque underneath was faded, his identity wiped clean from existence.

Strangely, you felt disappointed, not knowing the mysterious man’s identity. You looked back at the painting, a bit of his chest was exposed through the loose fitting white blouse. You tentatively traced your finger over the textured oil paint, but your fingerprint caught no dust. Was someone maintaining the portrait?

Before you could investigate farther, your friends shouted your name from the other side of the door. You scrambled to the door, moving the chair out of the way, and peeking out the door. Your three friends stared back at you, with mirrored concerned expressions. You gave them an embarrassed grin, before starting to follow them out the door.

You turned back one last time, to take one last glimpse at the portrait, burning scarlet eyes briefly met yours, before the fire whooshed out and the door slammed shut. Your eyes widened and you scurried after your group, with your heart racing.

So why did you return to the next evening? You weren’t exactly sure, but you were drawn to the portrait you saw in the small room. The full, October moon hung high in the night sky, as wispy clouds drifted across the horizon. You stood at the broken entrance doorway again, staring into the dark void.

With a deep, unsure breath, you crossed into the threshold. Transported into another world, carried on by your morbid sense of curiosity. You made a beeline to the room again, flashlight tight in your hand, as you carried yourself through the corridor. Countless painted eyes followed you as you approached the door, and your hand pushed on the cold brass doorhandle.

It was locked.

You felt an odd feeling of disappointment settle in your stomach. You had come all this way just for the door to be locked? It wasn’t locked yesterday.

Hesitantly, your knuckles rapped against the oak surface, and almost instantly; the door creaked open. The fire ignited to life, and the portrait was empty. Your eyes widened, as you walked over to investigate the empty frame. “-but it was there yesterday?” You mumbled to yourself, questioning your memory.

The door slamming shut behind you yanked you from your thoughts, as you jumped and scrambled to grab the pocket knife you had brought with you; pointing it at at the door. A man, the same man as the one you had saw in the portrait stood at the door, blocking your only exit route. His red eyes met you with an intense, cold ferocity you had never seen before.

“Don’t come any closer!” You shouted, pointing the silver blade threateningly at the mystery-man.

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his partially bare torso, dangerous spikes bristled from his spine as he glowered at you. “You think that pathetic thing can kill me? Please.” He rolled his eyes, carelessly approaching you.

You cowered slightly, scooting against the wall, the heat of the fireplace radiating the left side of your face. You hid your face in your arms, maybe you were dreaming? You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that you were in some sick nightmare that your conscious decided to conjure up on Halloween night. However, the stinging feeling of your hair being yanked up was real.

Portrait man peered at your face, using his grip on your head to shift you around to different angles. Studying your appearance closely, before his eyes seemed to light up with a form of recognition. “You’re the woman from yesterday.” He commented, letting go of your hair. “Why the fuck did you come back?”

You tenderly rubbed your scalp, the slight sting started to ebb away. “The more important question is, how the fuck are you alive?” You hissed back, against your better judgement.

“You shouldn’t be here!” The blond growled, eyes glancing over at the shut door behind him. “It’s dangerous for humans.”

“I just wanted to investigate your portrait a bit closer.” You explained hotly, crossing your arms. “I didn’t know this place was haunted by walking paintings, what are you, anyway?”

Mystery man wrinkled his nose, as if he was amused. “I think the proper question is; ‘who are you?’” He snidely commented.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he hushed you instantly. “To answer your kind question, I’m Leon Scott Kennedy.” He hummed down at you, “and you are?”

Your name felt strange on your lips, as you told him. Leon repeated your name, tasting it on his tongue, as it were a fine candy. “To answer your rude question, I’m a cursed man, to put it simply.”

“Is that why you’re trapped in a painting?” You asked, feeling a bit dumb.

“Partially,” Leon grunted in annoyance, “-also my appearance.” He flexed the spines on his back and shoulders. Small black veins bulged through his pale skin, and what seemed to be tiny worms wiggled around his chest.

You gagged at the sight, feeling intense unease.

“Maybe you can help free me,” the blond stated cooly. His crimson eyes bore into you, with an unreadable expression. “I just require one, simple, request.”

“A simple request?” You breathed, hesitantly. “How can I free you?”

