#don't mind me I don't even know half of these

[niceonejames7]

dogs or deers? or rats?

sirius finds out your opinion on dogs, and safe to say, he is not happy.

words: 1.1k

genre: fluff

cw: swearing(?)

a/n: reader does not know about the furry little problem yet! this could honestly be poly! marauders or sirius black x reader. whatever you prefer.

.....

This dilemma of finishing your essay had been plaguing your mind while you scribbled mindlessly on your parchment when you heard the door unlock.

"Hello-" before the words could leave your mouth, a limp body has thrown itself at you with a thump on the bed.

"Sirius, what the hell?" The words leave your mouth, but your hands find themselves in his hair as usual, removing strands of them from his face to see him more clearly. He looks up from where he had buried his face and leans to press his lips to yours. He breaks it off for a second just to say, "I missed you so much, my sweetest angel," and kisses you again.

"Oi, let us see her face too." says James as he settles himself beside Remus on the couch after he had draped a blanket over Remus. He didn't look that bad, but the tired and weary expression on his face was unmistakable.

You were treading water as you looked at Remus and extended a hand to beckon him to you, but Sirius was quick to snatch it to himself and say,

"No, first me, then you can do whatever." Sirius says as he wraps himself around you even closer, but you only laugh and say,

"Your time never ends, Sirius."

He lets out a scuff of disbelief before resorting to kissing your neck, trailing down to your shoulders, no answer to your accusation.

"What happened?" You ask James and Remus, breaking them from their conversation.

James was quick to answer, "Oh our dear Moony got himself into a tussle with this giant dog. Scratched him up a bit." For some odd reason, Remus only laughed at this.

"Oh my god, are you alright? Are you hurt?" You ask, your voice incredulous, mostly because that sounds like something Sirius, or James would do, not Remus.

Worry and annoyance both flooded your brain, but the former took over and you made a movement to get up and go towards Remus, but that was hard to do when you had a whole human being draped around you.

"Sirius, get off of me." He whined in defense and only tightened his grip and responded, "Don't worry about him, he's fine."

"I'm alright, sweetheart." Remus assures you from his seat, "And I'd rather just stretch for a while." He stretches his shoulders back and a groan of relief escapes him.

You take that as a confirmation and settle down, still skeptical of his answer. The silence doesn't go on for too long before you speak up,

"See, this is why I don't like dogs."

To someone else, it would've seemed like this was the biggest breaking news ever because Sirius stopped his ministrations and immediately distanced himself from you. Remus' eyebrows were raised with an amused smile, and James was looking directly at Sirius with a somewhat pitiful face.

"What did you say?" He asks, his voice flabbergasted.

You looked as if a deer in headlights, dumbfounded by his dramatic question,

"I said I don't like dogs that much."

"Angel, how could you say that?" He asks, his eyes holding an expression of betrayal, a bit too dramatic.

You chuckle at his question, and say,

"I didn't know you had such dispositions for dogs." Your eyebrow raised in amusement as a smile adorned your lips.

James was pissing himself laughing on the couch, his hands clutching his chest to catch his breath. You looked at him, your expression amused and confused.

"How could you not like dogs? They're-" his hands fumble around as if to prove a point, "They're lovely!" You roll your eyes, having heard that argument, as if that's enough of an explanation.

"I'm not saying they're not lovely, they're just, you know," you shrug, "not for me."

Sirius' jaw hung open in disbelief and James was now on the half on the floor and half on the couch as his laugh got higher and higher.

"This is the funniest thing I will ever witness." He struggles to get out in between fits of laughter.

"What the hell is so funny?" You asked, feeling a bit out of the loop as to why this is such a big deal.

"It's just they're so clingy, and loud and obnoxious. I just want to come home and relax, and not have someone jumping through hoops for my attention." You continued to explain yourself, looking around for answers.

Now it was Remus' turn to release a bark of laughter as he joined James in his world. Tears had formed around Remus' eyes, his face red and James' glasses were nearly falling off, but he didn't seem to care. Remus could not get over how you had just described Sirius, just in a different form.

"Shut up, you two." Sirius barked at James and Remus which only caused their joy to increase. He turned to regard you,

"Angel, take it back, say you don't mean that."

Now even you were laughing at the situation.

"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too personally?"

James was now punching the sofa cushion as Remus' head fell back, his entire body shaking with laughter, "How else would he take it?" he says, to whom in particular you're not sure.

"Well, it's because they're lovely. Dogs are great." He defends himself, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Well I'm happy you've found your passion for animals, but dogs aren't my favourite. I'm sorry, okay?"

You extend your hand to touch his face, a form of apology, but he only pulls away,

"I can't believe you'd say that to my face, angel." He put his hands in in defense, "And fuck you two, too." He says to James and Remus. Remus was wiping his tears and James was adjusting his glasses, finally breaking their spell of laughter.

Sirius had refused your affections(which he regretted deeply now), because he now saw James take the opportunity and settle himself on your lap. He was still grinning like a maniac, much to Sirius' annoyance, when he suddenly asked,

"What do you think about deers, or stags?" You stopped running your hands through his hair as pure confusion filled your brain,

"What kind of question IS THAT?" Now it was Sirius' turn to laugh, he clapped his hands in delight,

"I'm just asking! I can't have your opinion?" He says, forcing your hands to comb through his hair again, but your mind couldn't figure out how the conversation goes from dogs to deers.

"I don't know James, I don't think about deers that often."

"You wound me, princess." says James dramatically, as he imitates being stabbed in his heart.

"What about rats?" You heard from the door, seeing Peter come in. He must have heard a little bit of their conversation.

His question only confused you further, if that was even possible.

"You went from dogs, to deers, and now rats." You raise your hands in defeat,

"I can't do this anymore"

Remus throws his head back laughing, his eyes crinkled, and you think that might be the only good thing to come out of the whole debacle.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Virgin! Jason Todd

Virgin! Jason Todd who is absolutely whipped as soon as he meets you. Im talking stuttering, fumbling over himself, even a slight blush, dare I say. He just doesn't know what to do with himself in the presence of somebody so blessed with a goddess' beauty.

Virgin! Jason Todd who tries to act tough anyway (because, in all honesty, he is literally a murderer and not just some soft guy anymore.) And fails horribly. Its endearing to see him try, though... With those strong arms that could either snap you in half within moments or hold you throughout the night.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's constantly needy for you, both in an intimate sense and just for affection in general. In fact, you don't think that there's ever an extended period of time where his hands aren't on you in one way or another.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's so into dry humping that it's an every other days occurance. Laying down on the couch or bed cuddling? His hard dick is pressing right up against your clit through both his and your shorts. Doing yoga because your back is sore from work or cooking dinner when he gets home late? He's lightly thrusting onto your plump ass as soon as he gets his hands on you.

Virgin! Jason Todd who initiates things himself for the first time, starting with you simply sitting on his lap while watching a movie. Then, slowly, he starts kissing down your neck with warm lips and even warmer breaths while moving you to straddle his thighs. You can already feel him getting a bit hard from this alone.

Virgin! Jason Todd who gets so into the light kisses he oh so graciously presses against your lips that they end up turning into a heavy make out session. His tongue and yours are tangling together in such a sinful and addicting way that its hard to get enough.

Virgin! Jason Todd who slowly grasps at your hips to grind you at a torturous pace on his toned thigh. The slight amount of friction is divine after getting so worked up over a few kisses, but it's not long until you're humping his thigh like a bitch in heat as you normally do.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's never been afraid to eat you out, and he'll be damned if he doesn't tonight, too. You are his favorite meal, snack, and dessert, after all.

"Come on, gorgeous... You know the drill." He whispers in that deep, gravelly voice from between your legs as you close them, desperately wanting to do something for him in return. "Nuh uh... Let me eat that pretty pussy of yours before anything else, sweetness." And eat he does.

Virgin! Jason Todd who gets off on your pleasure. Every time you moan or squirm yourself closer to his face as he laps at your aching hole and bundle of nerves, he grinds himself right into the mattress or side of the couch.

Virgin! Jason Todd who wants you to ride him for your first time together so he can bury his face into your chest and hold you as close as possible. And because he's scared of going at a pace that you won't like, but after how many orgasms he's pulled out of you just by giving you head, you're sure you wouldn't mind whatever makes him happy.

Virgin! Jason Todd who has to actually stop himself from blowing his load just as you put his girthy tip in. He just cant help it... Your tight, warm, and soaked walls fluttering around him is just too heavenly.

"Fuck... Stay right there, sweetheart. Right there. Please." His voice is strained with his effort and slightly muffled as he buries his face into your chest.

Virgin! Jason Todd who is in pure bliss as soon as you start moving, even at such a slow pace to begin with while your creamy walls get used to the stretch of his beautiful, leaking cock.

Virgin! Jason Todd who never realized how much of a moaner he was until he got to have his first time with you. Sure, he's gotten himself off humping your ass or the mattress while he ate you out, but this was on a whole other level.

"Fuckkk..." His head is thrown back against the pillows or headrest of the couch as his hands grasp your ever moving hips. "Can't take much more of this, pretty girl." Jason is almost whining at this point, the sound of his skin slapping against yours joining the obscene sounds in the air of his apartment. "Gonna.. Im gonna-"

Virgin! Jason Todd who cuts himself off with such a gorgeous moan and whine as he cums that it has you going right alongside him. The large, calloused hands on your hips only tighten as you feel his cock fill you up with thick, warm, pearly ropes of cum.

Virgin! Jason Todd who can only whisper praises and words of love for the first couple of minutes coming down from his intense high.

"Fuck... Fucking love you, y'know that?" His chest is still heaving with every panting breath he takes. "Milking me dry with that pretty pussy..."

Virgin! Jason Todd who makes aftercare a top priority very early on, even though he's just barely gaining his own bearings.

"I love you, pretty girl... So much." He presses kisses along your sore and achy thighs as the cool, damp washcloth brushes over your most sensitive and overstimulated parts.

-----------------------------

Masterlist

[bunnys-kisses]

lust is a loaded hand gun

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, ferrari!reader, baby fever, seduction, cowgirl position, alcohol/drinking, breeding, the reader wants to have a baby and chooses to have it with max, max is not aware

this bunny runs on comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!

this sounded stupid. but you wanted a baby. and while that was an easy task for most women, you knew that there was something impersonal about picking from a catalogue. reading profiles felt weird, like you were looking for a used car rather than the biological other half of your child. even if you'd raise them without a father, you'd rather have a night of passion than an awkward doctor's visit.

charles leaned back in his seat and asked, "why don't you and i just make one." he shrugged his shoulders. he considered himself close to you. you had been teammates for a little over two seasons and prior to that you knew each other. he didn't mind being the one to help you bring a child into the world, "i can be his uncle and he'd never know."

but, as close as you were to your teammate. you had other drivers in mind.

you made a face, "no offense, charles. but it would feel like doing it with my brother." being teammates meant you two knew too much about one another. you worked well as teammates and rivals because you were more like siblings. while you appreciated the offer, you felt it was weird.

charles asked, relaxed in his seat, "why are you doing this anyway? isn't there a million ways for you to have a child."

you shrugged, "i want to be a mom, i don't know. leave my seat behind to another woman and let her make all the history. i'm honestly tired. i've reached the peak and now." you sighed, "i want something else. i've got enough money to retire and let my future child retire before they're born." you crossed your arms, "i don't want to be doing this shit until i'm forty and just degrade in the skills department. end on a high note." while it was not an insult to other driver's on the grid. you felt bad that they never got to really be parents due to the schedules.

"so you need to seduce a driver to make that happen."

you nodded, out of the corner of your eye you spotted the driver you had your eye on. while you eyed the man crossing your path, your voice got softer, "and i think i know just the driver."

charles looked over to the direction you were looking at. he noticed who was walking by and he looked back to you, shoulders dropped, "max. you're going to seduce and have a child with max?"

you looked back to charles and shrugged, "why not? what's not to like?" max wasn't a perfect man, sometimes you wondered about the mechanics of his brain. but, you knew your child with him would lay waste to the track in the future.

"i can name a few. do you want them alphabetically or severity of it?" charles asked.

you gave him a look, "it wouldn't be hard to get him to sleep with me. you, me and the rest of the garage has seen how he looks at me. i mean who else do i have to choose from? either they're too old, they're rookies, or they have girlfriends. and i'm not getting a heel in the eye because i'm trying to have a baby."

charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, "i think you just like him."

you tensed up for a moment, "no. this is all just simple. scheming... nothing more. i don't expect to trap him with a child. he is free to live his life after i'm done with him."

charles found it hard to believe. not on your end, but max's. he had heard at sickeningly lengths about how max felt for you. it was probably the most eloquent the driver had ever been. if you got pregnant by him, he'd be getting a ring the next day. he sighed once more, "then have fun with the wold champion. i'd say to be safe, but i think being unsafe is the whole point of this."

you gave the once over of max in the near distance and smiled, "don't worry charles, you'll get all the details in the morning." which earned a groan from your teammate.

-

it started over a bottle of wine and ended in the motor home of red bull. you and max had gotten frisky over the evening. you wondered if anyone was selling the photos of you two in the back of the restaurant to tmz or some other trashy outlet. you had shared two bottles of wine over dinner. the benefit of being as wealthy as you were, you could throw the cash onto the table and giggle as you stumble out of your place.

you knew someone had a photo of max kissing you at the table to 'taste' the sauce that came with your meal. as if he couldn't take some from the plate.

but back in the motor home, you had dropped your purse by the door. in the dark of the place, you two were starting to get undressed. heels kicked to the wall, your bracelets set on the coffee table. your dress was on the floor by the bed, your bra over the lamp by the bed and your panties on the bed.

"i'm on top." you said as you kissed max's lips. he tasted like wine and fine dining. he tasted and smelled expensive. in all fairness he could be worth more than a micro nation. he was not an easy man to buy, but the currency of sex was in high demand. max wanted you, and you knew that because he got on his back without much argument.

you were both naked on the bed. the faint lights gleamed through the large windows as you rubbed up against max with no other lighting. you could see his face against the shadows of the night. his blue eyes were like gems and they pulled you in. whoever he ended up with would be very lucky.

but tonight you needed him. he was an important piece in your plan. you rubbed against him and with a little help, you sank down onto his cock. while cowgirl wasn't the best position to try and get pregnant, but it ensured that your plan would work. any position is a working one.

"you're beautiful."

"i know." you said as you rubbed yourself against him. you braced your hands on his strong chest. he was a handsome man, he was good at what he did and he was a winner. you knew anyone would be lucky to have him, but tonight was the perfect partner. you knew a child with him would be perfect.

you continued to rub up against him. the roll of your hips were methodical. this wasn't the first time you slept with a man. you moaned when max groped your breasts, massaged the flesh between those bear paws he called hands. soon you sank on his cock and shuddered, feeling the heat raise in your belly.

this was a mission, no time to get attached. you were both tipsy from the alcohol and the driver under you were more handsy than ever. you try not to feel the emotions that came with it. the feeling of being attached to someone you were having sex with. you batted charles' assumptions about your feelings for max out of your mind as you rode the dutch driver.

you were determined to get pregnant tonight. you measured it all down to a t, all you needed was for max not to get whiskey dick. you curved your back to get closer to him, your lips met his as you moved up and down. his cock was snug in your, but it went in almost perfect. the blunt head hit against the furthest parts of you. your heart hammered in your chest as you moved your hips.

you pushed hair out of your face before your braced your hands on his chest once more. he was very toned, you almost wanted to joke about what happened to his slightly kinder chocolate addiction. but that was neither here nor there.

"you feel so good." he grunted, "why haven't we done this before? fuck." he panted, he could feel the heat in his cheeks as you rode him. he had been with others before but being under you was a pleasure no money could buy. you were really good at it, knowing exactly how to make him feel good.

"good things take time." you panted, part of you wondered what would happen if you covered his mouth. you didn't need the dirty talk, this was a mission. if you wanted a casual friends with benefits, you'd try something online or another in the paddock. fucking max was a certainly that you'd get pregnant. it didn't have to be intimate or soft. it was a means to an end, and you'd get there no matter what.

the sounds of your fucking filled the room as you continued to move against him. you raked your nails down his chest, catching his nipples which made him moan. he was cute on his back, letting you take over. you wondered how deep his affection for you went.

you didn't want the emotional baggage of it all. tonight you were both drunk and having sex in the motor homes. it would be a one night stand before you two finished out the season. you could feel the heat across your back as you stared at him.

his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open as he panted heavily. there was heat in his face and you felt something tug in your chest. he was beautiful, you hated to admit it. but max verstappen was a pretty boy.

he was already blissed out, his noises forced you by the movement of your hips. you licked your lips and without thinking, you left a mark on his collarbone. it was stupid, but it excited your further.

you continued to move against him. your breasts bounced with each move of your hips. you felt moans in the back of your throat and a hum in your soul. pleasure was close and it wasn't long before you really worked yourself onto his cock and finished.

the tightness around his cock made max's back arch a little bit. he could feel the heat in the back of his head. his heart pounded as he watched you continue to ride his cock. he panted heavily and soon climaxed as well. you made sure to get everything you could out. you kissed him once more before you stopped. when you pulled away you got off of his waist and laid down on the bed.

"wow." he said out of breath.

you didn't want to talk. instead you turned your head to kiss him on the lips to keep him quiet. there was no time for mushy romantic bedroom talk. you needed him to fall asleep before you could leave.

you tried to count down the seconds, placing kisses across his heated face. you reminded yourself that there would be some lucky enough to keep him for life.

when you pulled away from his lips after one last kiss, he curled up beside you and right then fell asleep. you stayed awake, when the heat cooled in your body. you hoped your mission was a success. the lust and the alcohol still made its rounds in your body. but you were lucid enough to find your clothes in the dark and slip out of the motor home before morning.

you'd never bring up the event to max, only briefly mentioning it to charles. you'd drive harder after that, in the end you'd secure a world championship. as you kissed the trophy and your country's national anthem played, you were already pregnant with your child.

-

your retirement was a shock to max. you could've easily decorated your home with many trophies over the next few years. but at the end of the 2024 season, you bowed out. you thanked fans and told them that it was a new chapter in your life. and then like that you fell off the face of the earth over the off-season.

max tried to find ways to contact you. where did you go? what happened? why leave at the height of it all? the more he thought about it, the more questions were raised in his head. he asked around the paddock, even going as far as to ask charles where you went. the other drive shrugged and told him that you moved back to your home country with a "little extra luggage". there were no social media posts. nothing. it nagged in the back of his brain for what felt like a lifetime. what happened to ferrari's princess?

it wasn't until almost three years later, max had claimed another world championship. it felt like these days he was riding high. he was still the best. but as he walked into the paddock to train for the upcoming season, he stopped in his tracks. he felt like he was splashed with cold water.

there you were, three years older with a glow to you. you were laughing with charles and lewis, you looked different but in a good way. you were in overalls and a ferrari shirt underneath. you were more curvy than you were when you were driving. and while you were still beautiful like the sun, pulling max in. what made his stomach drop was who was in your arms.

a young boy, with big curious eyes and round cheeks. he held onto you tightly, his small fists in the fabric of your shirt. he seemed curious about the track, but not scared of how big it all felt. while max would've assumed that you got married and had a child as a lot of people did. but that's not what had happened.

max knew right away at the first glance of your son. looking at him was like looking at max's childhood photos. even in features that matched your own, your son carried a lot of max in him. the itch in his brain after you fell off the earth all those years ago came back, this was where you went. the boy looked like him and if he was right about the boy's age then dates lined up. there was no question. max verstappen was your son's father. and when you noticed him staring. you simply smiled and gave him a wink, shifting the boy in your arms and pointing at the me. when your son smiled, max felt something in his gut. looking at you, holding your (his) son, made max feel like he was home. and all those feelings he had been carrying poured back into his head and heart. the same emotions that allowed you to bed him. <3

sequel (11/11)

[ragana62]

It's soup season, we could all do with something comforting, so who wants my grandmother's super low maintenance soup recipe?

Of course you do. Frikadeļu Zupa is good, the weather is getting cold for those of us in the northern hemisphere, and good, relatively cheap to make, relatively easy to make, food with good nutritional value is something we all need, especially in these trying times.

Ingredients:

Meatballs:

Bread Crumbs (honestly, I eyeball this, use however much speaks to you. I suggest using slightly stale rye bread or black bread, but use what you have)

About 1 lb Ground Meat (or meat substitute of your choosing. I use beef, use whatever speaks to you, just adjust your broth accordingly. Use however much meat as you want meatballs, this is just a standard amount, but just know if you go too much above this, you will likely need more broth as well and that’s fine)

2 eggs (or egg substitute, this and the bread are just binding agents really)

Seasoning (I use a mix of salt, white pepper, and dill, but if you want to add paprika or oregano or want to use black pepper instead of white pepper, go for it)

Broth/Soup Base:

10 Cups Broth (match your meat or meat substitute, I tend to use half beef, half veggie broth. Use what you have/what you like)

Carrots (about 5 big ones, or however many small ones you have. Cut into about bite sized pieces)

Potatoes (about 3 medium without skins, grated on the medium holes of a standard cheese grater, or if you're like me and get tired of fussing with that, you can just take a peeler to it and use that directly into your broth)

Greens (I use mustard greens, or dandelion greens or even nettle greens if I can get them. This step is optional and not technically correct to the original soup recipe inspiring it, but my grandmother always combined frikadeļu zupa with a nettle soup, and it is good and adds some additional vitamins and nutrients, so I do it still.)

Process

Start heating your broth over medium heat, just until it has started to simmer. You can add a little extra seasoning to it as well if you like, but avoid adding lighter herbs like dill until later or you are just wasting your herbs.

While your broth is simmering, mix your ground meat (or meat substitute) with eggs (or egg substitute), seasonings, and breadcrumbs, before forming into small meatballs about the size of an acorn. Set these aside for now.

Add your potato shreds to the broth (or just grate your peeled potatoes directly into the simmering broth if you're lazy or just don't want to have to wash another dish) and simmer for around 10 minutes.

Add your chopped carrots (and greens if you are including them) and simmer for another 10 or so minutes.

Add meatballs directly into the broth (careful, it will splash and you don't want to burn yourself). Simmer for another 30 minutes, or until your meatballs are fully cooked. Stir occasionally, but mostly you can just leave it alone.

Eat the soup. You will almost certainly have many leftovers. This is not a problem, because it reheats well, tastes good, and will keep you warm and happy and full. You may want to add more broth when you reheat it, so keep that in mind, as the potatoes can absorb a bit of the broth. This is also not a problem, because it means you now have extra flavorful potatoes.

If you are feeling fancy, serve it with the same bread you put in the meatballs, and a pickle (either in the soup or next to the soup). Or, cucumber salad (sliced cucumber, white vinegar, honey, dill, salt, sliced radish if you're feeling fancy, all eyeballed, taste as you add your ingredients after mixing them all well to decide whether you have your balance right).

If you do make her soup, please tell me. Or better yet, show me! We can have a bowl together from wherever you are in the world. I just passed my first year without her, and miss her horribly, but she would be very glad to know that her soup is out there making people happy when everything is so frustrating and depressing.

Feel free to share the recipe as widely as you like. Or reach out for pointers, or ask for my black bread recipe I make to go with it, or anything else. Food was always one of her love languages, so I can't help but love it too.

I think we all need some soup right now. Reblog to give prev a bowl of their favourite soup.

[cherie-doll]

I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

― yandere!cod men x reader ― ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, makarov, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з suggestive?

꒰ ͜ ‿ ͜ ♡ ͜ ‿ ͜ ꒱

ଘ You're no plaything for Price. He doesn't just like you, he adores you. Cups your pretty face in his hands; delicately. His rugged and rough hands become gentle as soon as he comes into contact with your skin, treating it as if it were finely-grained porcelain. He treats you the exact opposite of how he treats anyone else. Whilst he leaves everyone else covered from head to toe in blood for coming near you, you're covered from head to toe in the most expensive items you wish for. But, he doesn't want you to forget that his money doesn't represent his love for you, it does not begin to cover not even half of what it should. He'll be sure to remind you not to be spoiled rotten. He's fond of you and while he's interested in you, you should listen and obey to what he advices you. He is more experienced after all.

ଘ Compare what Simon's scars and bruises are to your unscathed body. Let his hands roam over your body, taking in all he works for. Let them wander and familiarize with what he's toying with. His breath on your skin as it quickens, losing his train of thoughts as he fondles you. He's convinced you're meant only for him. No one else should touch you this way, no one could do it like he does. And please return it! Cradle his head in your lap, so the sizzling subsides and he feels alive. Let him know he's the best, the one. Let him lean in and capture those soft, plump lips in a passionate kiss. Don't pull away, don't deny him his heaven. And don't you dare let anyone else trail your body with their eyes like he does. Why, he'll feel as if they're already doing what their mind desires. He's screwed up in his mind but he'll move heaven and earth for those thighs to wrap around his waist at night spilling the warmth between them. Make him feel warm and welcome, give him the world he burns everyone else for. He sacrifices others at the feet of your altar.

ଘ Johnny's smug smile can fade rather quickly with one sensual move from you, watch him get lost as his breath is winded and his body is overtaken with an all-consuming fire of passion. Oh, he can't even fathom the idea of anyone before or after him experiencing such things. He'll be paralyzed the moment you sit on his lap and putting your hand to his chest, let it trail over his heart which at the moment beats wildly. It's a sensation he experiences when plunging a knife deep within someone else's chest, he reckons the feeling is almost the same. He thinks his victims rather lucky they die this way. How many other people can experience that fleeting, overwhelming feeling?

ଘ Kyle's hand kisses are done with such reverent trembling and respect that he'll have your skin tingling with warm sensations as if the late evening sun was seeping into your skin. Let his and your body blend together like the watercolors on an artist's canvas does. Bask in his affection like you'll sunbathe on the beach. Take in all the good he brings you, accept every touch of his that starts with a secure embrace and ends with the colliding of your bodies. The cold with which he lashes out for others has no place with the gentleness he entreats you with. Keep your eyes on his, locked in his steady gaze immerses himself in fantasies. He feels dizzy as if his world was spinning, losing himself in the sensations. And after the elation, let him shower you in praises, caresses and gifts. Let him buy you two rings for each finger, how many could you want to show off having a caring partner when you slide his card at the register? Make your hands look pretty whilst his are leaving a trail of crimson blood after him.

ଘ Roach couldn't ever hurt anyone else, he didn't know what he was capable of until the importance of you came all too clear. You're something that shouldn't belong to anyone else in the world. It's a quick descent down the spiral of violent devotion. His soft gaze usually filled with admiration and sentiment for you hardens, his pupils dilating as fear takes over. He's only acting on behalf of all his anguish, you haven't the heart to condemn him. He's shown you what your heart is worth, couldn't you give him some sort of heaven? He will do very well at whatever it is you ask of him, just wait while he shows you. There isn't anyone else like him he says over and over as if a prayer or spell he could make come true.

ଘ Makarov does not care whether he deserves you or not. Unlike the others who will commit unspeakable acts out of guilt and use their "pure" intentions to purify their actions, Makarov is selfish and relentless in what he wants. He does not flinch at your attempts of control, it's lost the moment he takes you in. He's determined to taste everything you have to offer, whether it's willingly or not. But he does like things to be served on a platter for him, he also has no problem taking it himself. Let the hand on the back of your neck guide you in the direction you are to walk, be docile and you'll surely receive tenderness. He can never deny that he loves the way your lashes flutter as you look through them up at him as he pats your head for being so good. Overtime you might notice small details showing his exterior cracking and revealing the soft, white underbelly of affection. He feels as if his chest caves in from your actions, the subtle red at the tip of his ears. Keep pulling at his neck collar, he'll like that fake sense of control you have.