Leon smirked, squatting down to your level, his tight navy tousers hugged his thighs delightfully. The amber light of the fireplace illuminated his porcelain skin, including the exposed skin of his pectorial muscles. “You know how to break curses, don’t you?” He whispered into your ear, tickling the back of your neck.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.

“Oh, I think you do, sweetheart.” He grinned wolfishly. “You read it in your storybooks, saw it in Disney movies, I think you know.”

Oh.

“You mean, a-a kiss?” You bit the inside of your lip, blood rushing to your face.

“That’s exactly what I mean, doll.” Leon sat back on his haunches to look at you. “You’re beautiful, innocent, an ideal person to break my curse.”

You felt an odd sense of anxiety budding in your chest, as you flinched away from him. “How do I know I can trust you? Will it even work?” You asked, brain spinning.

The handsome man shrugged, the loose white blouse drifting around his broad shoulders. “If it doesn’t, I’m quite used to this lack-of-life.” He glanced at you, a charming smile spreading across his lips. “Of course, I’m giving you a choice. There’s not much I can do to get you to trust me-” he gestured to his spikes, “-but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Your jaw set as you weighed your options, feeling overwhelmed by the burning eyes that stared into yours intensely, as well as his plump pink lips. You swallowed deeply, washing a piece of the anxiety that lodged in your throat away. “F-Fine, it can’t hurt to try, right?”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Leon smiled at you, genuinely, and his shoulders seem to melt with relief. “Thank you.” He leaned into your lips, delicately meeting your mouth his his. Your eyes fluttered shut, as one of his hands ghosted on your cheek. The coldness of his skin started to turn into warmth, as more color began to rush into his flesh. He inhaled sharply as he felt life flow back through his veins, as the plagas around his chest wiggled in delight.

You had done it, the stange, mysterious wanderer who happened to find his portrait gave him life again. Your lips tasted like bubblegum, as he fully melted into the kiss. After a moment, Leon had finally pulled away, the redness in his eyes faded into a gentler blue. “Did I do it?” You gasped breathlessly, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” he croaked, “I think you did.” ---

dedicated to the re4 remake romantic skin!!

#resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #romantic leon kennedy #plagas leon x reader #cursed leon kennedy #a bit cheesy #esp the ending #but i had fun #cilantro my beloved #resident evil request #leon s kennedy request #gender neutral reader #gn! reader

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applepiesupreme · 3 months

Text

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 16

AOC Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/143748358

They rode into camp and she slid off as soon as Frost stopped to run over to Cricket. She hugged his neck and kissed his cheek, then talked to him with affection about how much she missed him. Arthur gave her a dry look as he hit the ground but she ignored him.

“Are you okay my love? Did they feed you well here? Were you nervous coming over? I know, I know! I bet they didn’t give you your treats every evening,” she whispered, combing through his mane with her fingers. “I thought about you all the time! Every day! My big boy.”

She heard Arthur mutter something dark under his breath as he walked by her into camp and she ignored that, too.

“A whole week,” she said quietly, palming his ears as he nodded with excitement, “Mommy is sorry. I had to go. But I’m back now and how is my beautiful, my gorgeous, my amazing, my one and only, my precious…”

“Ya done yet?”

She gave him a poisonous side-eye. For whatever reason, he stood in the middle of camp, valise at hand, waiting for her.

“I’ll be back later, I’ll find you apples. Maybe we’ll ride out to that tree together. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she whispered and kissed Cricket a final time before she inhaled with determination and walked in his direction.

She saw Hosea by Dutch’s tent raise his hand in greeting and she waved back with a smile. Behind him, Dutch was leaning on his tent pole and walked out of sight when her eyes landed on him. Micah was close by, his face still blue and purple, his stitches still in place but not as deformed as she had hoped he would be, arms crossed, leering.

Her eyes glided to the left and she saw the empty spot where Arthur’s tent used to be. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she walked towards him. “Where’s your…”

She flinched as if burned when he took her hand. He turned and started to walk to the outskirts of the camp where her tent was, ignoring her attempt to jerk it back. Karen walked by, giving her a lecherous smile and she smiled back politely, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.

“We’re in camp!” she hissed, stumbling to follow him.

Arthur strolled on with that confident gait as if he hadn’t heard, puling her in his wake.

“Welcome back!” Jack piped up from where he sat and Savigne smiled at him. Her gaze traveled up to meet Abigail and Tilly’s eyes and she helplessly twisted her fingers to slither out of his grip. To her astonishment, his hand clamped down even harder.

“Have you lost your-”

The rest of the sentence evaporated in her head when her eyes landed on the spot where her tent used to be. Her tent wasn’t there anymore. In its place was Arthur’s tent, but it looked considerably bigger.

“Uh…where is…” she stammered, “…what’s that?”

She walked the rest of the way willingly, confused and curious. The structure was still the same – the canvas attached to the cart, draped over poles. But the poles were set further away and additional poles had been added to carry the weight of the larger canvas. A second, thicker maroon canvas was draped over the lighter one, currently bunched up and tied up higher. The knots could be released to let it drape over the first layer for added privacy or warmth or adjusted to be pulled up to let light in through the white one underneath. She gaped at it with astonishment – like it was an ancient structure that had popped out of the sea within a fortnight, covered in shells and seaweed.

Arthur walked up to the flap on the side that was facing away from camp and strolled in. She stood rooted when he released her. The inside looked similar with stacked crates, but there was an addition of furniture of shelves and two chairs pushed against a small table. The bed was quit a bit bigger, still attached to the cart on one side and supported with sturdy legs on the other to stabilize it. Her bedroll was rolled up and tucked into a corner. Her eyes glided over her clothes, neatly folded and placed on a shelf with her books underneath and her basket leaning against it.

She had the wherewithal to close her mouth as her gaze came full circle and landed on the man standing in the middle. There was an unreadable expression on his face – trepidation?

“What’s going on?” she managed finally.

He rolled his shoulders and scratched the back of his neck, then took off his hat to throw it on one of the crates.

“Ya like it?”

“I…sure. I mean…it’s nice. But…” She glanced at her possessions. A distant part of her mind noticed that the books were out of order and for a moment her fingers itched to fix it. “Why is my stuff in here?”

He gave her look that asked if she was stupid and it was probably well deserved.

“Our tent now,” he said casually. “Yer stayin’ here with me.” Then an added mumble: “At least I hope y’are.”

A long moment passed in stunned silence as she internalized the words. He palmed his beard and pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat on it. Savigne felt herself gliding to carefully sit on the bed across from him, first testing its sturdiness, then relaxing onto it. She swallowed and tried to think but all she could think of was his hand gripping hers to walk her through camp and her heart did a double thump at the meaning of it.

Her eyes crawled around the tent. It felt as spacious as a house after her previous one. The fabric, a creamy white, broke the harshness of the bright afternoon sun, bathing the inner space with a soft glow. It rustled and swayed gently in the summer breeze, moving, breathing as if it was a living thing. It was peaceful in here, quiet and cozy. She never had owned a home but she must have constructed, decorated, painted one in her mind a thousand times. It wasn't the cabin of her dreams, but it was closer to a home than anything else she had lived in before.

She found him watching her, his blue gaze shimmering with apprehension.

“Said I would fix it,” he muttered, sounding somewhat offended by her surprise, before he fished out a cigarette to play with.

Yes, he had said it but naturally she had dismissed it because in all their time together he had never implied that he thought of her as anything more than an affair. He had been gentle and polite, but he had never done the things people associate with affection and devotion: he had never complimented her, had never expressed interest in wanting a real relationship with her, had never bought a gift or even picked a couple of measly flowers for her. The most sentimental thing he had done were the handwritten notes and half of those had been to communicate a departure or to set up a meeting place.

But somewhere, somehow she had made an oversight. She had bought into his reserved and rough facade and forgotten that this was also the same man who had come to blows with Micah, would have killed him if not for the interference of others. For what Micah had done to her. The man who had obviously created a strain between himself and a man he had been obscenely loyal to for decades, his mentor and father figure. For her. And last but not least, had - without delay or hesitation - risked his life. To save her. Now sitting in this tent he had built just for her, had moved away from camp because she preferred it so, among the new furniture he had cobbled together so she would be comfortable, Savigne couldn’t help but feel like he had told her that he valued her all along, but in a language she didn’t speak, with words she couldn’t understand.

”Why did you hide us?” she asked, suddenly unsure about everything, especially her own judgement.

He looked away and ran a hand through his hair. "Don’ matter. I know it was wrong.”

“It matters to me,” she said.