ଘ You wouldn't ever catch a glimpse of Alejandro's manipulative strategies until he finds someone threatening. Is it wrong you're not seeing enough of other people? His biggest fear is you falling for someone else, the danger of you getting too close to someone is palpable for him. The intimacy you two share is from the harvest he's worked so hard for. He's been slaving away for so long to just let someone else lay a hand on you. He kneads you into what he desires, anything to feel the beating heart in your chest which pumps only for him. He'll keep polishing you until he gets down to the bare essence of you, which he can only dream to capture. The rhythm he wants to feel rushing through his veins, circling throughout his body.

ଘ Rudy's tenderness blinds you as he takes you to what you can only describe to be paradise. With the shining of luxury, all new and just for you he says. He'll press a million sweet kisses on your face before dropping that a most bothersome person will no longer be graced by your presence ever again. To him it's like a quiet act of love, to you, it's unimaginable. Don't worry your head will all the details, isn't it better to have no worries? He's all smooth indulgence telling you to keep looking at the adorned future he has ahead for you, telling you not to pay attention to the blood that stains the walls of the hallways you walk. He would lay out a new, fancy red carpet over the corpses for you to step over and continue in this fabricated dream.

ଘ Phillip knows exactly how to get the best out of you. Can you blame a man for knowing how to get what he wants from you? Let him tease and tug for he knows what every maneuver of his does. The hands that massage your skin don't get dirty, he'll always have others ready and willing to carry out whatever order he gives. It's what he's accustomed to and how he intends to keep it. But the droplets of blood that splatter do not miss his skin. The stain is still there, still under the skin of the thumb he pushes inside of you, feeling around for that bliss. Let his protectiveness clothe your body, he's already blurring the lines between obsessiveness and possessiveness.

ଘ Keegan's eyes will have you coming to a stumbling halt. Asking for something only you know how to give so good. Those erratic eyes that are unpredictable as they are deep, representing the deep dive you have to be holding your breath for. Are you ready to indulge? Because the impact will have you gasping for air, and when you try to take one you'll only swallow a mouthful of carnal desire. He ignites such a heat it's scalding to the touch, you don't know what's happening it's like you lose control. It happens so fast that when it's all over you'll let his lips, from which hot breaths slip through, kiss all over your sweat glistened body. His eyes might be softer and hold it for a while until he's back to the merciless, cold gaze which freezes everyone's else blood, feeling it lump within their veins.

ଘ Let König go on his fast rampages. They're over quick anyways. And afterwards, when he comes back, cradle his head between your thighs his tongue tangling as he stutters out promises to buy you what you wish if only you let him lap at your sweetness until his thoughts are left to reckless abandonment. Let him get what he can't get anywhere else. Call him handsome as your bury your fingers into his hair, your fingertips trailing his jaw and down his neck to where his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Place kisses on his cheek until he turns his head in one swift motion and captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He wants it all, wants all of you all at once it makes him messy, shaky and weak. But he just wants someone to hold him, rubbing his ears and whispering words of affirmation in his ear.

ଘ Horangi could care less what other's want from him. You're in his viewpoint and he's determined to apply as much pressure as possible to make you bend. The reason he justifies himself with is the lullaby he's lulled to sleep with. Everyone else wants something from him, why shouldn't you? Everyone else is just in the way, he says over and over again, trying to make you focus on his lips instead of the bodies on the floor. With what he's done, he expects a standing ovation from you, nothing but complete adoration and servitude. He's a man who chases after impulses, who knows how long until this candle runs out. For now, ignore the brusque hand and acknowledge the underlying intents. He'll keep this lecherous momentum going until you're feeling faint from the mere touch of his hand.

ଘ Resignation is a trait Nikto works hard to work out of you. Surely, you ought to trust him after all he's done for you. In his mind, he's dedicated such gentle caring to you, you should be grateful. Don't be afraid to take directly out of his hand, he prefers you lose that skepticism. And when you do start to gentle, oh he can never get enough of it. His fingers grazing and gliding over your body at any and every chance he can get. Let him delve deeper into you, it's only natural for him to want to know you better. Every quiver of yours, he feels through the epidermis of his skin. He just knows you that well. His jerking movements shouldn't startle you by now. Maybe if you were more open, you would be telling him what you want. Give him some sort of sign before that spark ignites an unyielding fire. Because to him, that trembling is a sign of a smoldering fierceness waiting to break through.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . ꔫ

[drunkinyourbenz]

ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU

☆ SYNOPSIS: your parents' excitment about the election results left you with a pit of dread in your stomach. luckliy for you, you had billie, who helped you through it all.

☆ RELATIONSHIP: billie eilish x fem!reader

☆ WARNINGS: angst, comfort, politics, right wing family, implied homophobic family, long distance relationship (during tour)

☆ REQUESTED? yes, anon

☆ NOTE: hi my loves, i saw this request and just had to write it right away (literally wrote it in half an hour lmao) for anyone needing comfort as well as the anon who requested this, i hope you're doing okay. i'm not from america, but i'm also deeply dissapointed about the election results, and i feel for all of you who are there. i hope i did this request justice, i don't have a family who's like super against my views so i hope this is okay <3 anyone with family celebrating like the readers is in this story, please imagine me giving you the biggest hug rn, i hope you're coping okay. my dms are always open if you want to talk about anything at all, i love you all, please stay safe <33

☆ WORD COUNT: 1.2k words

you and billie had been dating for a while now, and she made you happier than anyone ever had before. she was your other half, and without her you would feel incomplete. you weren��t on tour with her, much to both of your disappointments. but you’d had personal things that took up your time at the start of tour, so the plan was that you’d join her once she came on tour to your city, and you’d join her for the rest of tour. despite not being on tour with her, your mind always drifted back to her, she had a permanent residence in your heart. 

so naturally, on election night, you sat in your room thinking about her. you wanted nothing more than to be held by her in this moment, you’d slipped away from dinner as soon as you could, but you could still hear your family’s excited chatter coming from downstairs. the fact that they were happy about the way it was going, the way they wanted a future that was so drastically different from the one you had in your mind… it stung. your parents genuinely wanted a future that you weren’t sure whether you had a place in, and you didn’t really know what to do with that information.

you were trying to stay off social media, to stay away from the news, because you knew it wouldn’t help you—you couldn’t change a thing. but every few minutes, you’d end up switching back to the tab on your laptop with the live updates, feeling a sense of dread settling in your stomach. you couldn’t quite comprehend how so many more people had voted for him, the man who made you genuinely fear for your future. 

so finally, you texted billie. you needed her comfort, even though it would just be her voice over a call. you needed her. 

can i call you??

billie replied not long after, her text simple. 

bils: ofc baby

her contact calling you came up on your screen before you could even move to call her, and you automatically accepted the face time. her face popped up on your phone after a moment, and as well as the tiredness from tour you’d been seeing so much of lately, she looked just as crestfallen as you. the two of you shared the same opinions on this, and you knew how much billie cared about it. 

just as the call loaded properly, you heard a loud cheer from downstairs, and you couldn’t stop the grimace that appeared on your face. billie’s lips curved down in a soft, sympathetic frown, “oh, baby.” 

a sigh left your lips, the sound somewhat defeated, “i just… i don’t know how they want that. it feels like they want a future that i’m not safe in–” billie cut you off with an understanding sigh, she knew that if she let you keep talking, you’d simply spiral. she knew what you meant, you felt a rift between you and your parents, you felt unsure of what that meant for your relationship with them. billie herself had never experienced it, with her own family being supportive and sharing her views, but she had always been good at comforting you. 

“i’m so sorry, baby. you know that me and my family have always got you, no matter what, yeah? we’ve got your back, we’re always here for you. all of us.” 

your lips curled into a soft pout, her words lessening the sadness you were feeling. “i love your family.”

she smiled softly at you, “and we love you. always.” 

you cracked a small smile at her words, the disappointment behind your eyes still very much evident, but you felt an overwhelming feeling of love for the people in your life. even if your blood-related family didn’t understand, you had your chosen family. that small fact that you had your people, who agreed with you on these things, it helped to soften the blow of your parents wanting the country to go down such a different path than you did. only slightly, but it helped. you felt the pain dull slightly. 

the two of you stayed on the phone for a while, billie distracting you from your parents downstairs by telling you about the tour so far. obviously, she was also upset about everything going on, but she knew you needed this support and that was more important than talking about it. she just wanted you to feel okay. you could feel the emotions hanging around both of you even through the phone, but you appreciated that she wasn’t mentioning them right now. you’d have plenty of time to talk about the election later, once you didn’t feel so despairing about the future. 

after about half an hour of the two of you just talking, you decided to ask her something. 

“bils?” 

“hmm?” she hummed, looking up as if she could sense the importance of what you were about to say even through one word. 

“do you… do you think i could join you on tour a bit earlier than planned? i just don’t know if i can stay in this house for any longer, it’s just–”

“of course.” 

her instant, firm reply cut off your rambling and you sighed in relief, “thank you–”

“don’t thank me, darling. i just want you to feel safe.” she paused, thinking, “you could join us on the minnesota dates, if you want. there’s two days there, so it gives you more time to get here. i can book you a flight–” 

you smiled at her considerate words, the way she was taking everything into account. oh, how you loved her. “that sounds perfect. and don’t book first class this time, jesus. i can put up with an economy flight, i’m used to them. plus,  i get to see you at the end of it.” 

she smiled warmly, “mm, you do. and then i’m wrapping you up in a massive hug and never letting you go, because i love you.” 

you giggled softly at her words, “i think i’m looking forward to seeing maggie more, actually.” 

billie rolled her eyes fondly, her mother just adored you. “i don’t blame you.” 

the two of you talked into the night, and were still on the call when you woke up. you weren’t aware that you’d fallen asleep, and you probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for her soothing voice.

it was now the early hours of the morning, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains you’d forgotten to shut. the house had gone silent by now, your parents finally asleep, and you felt a tiny bit of peace just laying there in the silence. you looked at the screen for a moment, simply admiring her pretty sleeping face, the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly and her chest rose and fell with each breath. this time in a few days, you’d be in her arms again. 

you let out a soft sigh. the country may be falling apart by the seams, but you had billie. you had her, so you’d be okay. 

[eldritchgriffin]

As an ADHDer, I have experienced pretty much all of this. As a person who has now convinced two separate people to get tested for ADHD, resulting in them getting diagnosed, absolutely look into how you can get tested if you relate to even half of this.

Also, I frequently experience over/understimulation, so here's some Eldritch ADHD Advice. The most important thing is to become aware of when you are over/understimulated.

Some indicators of understimulation are boredom, difficulty focusing, or your mind wandering. The critical part is realizing that you losing focus is due to not having enough to focus on, not due to having too much to distract you.

Signs of overstimulation include feeling overwhelmed, disengaging from conversation because you can't find the energy to join in, and wanting to go somewhere quiet or lie down.

Now, for the actual advice:

The way I think of it is that my brain requires a very specific level of stimulation at any given time. Different tasks offer different levels and types of stimulation. The trick is figuring out what kind and how much engagement something takes.

As an example, I cannot listen to podcasts if I am not doing anything else. Podcasts are an audio only experience, and not one I have to actively engage with, so I struggle to focus on them. In the other direction, I can't listen to podcasts while driving, because driving requires too much focus, and I can't pay attention to the podcast. The balance I've found is podcast combined with a simple task or game. Cleaning is good as long as it doesn't require much thought, and for games I'll usually choose something like sudoku, nonograms, endless runners, or similar - nothing that requires reading though. The important thing is that it gives me something to look at and keeps my hands busy.

If I'm having trouble doing a task because it doesn't stimulate me enough, I'll try listening to (usually instrumental) music, or if the task requires audio, finding something to fidget with.

For overstimulation, noise-canceling headphones have been a game-changer for me. Also, know that sometimes it's okay to just leave. If you've been at an event for long enough you're getting overstimulated, and you don't need to stay longer, you can just go home, or at least find somewhere quiet to unwind for a bit. As the skeleton says, "if it sucks, hit da bricks."

This turned out much longer than I had planned lol. Hopefully at least some of it is helpful!

bro im gonna CRY i didnt know this 🥺

[koralcove]

okay, but like... the thought of sylus and xavier of how they generally are in bed... like, i think some ppl get them swapped up, coz like...

everyone's saying that sylus is such a beast in bed and would absolutely demolish you until your legs feel like you'd need to go through physical therapy to walk again... and they're absolutely right.