He exhaled a long breath and sat back in his chair, spreading his legs. It was a quiet, breezy summer early afternoon. Most people in camp were gone to wherever they went during the day, there was just the distant chatter of the women talking as they worked. He seemed to be in thought, absent-mindedly playing with the cigarette in his hands. She was used to his long pauses and determined to find out what was going on in that head of his, so she waited.

"Think maybe I envied you long time an’ didn’ know it," he said slowly. "Envied what you had and wan'ed the same for m'self."

”How do you mean?” was the incredulous question.

All she remembered from their earliest encounters was a profound lack of interest tinged with mild distaste towards her. A lot of characters in camp had made her uneasy those first days - she had feared Micah's dead gaze, had been disturbed by the clever spark in Dutch's eye, she even remembered feeling uncomfortable about Sadie's hot, quiet anger, so of course she had also noticed Arthur's hardness and intensity. She could tell that he was a rough man, a man with a mean streak, a no nonsense man. So she had glided around him as much as possible and darted straight to her tent whenever she felt his sizzling azure gaze on herself. Thankfully he had also been the busiest member of the gang and more away then present and not the type to strike a conversation with her, so the first few weeks had passed with what could only be called mutual aversion. Then somewhere further down the line he must have come to a conclusion about her because his lack of interest had morphed into a scrutinizing, judgmental, critical gaze. She had made peace with the fact that he didn't like her because frankly, she didn't like him much, either. If Cricket hadn't been stolen that day in Valentine and he hadn't walked out the bat doors of the saloon the very moment he had, odds were she would have never interacted with him.

He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees and inspected his hands for a while.

"You came and went as you pleased." he tried to explain. "No folks hanging on yer skirts. No mouths to feed but yer own…Thought for a long time I didn' like you for it. But...looking back...think I envied it. All you had was yer own. Your money was yer own, your time was yer own, your business was yer own..." He trailed off for a while. "Used t’think I was free," he huffed darkly. "You was more free than I ever was. Guess I wan'ed somethin' for m'self, too." He scratched his beard and looked up to see if she understood, that unapologetic intensity back in his eyes for a moment: "Wan'ed you for m'self."

She dropped her gaze, unable to hold his for a moment, but understood what he meant too well. Growing up around hundreds of other kids didn’t allow a lot of privacy or ownership.

Then he added “I love the gang,” as if he had said something sacrilegious and needed to clarify. “Would die for these folks." She nodded again. "But…I been restless. Tired, maybe.” He massaged the back of his neck.

"Thank you. For explaining," she said finally and picked lint off her skirts for a short silence. "Wish you would have done that in Saint Denis."

He snorted. "Tried."

"I might have been..." she trailed, trying to come up with the right word.

His eyebrows ticked up as he sat back to cross his arms.

"...a little..."

His eyebrows rose higher.

"...testy."

"Yeah, that ain't the word."

"Anyhow, that's in the past," she said quickly and ignored his amused hum. “Seems to me,” she sighed, “you should maybe try to do a lot more talking and I should do a lot less thinking.”

The corner of his lips curled and the blue in his eyes was softer when he looked up.

”Yer hesitatin',” he said carefully when the lighter moment passed. “Thought ya wan’ed…more?”

“I mean I did…” She bit her lip, undeniably nervous at the prospect of becoming not just an actual couple, but one that shared a living space.

“Ain’t nothing to fear,” he said softly, reading her tension. “I don’ bite.”

“I know that,” she huffed. “It’s just…I never lived with someone. Not like that. Feels more…” The word she was reaching for was ‘serious’, but she decided against it. “I’m just thinking it might be different.”

He nodded slowly, focused on rolling the cigarette between thumb and finger. She knew he had never shared a tent, either, so this was new territory for him, too. “Might be different.” His eyes flicked up to her. “Might be better?” he suggested. He crossed his arms again and looked around the tent. “More room,” he shrugged.

She grinned a little and absentmindedly played with her fingers, imagining she could still feel the residue of his grasp on her hand and it made her heart flutter.

“That’s true,” she admitted. “But, for example, I don’t even know if I snore,” she posed.

“I don’ mind,” he said dismissively.

“What if we like things different?” she waved her arm at the furniture.

His shoulders hitched. ”I ain’t fussy.”

She bit a nail. “What if you come in late or I wake up early to go to work and…”

There was a smidge of amusement in his eyes when he looked at her. “Ain’t no big deal.”

”And what if…”

”Savigne…” he interjected gently, as if she was a spooked horse, “…all that don’ matter none.”

Asking the important questions here, are we?

She concentrated on her boots.

"Ain't gonna force you,” he said at last. The cigarette weaved between his fingers, looping back and forth and back and forth. “I ain’t a good man,” he huffed with a bitter tinge, “that don' gone changed. I understand if ya don' wanna.” He jabbed his chin at one of the crates: “I’ll put up yer tent if you say so.”

Jesus, he has a scathing inner voice, too, she thought, surprised. It was sobering, to see a man so self confident and so capable have his own demons to wrestle.

”I do want to,” she said quietly.

He gave her a look, and even though it was well masked, she read his surprise in it. The surprise of a man who had gambled and thrown the dice, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. "Way I see it..." he cleared his throat, "...worth a shot to...” the expression on his face suggested he was trying to recall the right words, “...'take a leap’.”

"What if it doesn't work out?" she whispered, more somber. She looked up from under her eyebrows. "What if you leap and there's nothing on the other side to land on?"

He took a few moments to mull on it before he finally met her eyes, his gaze now clear and steady: “Only one way to find out.”

Times like this she envied Arthur's simple approach to things. He had a straightforward, no nonsense way about it; he didn't shy away from risk, wasn't afraid of failure, didn't overthink the issue. No doubt it was a big step to take for him, too, but here he was, ready and resolved, standing at the halfway point. And that's as far as he would go. If she was going to meet him on that bridge, she would have to do the crossing alone.

Don't do it. Here there be dragons, Savigne.

The center of the maelstrom yawned ahead of her, terrifying in its darkness. In it, a frontier unknown. The foreboding hinterlands of trust and attachment and commitment. Riddled with the mines of misunderstanding and mistrust, the swamps of jealousy and insecurity, steep peaks of incompatibility, the tundras of dishonesty and the thorny thickets of quarrels. And worse still, somewhere in there, the scepter of that lurking beast: love. Probably pain. Again. Possibly loss. Again. Sadie was wrong - it was madness to agree to all that knowingly, willingly.

And yet...

She glanced at her clothes on the shelf and saw the attempt he had made not just to fold them, but to fold them neatly. The clumsy job of a child, but the effort unmistakable. Seeing that broke something inexplicable inside her and put a lump in her throat. I might actually, really, seriously love this man, she thought to herself, somewhat startled.

Eventually she had the courage to look up at him and he stilled when he saw it. Then his face twisted with discomfort when he saw the tears building up in her eyes. “If ya don’t like it-” he started gruffly.

“I love it,” she sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, inspecting his hands and the rigidity of his shoulders loosened a little. Then he shifted in the chair, making a point of not looking at her as she patted her skirt pockets to find a handkerchief, a little baffled by her own reaction. She felt raw and vulnerable, exposed like someone had peeled her skin off. She dabbed her eyes, confused what she was crying about but unable to stop all the same.

”I think I’m just tired,” she sniffed after a few minutes. “Was a long trip.”

Her tears had put him back on edge and he fumbled with his cigarette a little longer before he finally decided to light it. He flicked away ash on his shirt that wasn’t there while he shot a glance at her to check if she was done bawling. The tension in his shoulders eased further when he saw that she was.

“I’ll sleep on the bedroll,” he offered around his cigarette as she was wiping the last remnant of tears off her cheeks.

Not if I have anything to say about it, she thought, amused by his attempt for chivalry. But all she said was “Okay.”

He nodded in agreement and threw his legs on the bed beside her. A moment later he flinched at the look she gave him and retrieved his legs to plant his feet on the ground.

“No boots on the bed,” she growled, brushing the spot with a hand. “That’s just nasty.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She sighed into her pillow. Turned on her other side.

Silence.

She sighed again, a little more dramatically and turned again.

“Y’alright there?”

Savigne smiled in the dark, then quickly wiped it off her face, lest he could hear it in her voice.

“Not really.”

Silence.

“What’s the matter?”

She grumbled something incomprehensible.

She heard Arthur grunting to sit up on the bedroll behind her. “What’s that?”

“I think my hair smells of steak,” she said over her shoulder.

A long silence that indicated that he was wondering if he had heard her right.

“I walked in there today without a cap. And now my hair smells of food,” she clarified.