BUT

i also hear those who say that sylus is an absolutely soft and sensual lover in bed, and honestly, that version speaks TRUTH. because, HAVE YOU SEEN THAT MAN WITH US?! the way his character progresses with becoming absolutely, indescribably, adoringly soft with us. the big bad, dark and mysterious, cold-blooded, ruthless leader of onychinus is willing to do things out of his element just because we think it's fun. you want matching cute onesies? he's already purchased a pair for us. you want to go take silly photos together and hang out in an amusement park where he could be publicly seen doing mundane and questionably harmless activities that personally don't look like it suits his style? if that's what you want, then he's not opposed to it.

that man is absolutely soft with us, and you can't tell me that he wouldn't prefer to make sweet, deep, lovin' with his darling. the way he'd want to be pressed impossibly close to you, your body so soft against him, taking every bit of effort to not rush into this intimate moment with you because he wants to feel every inch of your skin tracing on his fingertips. he wants to prolong the sensation of your warmth radiating to him, shushing your whines with his deep baritones of, "there there, sweetie. no need to rush, i'm not going anywhere," always with that teasing lilt in his voice, but it can't cover up the adoration spilling out of him.

and god, he'd be gentle with you. he knows you can take what he gives you, knows what you're capable of. but damn, he couldn't resist giving you all that gentle devotion because you're just so precious to him. and through all the rough edges of his living, he wants to give you something tender. wants to bare how putty you make him just from your presence alone. he doesn't think of it as a weakness. in fact, it fuels his fire of making sure to stake his claim on you properly by giving you all you deserve. and he always sets the pace. wants you to feel how absolutely weak-kneed you make him in an imitation of his light touches that set small sparks of desire on your skin, pressing searing kisses on you as an invisible brand until he finally gives in to the lust gnawing at him, but making sure to always, always, be careful with you.

and then, there's xavier...

xavier with his cherub-like features that you think can do no harm if you didn't know him well enough. with how he looks like a constantly clueless puppy that you can easily please with the temptation of a nap time, you'd think he'd be the type to go with some lazy, intimate love making with you while you're both half-awake... which is not wrong, really, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.

as someone who goes with the flow, xavier is not opposed to anything you would suggest, even if the idea itself seems outlandish, then that boy is down (just like how down bad he is for you). you wanna be on top? cool, no problem with him being the pillow princess. you want him to take you from behind? he'll give you an absolutely mind-blowing back shot. but the kicker with xavier is that he's an absolute FREAK (we talkin' abt neck-breaking freaky deaky shit), and i love how everyone collectively agrees on that. because there's just smth abt a man who appears so unbothered by a lot of things, always cool in faces of plight (and girl, his heartbeat is literally slow, does nothing ever faze him???) that the thought of him going wild is just a big ol' WOWZA. AND PAIRED WITH THAT INNOCENT LI'L PUPPY FACE OF HIS?! oh honey, i'm already unzipping your pants for you-

and honey, his strength... his stamina?! girl, he be the kind to go at it alllll night. "once isn't enough" ALREADY SAYS A LOT. and that man is not shy at all, because you can't tell me that he whispers absolute filth in your ear, catching you off guard at how uncharacteristic it seems of him, but it flows so smoothly through his tongue that you just have to wonder what kind of thoughts run through his head when he's with you, because rn, as he's pounding you silly against the mattress, hips pistoning into you at lightning speed, yet still hitting oh so deep into you, he's absolutely insatiable for you. and he would not hesitate to go all out on you as long as he knows you can handle it. because he knows it can be too much. but when he sees those tears streaming down your cheeks from how good his dick is at making you see stars, shaking under him as you grip onto his arm, he couldn't resist with bullying your poor overstimulated body and getting an orgasm out of you just one more time out of... maybe three? seven? he's lost count.

but don't get me wrong, xavier is still the type to be skin-achingly intimate with you. loves how you're pressed against him as you both lazily rock your hips against one another. but it just so happens that he's a absolutely ravenous with you as well, rutting into you like a bunny in heat.

with sylus, love making with him is tender, reverent, but never losing that intensity, while xavier is absolutely uninhibited and would even lose track of the amount of times you've already cummed for him.

[pricegouge]

Humor Me (Even When it's Ruining Me)

part two

masterlist | taglist: pricegouged

babysitter!reader x single dad!price

cw: fem reader. implied age gap. nothing specific beyond reader being legal. alcohol. reader is a brat and john's having a lot of fun with it. inappropriate work flirting lmao. also i beefed john up cause i could. daddy kink. MDNI

Banner by @/cafekitsune

Chapter two

Three weeks later and you don't quite know what's happened, or who you even are anymore. You're waspish and short, run ragged between classes and the two families you've somehow managed to become employed for. They're nice enough to coordinate between themselves, most nights - Kate reaching out with a schedule the two of them have agreed on that lets you manage both kids at once. That doesn't mean they can always get their kids under the same roof for you, their schedules always too full to manage the drive across town. As if yours is any better.

The tentative routine you've fallen into is easy enough on paper, attending morning class before heading over to the Laswell's and doing most of your classwork there, even attending an online lesson once a week because Colin is a little angel who can remain calm as long as you are, but it all goes pretty much to shit the second you embark to pick up Emily from preschool around midafternoon, loading Colin into the carseat the Laswells very generously bought for you. 

(Between the fact that it stays belted into your car twentyfour seven now because you don't trust yourself to reinstall it properly without the weirdly mechanical tests John used to ensure its safety when he set it up the first time and the fact that Colin can occasionally be heard cooing in the background of your more interactive lessons, there's definitely a rumor going around campus that you have a baby. You're not sure how you feel about it, but it does tend to keep the more annoying boys at arm's length so you haven't really gone out of your way to correct it quite yet. Emily's booster gets stored in your trunk, though. You don't quite want to know what kind of leper you'd become if your classmates thought you'd been on Sixteen and Pregnant.) 

The girl is… tougher. Well behaved but boisterous, moody at times. Her rambunctiousness is infectious, gets Colin worked up from the confines of his seat in a way he doesn't usually wind down from for hours while Emily prattles on about her day and waves glittery crafts at you, leaving your car looking like a bad drag hangover, still-tacky finger paints smearing like lipstick stains on your upholstery. 

(This is why Emily's booster stays in the trunk, there's already enough misleading evidence all over your car.)

(This is why John doesn't pick up his own daughter, you're fairly sure, and you've half a mind to install a glitter bomb in his glove box as revenge.)

You don't always have to watch the girl, John's evening schedule an unfixed thing, but Emily always seems excited to see you pulling up, as if she knows that her father works even when he's home. It's why you try to stay patient with her when her boundless energy riles the baby up, or when her incessant need for attention prevents you from finishing papers on time. It's not her fault, but it is slowly driving you insane.

Gina helps out when she can, usually bringing dinner for everyone when she stops by the Price's to pick up her kid in the early evening. Sometimes she even stays for a bit, helps keep Emily entertained while you streamline the bedtime routine with hopes of finishing up homework after she tucks in for the night. It's a valiant effort made by all, but the girl doesn't often play along, much too busy antagonizing you to bother showering in a timely manner. There are nights you think of her more like a little sister than a client, the way she picks on you. You feed it right back in your darker hours, when having every minute of your day planned out and consumed weighs on you, giving you teeth. You'd made her cry once by mistake, your tone more than your words themselves needling under her skin until she burst into tears, hid in her room until her father came home. There'd been an odd sense of relief to it, balancing out the panic of a bad review. Sure, you'd be fired and no one would want to hire you ever again if John used that one app where you got most of your odd jobs, but at least the Laswells wouldn't give you up and you could return to your regular schedule. But when Mr. Price got home that evening, he'd only listened to his whiny daughter with a soft smile, kissing her on the forehead before telling you both that he 'Wished his girls would get along.'

You can see where Emily gets it from, her ability to drive you insane, but where the girl is loud and prickly or candy-sweet by turns, a constant one man crew of Guess Who, her father is a steady, low stream abrading you, the funnel where he slips through your cells eroding until he's a constant bubbling under your skin. He's incorrigible, insidious, shameless. 

Escalating, lock step with you.

You still haven't returned his shirt. Well, technically you had - once. Worn it that Wednesday, the first time he'd asked you back. You'd done it with every intention of teasing him a little, noting you'd need a replacement if he wanted it back now, and changing out of it before leaving for the night. He'd turned it on your head with a simple 'You could always just take it off,' before you'd even been able to reveal your plan to give it back to him. 

He should have expected you to retaliate after that, returning home with it once more. It's remained safe in your dresser ever since, one less avenue for him to come barrelling down the center of, catching you in his headlights like a deer too scared to run. And if keeping it means you get to wear it to bed sometimes, so be it. That's his fault, too, always texting you so late to 'make sure you got back okay.' It's possible he's being gentlemanly, but that would be a first so you refuse to believe it, assume instead that he wants to make you think of him when you're climbing into bed each night. Like you need the help, like you haven't already worn the scent off his shirt. Sometimes you think about weaseling another one from him, or wonder how long it would take him to notice if you outright stole one. You know which room is his, have caught glimpses through the cracked door sometimes when following Emily up to her room. He never shuts it, too trusting. You probably would've already gotten yourself off on his pillow like a bitch in heat if he hadn't let slip early on that Emily sometimes likes to sleep in his bed when he's away. 'Think she misses me sometimes,' his voice was sad but the leer he gave you as he continued was anything but. 'She's allowed, if she wants.'

The next day he mentioned Emily falls asleep quickest when someone lies down with her to read her story. Your papers continue going unwritten, the girl wandering out of her bedroom late into the night because you refuse to start the habit when you know how it will end.

It's unsustainable, feels like you're circling the drain. But the money is great. 

While the Laswells had never been stingy, John pays you like a dental surgeon each time he needs you. That same exorbitant rate from the first night, now with a prepaid gas card he seems very uninterested in monitoring the spending of. You'd be tempted to test your theory if you had time, take a road trip out to your parents or something just to see if it ever got declined. Sometimes you fantasize about it at night, texting him an SOS and a picture of your gas gauge on E. It's embarrassing how often he shows up to save the day in your daydreams now, racing to your side in his gleaming Lexus to refuel your car with a suggestive smile, working the nozzle past your intake valve like he's slipping into a wet cunt. 

You should probably get laid, but who has the time? Especially given your… situation. 

(Your situation being there is no situation. Never has been one. Virginal as the day you were born save for some over-the-pants heavy petting in high school and a rotation of cheap drug store vibes you usually end up abandoning for your own fingers because dear god, you'd think you'd have learned after the first wasted investment but up until now, with John's much needed help, you haven't really been in a position to just spend on sex toys all willy nilly and while yeah, sure, you are now, every time you go to spend his money on an imitation cock you can't help thinking might look like his, you suddenly remember you're only here because you can't put your big girl panties on and -.)

It takes time, is the problem. You don't need the whole blanket under the stars treatment, but you at least want some evidence that you're not going to get jackhammered into the mattress by some selfish, overeager boy who wouldn't know how to get you off if you gave him a manual. But evidence takes time to gather, takes meetups in frat parties you have no interest in attending, and makeout sessions smelly couches just to see if your partner knows how to use their tongue. And for all his provisions, John (John.) has made well and truly certain that the one thing you don't have, is in fact time.

>Need you tonight.

The vibration of your phone against the library desk is loud as a gunshot, the message itself ringing in your ears just as bad. You placed your phone back on the table and sent your deskmate, a handsome senior named Paul who'd been your unofficial Saturday morning library pal for the last two semesters, an apologetic glance.

Paul just waved his hand at you dismissively, a small smile tugging at his lips. With his head bowed into his fourth edition of a rather intimidating neuroscience textbook that gave you anxiety just looking at it, the only way you could tell he wasn't annoyed by your antics at all was the dimpling of his cheeks. It distracted you momentarily, the urge to nibble at the fat there sudden and overwhelming, then your phone vibrated again because you'd been too distracted to silence it and you snatched it back up with an annoyed huff, ready to tell your employer off about disturbing your Sacred Saturday, your one day off a week. 

(Again.)

> I know what day it is but it's an emergency.

> I'll make it up to you.

< how so?

You chew your lip waiting for a response, the bubbling typing indicator roiling like your stomach. It's always like this, texting with John - every response teetering on too much. It's why you usually prefer to coordinate with the Laswells as much as possible, minimizing your discussions with Mr. Price to those late night 'Did you make it home okay?' messages. 

(And sending him a photo evidence that his shirt was still safe and in your care once.

If you'd been wearing it at the time, snuggled up in bed and haloed in warm fairy lights with the hem riding a little high, that was his fault for asking after it so late.)

Tap, tap, tap.

Across from you, Paul drums his pen off the spiral notebook that sits between you, a custom since your third week sitting together. It's blank aside from your brief, handwritten conversations as far as you can tell, an accessory Paul seems to carry around for this express purpose, evidently preferable to just asking for your number so you can text each other to get around the strict no talking policy in the quietest lounge of the library. In the year or so since you've met him, you've never heard Paul talk, all of your correspondences reduced to the notebook which he draws your attention to now, his tidy scrawl asking a simple but damning question: 'Who's the guy?'

You shake your head, instinctual - automatic. Paul crooks an unimpressed brow at you and underlines his original question. 

'Just some guy I work for, why?'

Paul smirks when he reads it but turns serious in response, waving at your overall demeanor as if that answers everything.

In your palm, your phone gives a muted buzz and you have to physically swallow back the urge to check it immediately. You roll your eyes at Paul instead. A poor excuse for the frustration you want to unleash, but opening the valve even a hair was better than just letting it build.

His scrawl is neat when Paul responds. Unaffected, calm. 'You've got a crush.' And then below that, its own paragraph: 'Should I be worried?'

It takes a moment for the words to register, the moment dragging out too long before your eyes dart up to your deskmate. Paul winks, scheming and sly, and your jaw hinges open in shock.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

"Shit," you hiss, scrambling out of your seat as your phone continues to vibrate with an incoming call. John's contact lights the screen, the stupid money bag emoji you'd used for him mocking you. You wait until you make it to the stairwell to answer to avoid the worst of the librarian's wrath, though she still shoots you a disapproving glare as you stalk past her post. You've half a mind to let the stairwell door slam behind you, but it would echo louder than your anger and you want John to hear every word when you accept the call.

"I am at the library," you hiss by way of greeting, as if that perfectly illustrates why you're so annoyed with him.

John just grunts, uninterested. "Are you available or not tonight? I need an answer ASAP so I can make plans if you're -."

"I'm off on Saturdays."

A beat passes as John recollects, evidently unused to being interrupted. "Right. Which is why I offered to pay you double your regular rate."

Confused, you check your texts to read the one you'd missed, too busy being chatted up by a cute boy much more appropriately aged. In it, John pleads desperately with you: offers twice your pay, dinner, anything you want.

You think of Paul's cute dimples, the way he's known you for a year without asking for your number. You think of John covered in shaving cream, his first words to you a joke about how desperate you looked - how desperate you both looked.

Hand pressed to your forehead, you shut your eyes and ask what time John needs you.

"Oh, thank you so much, sweetheart. A real lifesaver. I promise I'll make it up to you, just tell me how, okay? And as for tonight, no later than seventeen hundred, please - though honestly you can come by anytime, I'm sure Emily will be happy to see you."

Emily. Right. "Well I'm at the library for a reason, so -."

"You can use my study, of course. The munchkin knows better than to bug me when I'm in there."

Unbidden, you imagine pestering John yourself when he's lounged in some fancy modern desk chair, leather and broad. You bet his study smells like tobacco, that there's a bar cart in the corner. You imagine him using your mouth like a tumbler of whiskey, punishment for running it too much. He'd drink from your lips whenever he -.

"But I suppose I don't have all those useful resources like textbooks… well, consider it a standing offer."

"S-sure, Mr. Price. Thanks."

"Of course. I'll see you later, then?"

"Yes, sir."

On the other end of the line, John's breath stutters. His voice is low when he signs off, blunt and direct. Doesn't wait to hear your response. "Be good, sweetheart."

***

You're not entirely sure what being good constitutes, but you're fairly sure using John's emergency credit card Emily located for you in the freezer to Instacart approximately one day's minimum wage worth of junk food because Emily had been sad and despondent all day wasn't it. Nor was letting her dance her sugar rush off to less than appropriate music, probably, but it was worth it to see her smiling again after the fit she'd thrown when her father had left for the evening. You're both sweaty and breathless now, collapsing onto the couch between songs to shovel more M&Ms into your mouths and make fun of each other's dance moves. Emily says you use too much arm movements, but she's only four and thinks hopscotch skips are the new craze so you ask what she knows anyway and laugh at the way she rolls her eyes at you.

John's talkative too, apparently, the unexpected clients he'd been urgently called in to entertain evidently not holding his attention. He's never exactly radio silent when you've got his kid in your charge, but he usually lets you take the lead (pepper him with stupid questions you already know the answer to just to find an excuse to distract him because maybe you kinda like how short he gets) on those nights.

(Despite this standard, you don't feel the need to tell him you'd managed to read his credit card number through the brick of crystalline ice he'd cleverly hidden it in. You hope he's really short when he figures that stunt out.)

Tonight, however, it's John peppering you with questions. They start out innocent enough, asking after his daughter because he felt bad leaving her on a night that he'd promised to be home and he could see how much it upset her. Those questions peter out when you send him a picture of her all giggly and wound up, her hair freshly braided in a style she said he's too clumsy to accomplish for her. With confirmation that his daughter was feeling better, John's texts turn rapidly back to you.

> And how about you, sweetheart? Are you doing better?

< wym, better?

> What do you mean, wym?

< har har

> I mean you were rather short with me earlier. Are you still upset with me?

> I promise I also don't want to be working on a Saturday, for what it's worth.

< not mad

< just seems like you're not really needed with how much you're blowing up my phone

> Honestly, no. This is a waste of both our time.

> Have you decided how I can make it up to you, at least?

Actually, you hadn't even thought of it, figuring he was just being exaggerative - that he'd pay you your exorbitant rate and be done with it, send you on your way with your thoughts all twisted after some more growled insinuations and a pat on your ass, probably. He seemed like he was maybe two visits away from trying his luck, anyway.

Maybe you could ask for it sooner. Clear the air, finally feel his hands on you. You tell him you don't want anything, clarify nothing he can give you when he calls that out for being a lie.

> Sure about that? I can help with most things.

And the thing is, he's right. There are a lot of things you want. You want to get a better grade on your next econ assignment, you want a full night's sleep. You want to have free time, pick up a hobby. You have a growing desire to learn how to make the perfect pasta after seeing her scarf so many lackluster take out spaghetti bolognaise dishes. The solution was obvious, though one you knew he wouldn't want to hear.

< okay. i want more free time

> So quit with the Laswells.

It draws you up short, Emily bouncing around you unawares. It's one thing to suspect John's - your - end game, but another thing to see it batted around so casually. It makes you feel taken advantage of, guided in a way you don't necessarily appreciate. The Laswells were your first real, well-paying gig, your ticket to independence. You didn't relish the thought of abandoning them and you certainly didn't like to be coerced into the decision. 

But John did pay very well.

< just like that?

John's answer is far too quick, the status changing directly from read to answered with a speed that suggested he may have had a response drafted already which he simply copy/pasted. 

> It would make the most sense. I can pay well enough to make up for the lost income, plus my schedule works better with your classes. 

> Honestly, I'm surprised you even lasted as long as you did with them.

< i wouldn't want to let them down…

> Nonsense, I'm sure they'd understand. You're a busy girl with a full schedule, afterall.

So were they - the whole reason you'd been working for them so long. 

< i don't think i could quit on them. kate scares me.

> I'll take care of Kate, okay? No need to worry. I owe you one anyway, remember?

>Just let Daddy handle it.

It takes you a minute, the words somehow too natural to trip you up. Before you, Emily screeches happily about some cartoon that's maybe a touch too old for her and you think to yourself that she's going to sleep good tonight, all tuckered out as you know she's going to be and then you nearly drop your phone in your rush to chastise him, or run your mouth like you always do, or maybe double down on your request.

But the words don't come. Every time you manage to string two whole thoughts together it peters out, the textual manifestation of the gaping anime gasp he's managed to draw from you as you imagine him watching your typing bubbles appear and fizzle over and over again. If he's watching, of course, but he's a busy man so maybe -.

This time when your phone buzzes, there's no threat of a scolding librarian to keep your yelp suppressed. Just the odd look Emily shoots you before being distracted by her brightly colored show again, turning away from you disinterestedly as you excuse yourself to the kitchen.

"Mr. Price?"

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"S- sorry?"

His voice is calmer when he repeats himself, the same tone he uses on his daughter when she's too fidgety to listen. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

And that answer is easy because the flutter in your tummy you get whenever his words grow a little too overt is not discomfort, so the answer comes easily, if quietly. "No."

"Do you want me to stop?"

Through the fog of your fluster, you remember Paul and his glacial pace, the cat calls from boys you've never met before and have no interest in. This is different. This is good. "No."

The breath John lets out doesn't sound like he's been holding it, more a pleased sigh than anything, accompanied by a low hum. "Good girl. Appreciate you telling me. Is this something you want?"

"I just said -?"

"Not wanting me to stop and wanting something to follow through to its logical conclusion are not the same things. Is this something you want?"

The question grates - the notion that he would think of this all as a waste of time if you didn't know you wanted him, maybe. "Hadn't thought about it. You only just -," You counter vehemently, but John just laughs, a heavy burst of breath through his nose. It catches in his mustache - wind cutting through the grass.

"If I were to come home tonight to find you sleeping on my couch and decided to wake you up all sweetly and softly, would that be alright?"

You picture yourself sleep-soft and pliant, heavy hands soothing over your flank as John's rough voice coaxes you awake. "Yes," you breathe.

He hums approvingly. "And if I were to wake you with my tongue in your cunt, would that be too much?"

"John -!" you hiss, scandalized.

"Try again."

A beat passes where you try to smother the pit of nerves in your stomach. "Mr. Price."

"Better. Answer the question, sweetheart."

"Mr. Price, I -." You huff a breath, take advantage of the fact he can't see you to visibly straighten your spine, steel yourself. "Mr. Price, what do you want?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Easy. I've wanted to bend you over every available surface since you first barged into my bathroom and hinged yourself over that sink."

"I didn't."

"I want to keep that clever little mouth of yours quiet by stuffing it full of my cock. But I also want to hear you complain about what a brat my daughter's been all night because you're cute when you're mad. I want to come home and know what the two of you grabbed for dinner by licking it off your teeth." He pauses to give you an opening, notes your silence, and continues in a much softer voice. "And I want you to be able to focus on school a little better."

You can't manage anything better than a soft oh, and John's responding laugh is a low rumble, voice deceptively soft when he continues - the same voice he uses on Emily when she's too tired to behave properly. You wonder if his colleagues can hear him again, wonder if that's just how he's going to speak to you regardless.

"The question, sweetheart."

"I would like that, Mr. Price."

John's silent in the beat that passes, a hinge creaking open spilling ambient chatter in the background. He'd been sequestered, which means that last tone was only meant for you. "I'll see you tonight, kiddo. Behave for Daddy, yeah?"

[mynameismckenziemae]

Mix It With Rum

Tyler Owens x Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI! Adults (18+) only! Smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, exhibitionism (kind of), a single slap on the ass, dirty talk, creampie kink, etc.

Request from @lexixstewart

Song is Rum by Brothers Osborne

﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏𓇼 ﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏

“Oops,” you giggle as you set the drinks down a little too hard, creamy liquid sloshing over the side.

No one can see you in the little outdoor shower attached to your room so there’s no qualms about licking clean what spilled over your hand.

“Yum,” a sigh escapes you as the cool, sweet flavors of pineapple and coconut hit your tongue. It tastes better than the first one you had earlier, putting you on the right side of tipsy.

After starting the shower, you turn on Spotify and strip off your bikini top, tossing it over the top of the wood surround, and smiling because you know Tyler can see it from the pool where you left him when he’d gotten distracted by a bachelor party talking football.

The most fitting song begins to play as your bottoms join the top and you slide under the lukewarm water, humming along as you rinse the sunscreen and sand from your slightly pink skin.

We came out here to do a whole lotta nothin'

And we're doin' pretty good I think

It was the first full day of your weeklong honeymoon and between wedding planning and storm chasing, the two of you hadn’t had a chance to relax in months. The hot sun, even hotter sex, and beautiful beach are just what you need.

Your hips start to sway as you hum along, pausing only to take another swallow of the addicting drink.

The only one thing we need to worry about

Is fillin' up when the ice cubes clink

After the shampoo is rinsed, you lather your body while the conditioner’s in your hair, your skin so soft and smooth from the sand.

Dippin' our toes in the water

I don't care if it gets any hotter

There’s a loud, wet slap and you whip around to a grinning Tyler, his cheeks flushed from rum and sun.

“Tyler James,” you chide, rubbing the burning handprint he left on your buttcheek, “the pool is right there! Anyone could’ve heard that.”

It's you and me rememberin' how to have fun

Let's put our hearts together

He sings you the words as he drops his swim trunks, his cock thick and hard between his muscular thighs as he takes a long drink from the glass next to yours before stepping through the water, back you straight against the cool, damp wood.

“You’re gonna much more than that later tonight for sneaking away on me, Mrs. Owens,” he smiles as his hands find your ass, taking a handful in each before squeezing tightly; a promise for later. “The only other group out there left when I did,” he continues, leaning close to brush his lips over yours before giving you a teasing kiss, “I made sure it was empty so I could do this.”

“Do wha-oh,” you cut off with a sigh when he drops to his knees, lifting your thigh over his sun-kissed shoulder before he surges forward.

Two parts love and a pinch of good weather

And top it all off with the sun…continues in the background as he unhurriedly and messily uses his tongue, lips, chin, and nose to devour you.

When you nearly knock both half-full glasses off the shelf to steady yourself, an idea comes to mind.

The chilled drink is cool against your heated skin as you slowly pour it over your breasts. Tyler’s eyes have fallen closed so he doesn’t even notice until it hits his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he moans, eyes full of lust as he takes in the view, “nothing could get better than this; my wife’s sweet pussy,” he licks a thick stripe through your arousal, “mixed with my cum from earlier,” his dirty words make you whimper as he wetly laps up the sweet concoction sliding down your stomach, “and piña colada. Fuck.”

He slides one hand up through the mess and the other goes between your thighs as he zeroes in on your clit with his tongue. He taps two fingers on your lips, pushing them inside to suck on when you open your mouth while two slip into your pussy to curl against your g-spot.

And mix it with rum, mm, mm, mm, mm.

Already toeing the edge of your release, the vibrations as he hums along is all it takes for you to fall over; your sounds of pleasure are muted by his fingers.

Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to recover before he rises; your legs wrap around his waist by muscle memory alone when he lifts you.

The low, drawn-out groan when he sinks inside your still-clenching body makes you shiver before he sets a quick, unforgiving pace with his thrusts, revealing how just worked up he is.

“Never gonna let you outta my sight again-fuck!” He grunts against your neck when you tighten around him, “Gonna stay in the room the rest of the trip so I can fill you up any time I want,” he angles his hips to catch your clit with each stroke, “anywhere I want, and any hole I want.”

“Yes,” you breathe, tugging him up by his hair to give him a biting kiss, “Please Ty. I need it-need your cum.”

He groans into your lips as his hips slow into a grind, cock twitching as he releases deep inside you; his triggers yours with a soft cry that he doesn’t bother to muffle.

“Love you,” he pants, pressing his forehead to yours as you catch your breath.

“I love you too. And I want you to have me in any and every way you want,” you smile softly, give him a sweet kiss, “but I’m not staying in the room for the rest of the trip.”

“Alright,” he agrees with a laugh, “so a blow job at the beach and anal in the cabana?”

﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏𓇼 ﹏❀﹏𓇼﹏❀﹏

A/N: If you’re wondering where this came from…I would like nothing more than to be a little tipsy, a little sunburnt and a lotta fucked at a beach right now. 😏

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love knowing what you think in the comments/reblogs.

Tagging who I think may be interested (ignore if you don’t want to read this, I just don’t have a ‘Tyler Owens’ taglist yet):

@lexixstewart (thank you for the idea/prompt 😘 I hope you like it!)

@shanimallina87

@dizzybee03

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@bellaireland1981

@blindedbythelightt

@hookslove1592

@seitmai

[webslingingslasher]

J!!! I don't remember if nerdy!peter plays video games but I'm pretty sure he does 😓 how would he react when angel keeps wanting his attention but he keeps saying 10 more minutes so she gets annoyed 😓😓

I literally love all your Peter's sm idek how u have the mind for all this!!

*cleaning out my drafts* wheew boy, i hope you guys remember nerdy!peter. he's been on a shelf too long!

peter doesn't even blink when you kiss the side of his face- he doesn't notice in the slightest. you hold in a sigh and mutter out a half-hearted goodbye.

'i'm leaving, i'll call you later.'

suddenly, peter's available to talk. 'woah, wait, you're leaving? why?' you bite your tongue, there's a dozen things you want to say and none of them are nice. if you stay, you'll cause a fight.