He groaned in exasperation and she smiled wickedly again.

“Y’can wash it in the morning.”

“But I can’t sleep tonight.”

Silence.

“Also, I didn’t get to wipe off my sweat when we arrived. I must stink to high heaven.” All of this was true. She was agitated at the grime on her body and her hair did smell a bit like steak (or at least smoke), but at the moment it was more of an excuse to annoy him.

“You don’ stink,” he muttered and she heard him lie back down.

She sighed again and turned to lie on her left, facing him.

“Woman…”

“What?”

“Ya don’ lie still, 'm gonna tie you down.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she muttered.

“‘Scuse me?”

She bit down a bubble of laughter. She moved to lie on her back. From the corner of her eye she saw Arthur’s head turn towards the bed. The light in the tent was dim so she couldn’t see his expression but she would have bet real money that he was sublimely pissed.

She was getting ready to turn on her right again when warned: “Don’t. Turn.” His voice annoyed, flat.

She flopped back on her left again instead to face him. He clicked his tongue. God, Arthur was harder to rile up than she imagined.

“You’re very cross today, aren’t you?” she said flippantly.

“Wonder why,” was the gruff response.

“You’re cross. Luther was born cross. It’s like I have a type.”

Silence.

“Except for Mr. Dunham.” She watched his body tense like a drawn bowstring. “He was kind of nice.”

“Savigne,” he said lowly a moment later, “yer testin’ my patience.”

A long silence.

She pushed: “He had soft hands.”

Arthur catapulted to his feet and she flinched and sat up in response. They stood there looking at each other in the dark for a long moment.

“You ain’t gonna let me sleep, are ya?” he growled and she suppressed a shiver at his tone.

He took a step towards the bed, then halted in restraint. He was wearing soft cotton bottoms and nothing on top. She couldn’t see his expression but just in case he could see hers, she forced her features to convey innocence.

“I don’t know what you mea-”

“Woman!…”

She sensed his surprise when she rose to her knees to face him. “What?”

“Ya tryin’ to piss me off?” His tone wary and unsure.

She looked at his dark silhouette against the milky moonlight in the tent. “Come closer,” she said quietly.

He hesitated for a moment, but then padded closer to look down at her.

She gathered her hair to one side and exposed her neck. She looked up at him. “Here,” she whispered. “Smell that.”

He hesitated again, then leaned in to her neck. She stood stock still as his nose touched her neck, his lips brushed against her skin, inhaling deep before he withdrew without a word.

“Well?”

“Smells fine t’me,” he said carefully.

She looked at him from under her eyebrows. “Try again.”

Something in his body language shifted. He lightly placed his hand on the other side of her neck and waited a moment to see her reaction. When she didn’t object, he pulled her up a little as he bowed down. His lips traced her neck before a slow kiss bloomed below her ear. When she didn’t move, he placed another one, lower. He stood up again and let go of her neck. His breathing was a little louder.

“Nothing?” she asked. “I think the soap scent of my chemise is masking it". She crossed her arms to grab the hem and lift it over her head and threw it on the floor. She faintly heard his breath hitch.

“There. Try again.”

His hold was firmer, more confident this time as he pulled her up without hesitation and gave her neck a long, slow lick with the flat of his tongue. She gasped and closed her eyes, swaying in his hold. Arthur’s hand on her neck slid to her throat and he closed his fingers, gentle but firm and pushed her back onto the bed while he followed, climbing between her legs. His mouth descended on hers, forceful, and she relented immediately. His other hand cupped her breast hard and she arched into his grasp. He kissed her deeply, violently for long moments, bruising her lips and stealing her breath.

“You ‘ave a mouth on ya today,” he whispered into her ear.

“What are you…going to…do about it?” she whispered back, suppressing a moan as his hand dipped from her breast into her bloomers.

He kissed her again, aggressive and enthusiastic. “Teach you some manners,” was the low grow as he sat up to grip the her bloomers and peel them off her legs. Then he lifted her by her waist to throw her further down the bed as he crawled after and settled between her legs. A split second later his lips were on her folds and she almost screamed in surprise. She tried to scramble away but his hands gripped her thighs and pulled her back as he gave her a long lick with the flat of his tongue.