'because i'm mad at you and if i don't, we're gonna have a fight.' peter gives you puppy dog eyes, he's pre-apologizing and he doesn't know what for yet. they always soften you but when he turns away to check his screen, you harden right back up.

'i had no eyes, sorry, sorry. med pack, please.' you can only put up with so much and a game taking priority over your relationship was just a straw too much. 'you're about to have no girlfriend.'

peter hits mute real fast, tossing his headset off and standing up even quicker. he's looking at you like a deer in headlights, 'you said what?'

'i shouldn't have to threaten a break up for you to listen to me, peter.'

'i was listening! you were fine then all of a sudden you're stomping out of here and calling me single.' he’s not allowed to care when you get mad, he should've cared the last five times he said ten more minutes.

'i'm leaving.'

peter blocks the door, you cross your arms over your chest. 'talk to me.' you're being petty because it's the first time he's giving you attention since you've been here. it's nice to have him worry over you.

'no, i'm mad at you.'

'yeah, i picked up on that. wanna tell me why?' your eyes narrow, he can’t act cute when you're pissy. 'no.' peter gives you a pity smile but he's not sad at all. 'then i can't let you leave, sorry.'

'you think holding me captive will fix things?' there was a snap with your voice, peter takes a step away from the door. he was half and half with your tone but after that he feels the need to back down.

'you're actually mad at me.' peter doesn't like when you're upset with him, it makes him feel all itchy. 'you can leave, angel. if you think it'll help, you can leave. but i would really like it if you told me what was going on first.'

you and peter make communication a priority but this time you want to be childish. if he couldn't understand why you were mad, he obviously didn't respect your time. you wouldn't act like this if it was the first time, but it’s everytime you come over and he's already on his computer.

you're getting tired of begging for your boyfriend to choose you over a video game, especially after he told you to come over.

'no. i'm leaving and i want you to think about why i would be mad at you.' peter whines in return, he hates when you don't give him an answer. 'angel, please. this is punishment enough.'

the issue is how well you know him. he's going to pout and give you kisses while he tells you how sorry he is and he never meant to make you feel ignored. it always makes you forgive him too quick, you don't want him to apologize for it, you want him to acknowledge it.

'you're gonna try to excuse it and kiss it better and i don't want that. i want you to look me in the eye and tell me you've been shitty.' peter's already giving you that pouty look, you ignore the clench your heart gives when he pulls you closer by your hips.

'i'm still gonna kiss it better, i'll just tell you i'm shitty while i do it.' you don't gripe when he gives you a chaste kiss. you don't tell yourself you're going back on your word, just that he didn't give you one when you first got here.

'wanna tell me why i made you mad?' you love when peter talks to you like this. it's not a whisper, but it's low. it's almost guttural- a ring of sexual if you looked at it the right way. when he pairs it with two wet kisses to your cheek, you have to remind yourself to stay strong.

'your game.' you silently moan when peter pushes your back against his door, he drops a mark to your neck. 'mhm, what about my game?' you're not sliding a hand into his hair to egg him on, it's to support yourself, that's it.

'you were ignoring me again.'

peter's lips catch anywhere they can meet, you think you're about to start sweating. 'i hate begging for your attention, i don't want to do it anymore.' peter's kissing your sweet spot, you try to keep your focus.

'angel, no one has my attention more than you.' there's only so much you can fight and peter's pillowy kisses isn't one of them. you're not forgiving, you're just compartmentalizing. plus peter's the best damn kisser you've ever had.

‘until you’re on discord with your friends.’ you’re reminded of your anger, you push peter off and glare at him. ‘if i didn’t tell you i was leaving, would you have even noticed?’

'of course i would, i check on you every couple of minutes.' peter might suck at giving up a winning streak but he makes sure to put his eyes on you every two minutes.

'making sure i'm still here isn't the same as giving me attention. and dump me if i'm wrong, but i want a boyfriend who's a little obsessed with me.' peter kisses the middle of your throat, it spurs more frustration.

'if you wanted to fuck me, you should've done something about it an hour ago. you don't get to disrespect me then put your dick in me.' peter exhales over your skin, it feels like a laugh. you don't know why he thinks you're joking. he reads your mind before you can say it.

'angel, i'm not trying to seduce you. i'm trying to show you how obsessed you make me.' you give him your neck and he softly bites, just like that, the fight's over. 'go on... i'm listening.'

'i've been shitty.'

peter's kisses make sense, they've been on a subtle trail downwards. he sinks to his knees on the floor, hooking your leg around his shoulder and looking up at you. looking up with his angelolatry duties.

'and now i'm gonna kiss it better.' 

[idkyetxoxo]

Six | Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

Word count - 3795

Warnings - None

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

A week had passed since that night in the pool, yet the memory of it clung to me like a half-forgotten dream, teasing the edges of my mind. The gardens were far behind me now, replaced by the lively hum of the common room. 

I lay sprawled across Nymor's lap, his fingers absently combing through my hair, while the raucous banter of his friends swirled around us like a familiar, comforting melody. 

Their teasing voices were a pleasant distraction from the thoughts that had been haunting me since the pool—thoughts of Aemond and the dangerous pull he seemed to have on me.

The negotiations between my father and Viserys were progressing, each day pulling me closer to the inevitable. 

The impending marriage loomed over me like a storm cloud, dark and inescapable. 

Everyone around me treated it as a certainty as if it had been written in the stars long before I ever had a say in the matter. 

But deep down, a part of me still fought against it, clinging to the hope that there might be some way out, some path that didn't end with me standing beside Aemond Targaryen, bound to him for life.

And yet, even as I yearned to escape, I couldn't fully banish the memory of him. 

His sharp gaze, the way his touch had set fire to my skin—it haunted me, even as I tried to shake it off. 

There was something about Aemond that intrigued me, something beyond the cold mask of duty and power. I didn't want to admit it, but I couldn't deny the truth any longer—I didn't completely despise him. 

If anything, I was captivated by the man beneath the dragon prince facade.

But then there was the other truth—the one that gnawed at me like an open wound. His family had laid waste to my homeland, without a second thought, without remorse. 

And that was something I could never forget, no matter how tempting the man himself might be.

"What are you thinking about?" Nymor's voice broke through the fog of my thoughts, his fingers prodding my cheek in an attempt to bring me back to the present.

"My doom," I muttered dramatically, swatting his hand away. His friends erupted into laughter, the sound rich and warm, filling the room like the flickering hearth.

"So awfully cynical, princess. Where is that carefree girl we know and love?" Yoren teased, nudging my legs with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

I sat up, crossing my legs as I sighed. "I don't want to leave Dorne," I admitted, the weight of the words settling heavily on my chest. 

Leaving this place—the sun-drenched gardens, the sea breeze that tasted of salt and freedom—felt like losing a part of myself.

"Then don't," Yoren said with a casual shrug, as if it were that simple. His flippancy stung, though I knew he didn't mean it to.

"It's that one-eyed fool, isn't it?" Nymor's voice was tinged with both annoyance and sympathy, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. 

I rolled my eyes, but the mention of Aemond sent a shiver through me, a mixture of frustration and something I didn't want to name.

"Ah, we've heard the whispers of a union in the making," Maric chimed in with mock seriousness, raising his brows in exaggerated intrigue.

"My father insists upon it," I mumbled, leaning forward to grab Yoren's cup. He jerked it out of reach, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Get your own wine, princess," Yoren teased, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Marry one of us," Maric suggested with a chuckle, though there was a glimmer of something sincere in his eyes. "Stay in Dorne forever. You'd never have to leave."

The idea was as tempting as it was impossible, and I let out a hollow laugh. 

"If only it were that easy," I said, but even as the words left my lips, I couldn't help but wonder. 

What would my life look like if I stayed? If I let myself forget the weight of duty and allowed myself to indulge in the carefree moments that Dorne offered?

Yoren leaned forward suddenly, his face contorted in an exaggerated pout, making ridiculous kissing noises that sent me into a fit of giggles. 

In the midst of his antics, I seized my chance, swiping his cup of wine with a victorious grin.

"Give it back!" he exclaimed, lunging after me, his fingers closing around my wrists as he loomed over me with a mock stern expression. 

I stuck my tongue out at him in defiance, holding the cup just out of his reach. "Make me," I teased, the playful challenge lighting a spark in my eyes.

Nymor laughed beside me, shaking his head as he playfully slapped Maric's chest. "Looks like you've met your match, Yoren."

The warmth of their laughter, the teasing banter—it was a world away from the heavy tension that followed me like a shadow. 

For a moment, I let myself get lost in it, in the easy companionship of these men who didn't expect anything from me except a shared drink and a laugh. 

I flirted with the thought of staying here forever, of letting these light-hearted moments fill the spaces that Aemond's memory couldn't touch.

But no matter how much I tried to distract myself, I couldn't entirely forget him. 

The memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze—it was like a flame that flickered at the edge of my mind, refusing to be extinguished. 

Even as Yoren hovered over me, his playful grin inches from mine, I felt the pull of that night in the pool, a lingering thread that tied me to Aemond, whether I wanted it or not.

"Wine," Yoren demanded again, though there was no real force behind his words, just the playful tug-of-war between us.

I grinned up at him, the spark of rebellion still dancing in my eyes. "Come and get it," I challenged, holding the cup just out of reach as he leaned in closer.

"Princess," a voice called from the doorway, and the lively room fell silent as all eyes turned to see the Targaryen siblings standing in the threshold. 

The sudden shift in energy was palpable like the air had been sucked out, leaving a charged stillness behind.

"Are we interrupting?" Aegon drawled, his smirk widening as he took in the scene before him. 

Yoren, still holding my wrists in a playful grip, dropped them immediately, stepping back with a sheepish smile. The light-heartedness evaporated as if snuffed out, leaving only the prickling tension.

"Yes," Nymor responded dryly, his voice laced with amusement, though I could sense the edge beneath it. 

He remained seated, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they flicked between the intruders. 

Yoren and Maric's laughter returned, momentarily dispelling the tension like a wave washing over the room, a weak attempt to restore the lightness that had been so abruptly shattered.

"Your father sent us," Helaena added softly, her voice a contrast to her brother's. 

She was gentler, always was, and there was something kind in her gaze as it lingered on me, as though she understood more than she let on. But it wasn't me she was looking at with that subtle interest—I noticed her gaze flicker toward Nymor. 

Her fascination was evident, and despite the current tension, I couldn't help but wonder how deep her interest ran.

"If you're too busy entertaining others, we can leave," Aemond interjected, his voice sharp, dripping with venom that cut through the air like a blade. 

His words were pointed, but his eye, his gaze—it was all on me. 

There was no mistaking the jealousy simmering beneath his composed exterior, the barely concealed possessiveness that rippled through his voice.

Nymor stiffened beside me, his usual easy-going demeanour darkening as he rose to his full height. 

"Are you insinuating something about my sister?" His voice was low, but it seethed with barely-contained fury, his eyes locked onto Aemond's with a promise of violence. 

The room, which had been buzzing with life only moments ago, now felt like a powder keg ready to explode.

Aegon, sensing the rising tension, looked thoroughly amused by it all, his smirk widening as if he was eager to see where this was going. 

But before things could escalate further, Helaena tugged him by the arm, pulling him back with a roll of her eyes, her patience clearly worn thin.

"We should go," she said firmly, dragging a protesting Aegon along with her. He looked disappointed as if the potential for a brawl had been the highlight of his day, but he allowed himself to be led out. 

Still, his laughter echoed faintly down the corridor as the door swung shut behind them.

Yoren and Maric quickly exchanged glances before quietly standing and shuffling out of the room. They knew better than to stick around for what was coming. 

Now it was just the three of us.

Aemond didn't move. His gaze, as cold and unrelenting as the winter winds, remained fixed on Nymor. 

"Perhaps I am insinuating something," Aemond said, his tone calm but laced with challenge, his body language as unmoving as stone.

In one swift motion, Nymor stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides, barely containing the storm of anger that radiated off him. 

"You have no right to talk about her," he growled, jabbing a finger hard into Aemond's chest. His voice was low, dangerous—a warning that he was inches away from losing control.

Aemond stood his ground, his expression unreadable, though the glint in his eye gave away his satisfaction at having provoked Nymor. 

It was a power play, and Aemond was revelling in it. The room crackled with unspoken tension, each man daring the other to make the next move.

"You think you can speak about my sister like that and get away with it?" Nymor spat, stepping closer until they were nearly nose to nose. 

His breath came in shallow, angry bursts, and for a moment, I feared the restraint he had would snap.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, a lazy shrug rolling off his shoulders, his expression barely shifting. 

"I speak the truth as I see it," he said coolly. "If you can't handle it, that's your weakness."

Nymor's fist clenched tighter, his knuckles white as his rage spilt over. "The truth?" he repeated, his voice rising with the heat of his anger. 

"You don't know the first thing about her." His words dripped with venom, and I could feel the tide of the moment shifting into something dangerous.

Aemond's jaw tightened at that, the mask of indifference slipping for the briefest second. His voice was a quiet, lethal whisper as he leaned in, a dark smirk playing on his lips. 

"Careful, Nymor. You're speaking to the rider of the largest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms." His words were soft, but the threat beneath them was unmistakable.

In an instant, Nymor's hand shot out, grabbing Aemond by the collar and yanking him forward so their faces were mere inches apart. 

"Say one more word about her," Nymor hissed through clenched teeth, his grip on Aemond's collar unyielding, "and I'll—"

"Enough!" My voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade. 

Both men froze, their eyes snapping toward me as I stepped forward, my expression a mix of frustration and steely authority. 

"Nymor, let him go." My words held a weight that neither of them could ignore.

For a moment, Nymor hesitated, his grip still tight on Aemond's collar, his eyes burning with a fury that demanded release. But when he met my gaze, something shifted. 

Slowly, reluctantly, he released Aemond, shoving him back with a frustrated grunt.

"You're not helping me by losing control like this," I said, my tone gentler now but still firm. "Leave us. I need to speak to him alone."

Nymor's eyes flicked between me and Aemond, a muscle in his jaw working as though he was about to protest. 

"He doesn't deserve your time, let alone your words," he muttered darkly, but after a tense moment, he relented. 

His hand twitched at his side as if itching to throw another punch, but he stepped away, turning toward the door with one last icy glare at Aemond.

"But if he says one more thing—" Nymor started, his voice taut with barely contained rage.

"I'll handle it," I cut in, my tone softening just enough to calm him. "You know I can."

Nymor lingered a moment longer, his fists still clenched, before giving a terse nod. He cast one final look at Aemond, filled with simmering fury, before storming out of the room. 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the now-silent room.

For a long moment, silence hung between us, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. 

Aemond's smirk returned, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eye as if he was weighing the moment carefully.

"You didn't need to send him away on my account," he said, his voice low and drawling, though the amusement in his tone didn't quite reach his eyes. "I can handle Nymor."

I stepped closer, my face impassive, carefully concealing the turmoil roiling within me. "This isn't about you 'handling' anyone," I said evenly, keeping my voice steady, controlled. "It's about knowing when to stop."

His smirk faltered. "Is that what you think? That I don't know when to stop?"

I met his gaze, holding it with unwavering strength. "You're pushing him because you want a reaction. But we both know this isn't about Nymor." 

My voice softened, but there was still a sharp edge beneath the words. "So tell me, Aemond—what is it you really want?"

For the briefest moment, his expression shifted, and I saw the cracks in the carefully constructed façade he always wore. 

The arrogance he wore like armour seemed to drain away, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. His jaw tightened, but the biting retort I expected never came. I

Instead, he hesitated, searching my face as though the answer might be written there.

"I want you," he finally whispered, his voice strained like the admission had cost him something. 

The air between us felt impossibly heavy as the words settled like a stone in my chest. He took a step closer, and I could feel the weight of his confession pressing against my resolve.

I stayed silent, letting the moment stretch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected me. 

But when his hand lifted to cup my face, his touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down my spine despite my best efforts to remain composed.

"You are unlike anyone I've ever met," he murmured, his voice intense, each word deliberate. "Fierce, determined... utterly captivating." 

His gaze held mine, and for the first time, I saw something genuine in his eyes, something that unsettled me more than his usual cold confidence. "I cannot imagine my life with anyone but you. You've become part of me, consumed my thoughts, my every moment."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep breathing, to keep standing. His words were heavy, laden with meaning, with the kind of vulnerability I had never expected from him. 

For a moment, I almost faltered—almost let myself believe in the possibility he was offering. But I knew better than to surrender so easily.

Slowly, I reached up, my hand wrapping around his wrist, and I gently pulled his hand away from my face. 

"Aemond," I began, my voice steady but tinged with something darker, something deeper. "How am I supposed to forget who you are? How do I ignore the history between our families, the blood that stains your name?"

His eyes widened, clearly taken aback by my words. This was a part of me I had never revealed to him, a truth I had buried deep but could no longer keep hidden. 

I had been raised with the stories of what his family had done, the destruction they had brought upon my people, my home.

He stared at me, the shock plain on his face. It was as if he hadn't expected me to hold onto the past, to care about it in the face of his feelings. But how could I not?

"I don't want to conquer anything but your heart," he said softly, stepping closer again, his voice almost pleading now. "I don't care about power or politics when it comes to us. I just want you. That night we spent in the gardens..." 

His voice trailed off, the memory lingering between us like a ghost. "It's all I've thought about since. I don't want it to be the last."

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. 

His sincerity was undeniable, and I could feel the weight of his words pulling me in, making it harder to keep the distance I so desperately needed.

"Our fathers are already discussing the match," I said quietly, forcing myself to focus on the practicalities, on the things that kept me grounded in reality. "The alliances they hope to build through us—"

"Your father won't force it," Aemond interrupted, his voice urgent. "Not if you don't want it." 

His tone softened, and for the first time, there was a vulnerability there, a rawness that caught me off guard. "But say yes. Say you'll choose me."

I turned away, unable to look at him. The weight of what he was asking felt like it might crush me. 

"If I say yes, I have to give up everything," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady. "My home, my family, everything I know. I would have to leave my father, my brother, my people... for a life in a city that will never truly be mine."

He exhaled slowly, the realization sinking in. I felt him move closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But you would have me. We could build something—something that's ours."

I turned back to face him, my gaze locking onto his. 

"At what cost, Aemond?" My voice was quiet, but the question rang out like a challenge. "Do you really believe love can erase everything that stands between us? Can it undo the scars of history, the blood spilt by your ancestors?"

Aemond's eye searched mine, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to still. 

It felt like the weight of every decision we would ever make hung in the balance, suspended in the thick air between us.

"I need time," I finally said, the words escaping before I could stop them. His expression shifted, the hope in his eyes dimming, but he didn't interrupt. "This is too much, Aemond. You may be certain of what you want, but I..."

I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. I didn't have the luxury of being as sure as he was, and the stakes were far higher for me. "I need time," I repeated, my voice firm but quieter.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Aemond's jaw clenched, his frustration evident, but he didn't push. He just stood there, watching me, waiting for something I wasn't ready to give.

"I can't stay here," I whispered, turning toward the door, feeling the pull of escape. 

My heart pounded in my chest, torn between the desire to stay and the need to flee, to buy myself more time.

Aemond took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to stop me. "You don't have to leave," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "We can figure this out."

I forced a weak smile, meeting his gaze one last time. "I can't. Not right now."

He nodded slowly, the flicker of hope in his eyes dimming to a quiet resignation. "I'll wait," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. 

Part of me wanted to turn back, to offer him something—anything—that might ease the tension between us. But the weight of history, of what he was asking, was too much to bear.

"I'll think about it," I said, my voice steady again. "But I can't make any promises."

With that, I slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. The second I was alone in the hallway, I released a shaky breath, the tension that had been building inside me finally breaking free. 

My heart was racing, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotions I couldn't quite untangle.

I walked quickly, the echo of my footsteps the only sound in the silent corridor. The farther I got from Aemond, the more the reality of what had just happened sank in. 

He had laid everything bare, but I couldn't forget what stood between us—our families, our histories, the sacrifices I would have to make.

When I reached the courtyard, I stopped, letting the cool night air wash over me, soothing the storm inside. I looked up at the stars, wondering how I had ended up here, torn between what I wanted and what I knew.

Could I really give up everything for him? Could I trust him, trust us, enough to believe that love could conquer the scars of the past? I didn't know.

All I knew was that I needed time. Time to think, to weigh the future that Aemond was offering against the life I had always known.

The air bit at my skin and my thoughts drifted to Alaric. The ease, the simplicity of being with him was tempting—a familiar escape from the whirlwind that Aemond stirred inside me. 

With Alaric, everything had always been so... uncomplicated. No deep questions. No heavy expectations. 

Just the physical release that dulled the ache, numbed the confusion. I knew if I went to him now, he wouldn't ask why. He wouldn't ask for anything at all.

For a fleeting moment, I considered it. The thought of his hands, the distraction, the way he could make me forget for just a little while. 

It would be so easy to lose myself in him again, to drown out the impossible choice looming over me. But then, a sharp pang twisted in my chest, and I stopped in my tracks. 

What would that solve? A night of pretending, of running, wouldn't change the fact that my heart was caught somewhere else—caught between the impossible pull of Aemond and the weight of everything I was supposed to be. 

Alaric might help me forget for a night, but the reality of my choices would still be waiting for me in the morning.

I sighed the decision settling over me like a heavy cloak. I couldn't hide from this, no matter how much I wanted to. 

With one last glance at the stars, I turned away from the direction of Alaric's chambers and instead headed back toward the shadows, alone with my thoughts, and the uncertainty that lingered like a storm on the horizon.

There was no running from this—not anymore.

A/n - Not as slow as I would like but we are nearing the end and I need their relationship to pick up a bit x

Enchanted tag list - @mamawiggers1980 @shilphy87 @esposadomd @targaryendestiel @deepeststarlightmoon

@thebirdandthebee @queen-of-elves @believeinthefireflies95

[the-screams-of-the-damned]

Noises In The Night

Posting for the @6esiree writing contest, written for a whole work on wattpad. In this story, the reader is Alastor's assistant at the radio station and a close family friend. Alastor has agreed to help you clear out your father's cabin about a year after his mysterious murder.

Warnings: Alastor is kind of a perv, slight somnophilia, questionable intentions, innocent reader, mentions of murder, no real penetration (sorry)

Promises: obsessive Alastor, human Alastor, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling

"I'll sleep on the couch," Alastor declared as he took the empty bowl from in front of you.

"Are you sure? I don't mind," you protest. You stood, pushing in your chair.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I've slept on the couch before," he assures you. He places a large hand on your shoulder, smile glistening in the lamp light.

You nod. "Okay."

He moves over to the couch, digging through his bag to find his pajamas. Yours are at the top of your bag. A cream colored nightgown with lace at the top and around the hem. You'd never admit that you'd packed it just for Alastor to see.

"Would you like me to step outside while you change?" He offers.

It hadn't even occurred to you that you'd be changing in the same room with him. You were positively pink at the thought. You could feel your insides stir at the image of him watching you change. A purely sinful thought.

"No!" Too quick of a response, far too quick. "I mean - I don't mind being in the same room. Do you?" You never met his eyes. A sorry attempt to hide what was happening in your mind.

"I don't.

Alastor tried to be a gentleman. He really did. He turned to face away from you as he undid the buttons on his shirt, trying to think of anything but you. He just couldn't help himself. The image of you was too tempting. He praised anything listening that you were turned away when he looked over his shoulder. Oh, how perfect you looked. He bit the inside of his lip as your skirt slipped down your legs. With all the subtlety he could muster, he began to memorize the details of your rear and legs that were now exposed to him. He pulled his pajama shirt over his shoulders and was forced to look away to button it. As he unbuttoned his trousers, he cursed himself for being such a pervert.

Your body itself didn't excite him quite enough. No, his own thoughts had created the erection that tried desperately to spring free. The thought of you giving yourself to him was what did it. The image of you laying down on your back, legs open and welcoming for him. The ways he could please you. Would you let him? Would you let him know you in the most intimate ways? Would you do that for him? And if you knew about his more unconventional hobbies? Would you do it then? Would you let him stain your heavenly wings red with his sins?

He pulled his pajama bottoms up, quickly buttoning them. He turned just enough to see you. Had he turned a moment later, he would have missed the sight of your cotton nightgown falling over your features.

"Are you finished?" You asked, trying to calm your own racing heart. You didn't want to ask. You wanted to wheel around without warning and catch a glimpse of him half naked. Perhaps he would be flustered. Perfect skin dyed red by embarrassment at being caught. Perhaps he'd like it. Perhaps he'd laugh at how forward you were and take you right then and there.

"Yes, you can turn around," he answered. You shook yourself from your thoughts, ignoring the stickiness in your panties. You turned to him, seeing him sit down on the couch. "Are you ready for bed?"

You nod, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leans over, turning out the lamp on the coffee table. The room settles into darkness, and your eyes adjust to see his silhouette.

"Goodnight, Alastor."

"Goodnight, my dearest."

Alastor didn't sleep. In fact, he didn't even bother to take his glasses off. Instead, he listened to the rhythm of your breathing. He waited, eyes adjusting to the dark until it was almost like daylight to him. After maybe half an hour, he heard your breath slip into the slow and even rhythm of sleep.

He stood, walking over to your bed. He'd become skilled at sneaking around, holding himself so that his footsteps were nearly silent. He stared down at you, admiring the way the moonlight bounced off of your skin.

Slowly and cautiously, he reached out a hand. He let the pads of his fingers drag across your cheek, down to your lips. They were parted only a little. His fingers traced the outline of your jaw, neck, and collarbone. You were so trusting to sleep in the same room as him. So very trusting. Your trust went straight to his cock, sitting heavy against his leg. His hand moved almost on muscle memory from the center of your collar bone upwards. His palm was flat against the column of your throat, thumb, and fingers on either side.

He pulled his hand away, not trusting it to obey him. He placed it on your shoulder. The thin straps of your nightgown left it uncovered, and he was finally able to feel your skin under his fingers. He trailed his fingers down your side, keeping his hands over your blanket for fear of what they might do if he let them under. He stopped as he felt the soft tissue of your breast.

You stirred in your sleep, rolling onto your back and starting Alastor. In his shock, his stealth left abandoned him. His heel hit a creaky floorboard as he jumped to tear his hand away from you, and your eyes flew open.

He shook himself from his panic. You hadn't seen him touch you. He could play it off.

"Alastor?" You rubbed your eye and began to sit up.

"I'm sorry, dear. Did I wake you? I thought I heard a noise and came to investigate," he told you.

"Oh. I think I'm just a bit jumpy," you claimed. You looked up at him, face shrouded in shadow as the light hit his back. "Being out in the woods like this can be a bit scary."

He nods. "I understand."

You sat up fully, rubbing the skin on your arm. "Esspecially since, y'know, people have been going missing recently." It was then that Alastor sat down on the bed, allowing you to see the gentle yet unreadable expression on his face.

"I promise that you're very safe. I wouldn't let a single soul in the world lay a finger on you," he assures.

"Really? You'd protect me?" You leaned closer to him.

"Of course! I'd wrestle gators if it meant you were kept safe," he promises. Something deep in your chest wanted more than that. You weren't sure what. However, his words presented you an opportunity.

"Would you sleep with me? Just for tonight?" You gave him your best puppy dog eyes as you asked.

You heard him swallow before answering. Had you been too bold? "Would you feel safer that way?" You gave him an eager nod. There it was. That blind trust turned him ravenous. "Then, of course, I will."