She moaned and tried to scuttle off but he was faster and jerked her back again. One of her hands shot out to his hair, trying to move his head away, hissing his name. Then she clamped the other palm over her lips as she felt his mouth on her folds, kissing her slow and sensuous, tongue gently lapping and swirling. No one had ever done this to her before and Savigne’s head swam both with self-conscious embarrassment and the the unexpected pleasure. "Stop!" she whispered, "w-wait...just...oh," she flopped and spasmed uselessly as he ignored her pleadings.

The hands on her thighs pressed her open as he settled between her legs. She whined into her palm, feeling completely exposed to him. His tongue was like wet fire, exploring her with confidence, his licking and suckling growing bolder the harder she struggled. She knew fighting him was only making it worse so she made an effort to stop struggling and the grip on her thighs relented in response as he hummed against her with approval. Her head fell back on the bed in momentary submission. He stopped and untangled her hand from his hair and slapped it away.

“Better keep them hands to yerself.” His voice was hard and low. “Or I will bind you.”

She whimpered another pleading but quickly clapped the second hand on her mouth too as he resumed. His tongue gently traversed up and down, sending shock waves through her before it swirled around her clit and suckled. Savigne shot up halfway despite herself at the searing jolt of pleasure and reflexively tried to snap her thighs close again, crying into her palm. His grip instantly hardened to iron in warning, pushing her open her further.

“Oh god, oh god, ohmygod,” she blabbered into her hands, her legs shaking with the strain to close but failing against his hold.

“I like it when ya fight me,” he drawled, scraping his beard against her inner thigh. Hot breath against her folds as he pressed her legs open to almost a painful degree. “But ‘m gonna take what I want.”

She felt his tongue curl and enter her, dismissive of her muffled wails in response. He hummed with pleasure, dipping his tongue in and out, then lapping at her like a dog. Muffled cries of gibberish as she felt a finger go in and his lips latch on her again. The finger started to pump, slow and steady while he suckled her bud and she shuddered in ecstasy, her control fraying and her embarrassment forgotten. Finally, another swirl of his tongue against her entrance and Her hips started to sway against him on their own accord as she lost the fight, giving in to the burning pleasure. He moaned his approval and softened his bruising grip, hands moving a leg over his shoulder, caressing it to encourage her as she let go of her inhibitions and rocked against his finger.

Just when she thought it possibly couldn’t feel any better, suddenly the finger curled expertly to touch her sensitive spot and her spine snapped off the bed like a bow.

She couldn’t form words anymore, stuttering broken syllables instead, hands pressing harder against her mouth, teeth lodged on her lower lip as she was rapidly approaching a terrifying peak.

The finger curled again and his lips closed on her bud and next thing she knew, she saw stars.

Her eyes fluttered close as she her back rose off the mattress and her body convulsed with the force of her orgasm. He gave her tender licks as she rode through it, a flame blooming through her in the aftermath of the lightning strike. It felt like minutes but could only be moments when she collapsed back on the bed, light headed and breathless. Her muffled wails died off as she distantly felt him withdraw and shift to sit up, large hands tenderly massaging her legs, moving up her stomach, cupping her breasts, then removing her hands still plastered on her face. He brushed his thumb against her split lip as she panted breathlessly before he kissed her, slow and careful, lapping at the cut she had inflicted on herself.

“I ain’t done with you yet,” he murmured against her lips, “don’ move.”

Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and it took her a moment to register his meaning. He ignored her protestations as she felt him move off the bed and heard the rustling of his undressing before she felt the mattress dip again. She yelped in surprise as he flipped her on her stomach and made an attempt to crawl away. “Too much,” she croaked, bewildered that he was serious. He snickered and bunched her ankles together to jerk her back. A moment later her buttocks were pulled up as he settled behind her and she felt the swollen head of his cock against her entrance.

“Should ‘ave let me sleep, little bird,” he said roughly. Her hands grasped the covers in helpless preparation and she moaned, her cheek on the bed, still dazed from her orgasm as he sheathed himself completely. Then he pushed on her lower back to flatten her and crawled to lie on top of her, placing his elbows on both sides of her head. When he started to move, she gasped at the unfamiliar sensation. He was reaching so deep in her, she hadn’t even known it was possible.

He was panting above her, perched on his elbows as he rocked into her slow and deliberate, filling her and stretching her and grunting with the pleasure of it. His skin, slightly sticky with sweat was flush against hers, she felt the soft brush of his chest hair on her back. Her eyes fluttered open with disbelief when she felt her pleasure rise again. Her legs attempted to part reflexively but she was wedged between his strong thighs, locked into her position, unable to move.

“Oh…” she gasped, startled, then again “oh…that feels…oh…”, bewildered by how the embers in her core started to flare up again while she was still in the thrall of her pleasure from merely minutes ago. She craned up her neck, rising on her forearms and mewled, fingers tangling the sheets. His hot breath on her ear as his hips languidly pushed her into the bed, his cock touching spots in her she didn’t know could be touched. Her feet started tapping on the mattress as she whined with the pleasure, squirming to open herself further for him but he ignored her, clamping her legs shut with his thighs, continuing to rock into her.

“Not so…chatty…now…are we?” he growled into her ear before he suckled her earlobe.

“Oh god,” she shuddered, trying to push her hip up to meet him.

“Like that?” he hummed as he gently bit her neck. He chuckled darkly when she squirmed helplessly against him. She felt him grow harder in her with the excitement of her struggle. “You like it when I take ya like this?” He bucked into her sharply and pushed in so deep, her eyes rolled back in her head.

Her head dropped back on the bed as he left wet kisses on her shoulder, rocking into her with relentless precision, piercing her, parting her with every stroke. Her hands twisted the sheets tighter and she buried her face into the mattress to muffle her moans. Her legs trembled and straightened, toes curling with ecstasy. He groaned with the increased tightness, moving faster as his restrain started to falter. He whispered a curse under his breath and then her name, like a sigh, and she knew he was close. But she was closer still. One of her hands found his and clasped his wrist with desperation and before she knew it, her second orgasm was on her, and while the first one had been steep and sharp, this one was deeper and and softer and she let it wash over her, her shudder of sobs muted by the mattress.

Her entire body clenched up and went rigid as a board as she came and he growled as she clamped around him. She heard his gasps above her as he spent himself, his hips stuttering.

She melted into the mattress, muscles soft and pliable like rubber and he collapsed to lie beside her, panting into her hair. Her mind was in a fog, her body a separate thing from her, utterly depleted. Minutes passed as she listened to his breathing and the soft calls of the night, felt her sweat cool off in the warm summer breeze. Her limbs grew heavy and she felt herself drift into a state of lucid slumber, then woke up again when he settled behind her. His big hand on her lower back, caressing up to her shoulders, then down over her buttocks.

“Be honest,” she mumbled when she could form words again, struggling to speak in her exhaustion. “Why’d you move your tent out this far?”

He chuckled, still a little short of breath, his hand drawing tantalizing ellipsis on her back. “Our tent,” he corrected. And then: “Cause ya wail like a banshee.”

She groaned. He laughed, easy and relaxed, and slid closer.

“Think I’m dying,” she whispered, her nerves strumming like strings.

He placed his hand on her ribs and pulled to turn her over on her back. He perched up on his elbow, looking down at her, brushing her wild hair from her face.

“You look fine t’me,” he whispered, his thumb gently tracing her swollen lower lip again. His fingers glided down her neck, under the swell of a breast, over her stomach.

He lied down facing her, hand splayed on her stomach, thumb drawing circles. It felt strange that they didn’t have to worry about getting dressed, straightening their attire, brushing leaves and twigs off each other’s hair and heading out. That they could just lie here together until morning or even later if they wanted to.

“We will wake up together,” she drawled a long while later, still unable to wrap her head around it. She hadn't woken up next to someone in years and couldn’t remember what it felt like.

“Depends,” he sighed.

“On what?”

“If ya snore, ‘m leaving.”

“You said you didn’t mind,” she laughed quietly.

“I lied,” was the easy retort. “To make you stay.”

She chortled. Minutes later she was falling asleep again when he shifted away to lie on his back, retrieving his hand. She turned to her side to face him and scooted closer. He was very still, his breathing soft and deep and for a moment she was anxious about it, nervous that it would backfire and wound her in the process. But her curiosity won out and she inched closer still until she was lightly pressed against his side. Any moment now he’ll pull away or he’ll turn his back, she thought and waited in anticipation. A long time passed and he didn’t move at all as she felt herself grow heavy with sleep again. Just before she drifted off, she distantly felt his arm shift and curl around her back to anchor her against him.

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