You pull aside the blanket, wiggling closer to the wall. He slides in beside you, adjusting himself while his back is turned so that you can't feel his arousal. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, which provides an excellent excuse to burry your face in his neck. You feel a soft chuckle reverberate in his chest.

"Would you like to cuddle?" His voice is a whisper, met with a nod. He snakes an arm under you and around your back, bringing his hand to rest on your hip. You wrap your arms around his torso, smiling like a schoolgirl. The stiring in your gut returns, and you make a brash decision.

You lift your leg over his hip and relish the way his breath hitches. Your nightgown rides up towards your hips. He brings his hand to your leg, pulling you closer by the plush of your thigh. He couldn't stop himself from squeezing a little harder, making you wiggle in his hold. Then you felt it, the unmistakable hardness of a man's erection. It made your heart jump. Of course, you wouldn't have sex with him. You'd been resolute to save yourself for marriage. But no sex didn't mean no intimacy.

"Alastor." His body tensed at the sound of your voice.

"Yes, my dear?" His voice was breathy and deep.

"Have you ever done these sorts of things before?"

He let out a deep breath before answering. "Yes, I have. I suppose you haven't?" You shake your head against his neck. He leans away from you, bringing his hand from your thigh to your cheek. Your eyes meet his, only inches away from each other."We won't do anything you don't want or that you're not ready for, okay? We could stop here, and I would be just fine with that."

"Okay." You nodded and smiled as his hand wandered just below your jaw. You pushed forward just enough to brush your lips against his.

Alastor's fingers curled under your chin, pulling your face close to his again. He captured your lips properly this time. It started soft and gentle, pulling away for quick breaths as he tightened his fingers around your hip. His tongue pressed against your bottom lip, and you opened just enough for it to slip past your teeth and run along your own. His hand made its way to your hair, trying to close an imaginary distance. You let him explore your mouth, occasionally running your tongue along his and enjoying the taste.

You let your hand wander, running over the collar of his sleep shirt. Your fingers came to the top button, fiddling with it in an anxious manner. He finally pulled his mouth away from yours, using his thumb to catch the trail of saliva that connected your lips.

"Dearest -" his voice came between pants and was whispered for only your ears. "Tell me what you want," he commanded. "I'll provide, my dear. All you have to do is ask me." His hand came to grip yours, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

Your mind struggles to put words to your desires. You have to close your eyes to say it. "Will you take your shirt off, please?" It came out a bit too formal for the situation, but Alastor was more than happy to oblige.

"Good girl." He took his hands away from you, making you whine softly against your will. You scooted back and watched as he sat up, hands making quick work of the buttons. With each button, the front slipped open more, exposing his chest and stomach in slow succession. The pale light caught the contours of his torso perfectly. He was lean with only the slightest outline of muscles. He was unsurprisingly well groomed, light hair over his chest and trailing down to his undercarriage.

As his sleeves slipped past his elbows, you reached a hand towards his chest. "May I?" You looked up at him, trying not to be embarrassed by how pathetically whorish you must seem.

"Of course, my dear. Come here." He patted his lap. You adjusted yourselves, letting him rest his back against the headboard as you straddled his lap.

You steadied yourself with a hand against his chest, nearly melting at the sensation. His skin was soft and warm under your fingers. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart underneath. He said he'd give you anything. Would he let you take his heartbeat? Would he give his life to you if you asked? Would he give you someone else's?

Alastor placed his hands on your hips, squeezing hard on either side. He pulled you flush against him, pressing your forehead to his. "Do you want to go further?" His breath ghosted over your lips, making your own get caught for a moment.

You had to think. How far did you want to go? You hadn't thought this far ahead. "Could you lead?" The request came out more like a whimper.

"Yes, I can. But you must promise me that you'll stop me if it becomes too much," he explains.

"I promise." You lean back and hold out your pinky finger. He laughs a bit before linking his with it.

Alastor places his hands on either side of your face, pulling you into another kiss. This one is more aggressive. His tongue seems to force its way between your lips as he pushes you further into him.

You bring your hands around his back, running your fingers along his spine and muscles. His tongue rubs against the roof of your mouth, causing a tickling sensation. His hands are warm, slight calluses along his palms. He brought them to your shoulders and then down your sides. He stops one hand at your waist, allowing the other to head down to your upper thigh. He pushes you down onto his lap fully, allowing you to feel his hard cock against your growing heat. His hand slowly moves to the hem of your nightgown, fiddling with the delicate lace.

He moves his lips from yours, pressing them against your cheek as he whispers. "Can I remove this?" You give him a mod without thinking. "I need words, my dear."

"Yes, sir." You hadn't meant to call him 'sir', but it felt natural. And you couldn't miss the way his cock twitched when you said it.

He brought his fingers to either side of you, gently pulling it up and over your hips. You lift your arms to make it easier, shivering as the cool night air hits your bare skin. Alastor leans back, looking down over your body.

Now, Alastor was no stranger to the female body. Between his various partners and burlesque shows, he'd seen his fair share of half-naked women. He never understood the excitement around them. Until now. Before now, he'd sat in judgment and superiority over the men who whistled at dancers and shouted marriage proposals at the end of a performance. But if you were up on that stage, topless in front of the crowd, he would become one of the many crazed men throwing themselves at your feet.

"This isn't an art gallery," you teased. Your discomfort added a hint of venom to your words. "You can touch me."

He chuckled for a moment before pulling your face to his once again. His chest pressed flush to yours. The warmth was all enveloping, wrapping itself around you and settling into every crevice of your bodies.

"If I touch you, my dear," he whispers. "I may never be able to stop."

"Then don't."

Alastor's smile seemed to spread even further. He brought his hand to your stomach, feeling the soft skin below his fingers. His hand trailed upward quickly, coming to cup your breast. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. He squeezed the flesh in his palm, and you arch your chest further into his grasp. His free hand found your hip, slipping his pinky finger beneath the hem of your underwear.

You brought your hand to his hair, gripping it. You pressed your face into the top of his head, taking in his scent. As he slid his hand under your underwear to grip your rear, the vague smells of sweat and leather were utterly intoxicating. When he squeezed the fat of your ass, you instinctively pulled on his dark curls. The noise he released was strangled yet dripping in pleasure. You gave another experimental tug, earning another groan.

On the third tug, he finally spoke. "You're doing this on purpose now, aren't you?" His voice was breathy and spoken into your neck.

"And you're enjoying it," you mused. He dug his nails into your ass, making you yelp a little.

"Tread carefully, Doll."

Alastor began to trail his lips downward, leaving kisses as he went down your collar bone. The tightness in your core was becoming unbearable as he began to kiss over your breast. He licked over your sensitive nipple, enjoying the hardness against his tongue.

His own arousal had become excruciating. He finally brought the hand that wasn't firmly planted on your ass down under the waistline of his pants. He didn't miss the heat radiating from your core as he passed it. He loved it. He loved knowing how you enjoyed his touch. He took his throbbing cock into his hand, giving it a gentle stroke. You pulled on his hair at the same time, eliciting the loudest moan yet.

With that, Alastor had enough. The only noises he'd heard from you so far were giggles and little gasps. He wanted to make you scream. He pulled his hand from the flesh of your ass, teasing one finger over your covered heat.

"May I?" He spoke into your chest, running his finger from your clothed entrance to your sensitive clit. He gave a dark chuckle when you nodded. "Use your words, dear."

You gave a dry swallow. "Yes, please."

His slender fingers slipped below your panties, squeezing your clit between his fingers. Such a familiar yet foreign feeling. Sure, you'd explored on your own. You were used to the feeling of your own fingers along your clit or on occasion inside of you. How could the same action feel so much better when Alastor did it? He swirled the sensitive bud, loving the way your slick coated his fingers. You pressed your hips further into his hand. His concentration began to fault as he tried to please both of you.

He grazed the tip of his finger over your entrance. You let out a long whine at the feeling, making Alastor smile against your skin. He circled around your core a few times, teasing you. He finally frees himself from his pajama bottoms, allowing his cock to spring up against his stomach. He leans back against the headboard, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. You couldn't help but take in the sight.

His eyes were closed behind foggy glasses. His chest rose and fell with his labored breaths. The skin over his neck and chest was shiny with sweat. The faintest hint of abs showed across his stomach. And there it was for you. You'd never gotten a good look at one before, and here it was for your viewing. Caramel color that matched his chest, darkening along the bulbous head. Was that a normal size? It seemed a bit too large to be normal. Strong, slender fingers curled around the base, spreading some clear liquid over the length. It looked strangely... appetizing.

"AH!" You practically screamed when Alastor dipped his finger tip inside of you for a moment, cutting off your thoughts. You had to brace yourself against his chest as he laughed. "No fair," you muttered, meeting his eyes.

"I beg to differ," he mused. He leaned forward, kissing you on the tip of your nose. You tilted your head up, puckering your lips for him to kiss. He didn't hesitate to force his tongue between your lips.

You trailed your fingers down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin. He pressed his finger back into you, swallowing the moan that escaped you. You gripped his shoulder in an attempt to cope with the stretch. His fingers were longer than yours by quite a bit. So much deeper. You couldn't help but grind into his palm, gaining friction on your clit. He took the hint, using his thumb to circle it. Alastor pulled away from you, nesling into your shoulder.

"My dearest," he whispered. "I want to show you something." He pulled back to look you in the eyes.

"Okay." Your voice came out as a slight whimper.

He removed his hand from your core, resulting in a soft whimper. He put his hands on your waist, lifting you off of his lap. He crawled off the bed. You looked on in confusion as he fell to his knees by the edge.

"Sit over the edge, dear," Alastor instructed. You followed, of course. He placed your legs on either side of his head, smiling brightly. "Such a good girl." He massaged your thigh gently, kissing the skin.

He looped his fingers under your panties. He slowly pulled them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core.

"If it becomes too much, tell me." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. You nodded. He took his glasses from his face, placing them on the floor beside him. He then pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. He trailed up the inside of your thigh until he was barely an inch from your heat.

You were vaguely familiar with the concept of cunnilingus, but you'd never expected it. You watched him rub your clit with two fingers. You used your arm to support you as you leaned back.

Alastor gave a kiss to your muff, taking a deep inhale of your scent. He then pressed his lips to your clit. He ran his tongue over it. You were so. Fucking. Delicious. He began to suck on the little bud as though his life depended on it. You let out a low moan of pleasure. He used his tongue to flick across it, enjoying the way your thighs began to squeeze his head.

His fingers grazed your leaking hole before pressing one digit inside. You moaned again, louder this time. You felt him grin against you. Your body clenched around his finger, sucking him in deeper. He licked just above your pussy, making your hips buck into his face. He began the thrust his finger in and out of you. You tossed your head back in pleasure.

A second finger pressed into you. You whined. He ran his thumb over your clit to balance the pain and pleasure. His breath tickled your sensitive skin. As his two fingers pushed in and out of you, he ran them across your inside walls. He reattached to your bud, suckling and licking over it with a renewed ferocity.

"AAAaa- Fuck!" Your body shot forward as his fingers found a soft spot inside of you. His grin seemed to double as you buried a hand in his hair. He pulled away from you, removing his fingers as well. You whined desperately.

He licked over your entrance before pushing his tongue into your dripping cunt. He brought his fingers to your clit, swirling in between them. His tongue seemed too long to be human. It curled inside of you, hitting that soft spot over and over. Between his fingers and tongue working you, it's hard to hold back each moan and gasp that came from you.

The cool breeze came over your skin, making Alastor's lingering saliva feel ice cold against your skin. You lifted your eyes to the window. It was open, curtains spread wide. Any passing animal or hunter would surely see you if they turned to look. As the realization washed over you, it caused an odd ripple of pleasure in your core.

You felt a familiar knot in your gut as Alastor pulled you closer. He dropped one of his hands to his own arousal, pumping like his life depended on it. The way your thighs squeezed him and your hips bucking into his mouth told him you were close. He couldn't have been more excited. You were the greatest meal he'd ever had, and now, he would make sure you finished.

With one final press to your sensitive spot, you let out a scream of pleasure that made your throat go raw. The sound made Alastor groan, and the taste of your cum filling his mouth was more than he could take. He didn't breathe for a moment as he came into his hand, lost in the ecstasy of finally, finally, knowing what his dearest tasted like.

[nimnia]

‹ chapter 01 › LIBRARY

─── JUST Y☆UR ATTENTI☆N ⋆ ｡ ° ✩

WARNINGS── tittle-tattles. nothing serious yet.

WC── 1,395 words

── JYA main list

the sounds of chattering voices and clinking dishes fill the humongous room of the cafeteria, the lunchtime energy stuffing the air as students catch up, complaining about their professors, and sharing weekend plans.

minji sat among her friends, barely listening as they laughed and recounted moments from their morning classes. she had her usual plate of food in front of her, but her attention drifted off as she stared at her form, twirling it absentmindedly in her hand.

lately, her mind has been unusually restless, something she couldn't quite place. it could be her coursework or issues back in her home.

"minji!" hanni nudged her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"huh?" minji looked up, blinking as she refocused on hanni's face.

hanni smirked, raising an eyebrow at her. "spacing out? don't tell me you're stressed about midterms already." she teased.

minji rolls her eyes, slightly tilting her head to the side. "not a chance, han. i was just thinking," another friend of hers, danielle, chimes in.

"thinking about what?" danielle leaned forward, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "or should i say… thinking about who?"

minji sighs, smirking despite herself. "not everyone's as dramatic as you, dani."

"oh, you're one to talk!" danielle shot back with a laugh.

their playful exchange was interrupted shortly when hanni suddenly lowered her voice, leaning in as to share something of a secret.

"forget that! have you heard about the girl who practically lives in the library? in this school we're in!"

minji raised a brow, feigning indifference even as a flicker of curiosity ignited in her. "the library? uh, i've been there quite a lot, and i don't think i noticed anyone who 'lives' there."

hanni's eyes gleamed as if she had been waiting for this conversation for some time. "oh, you'd know her if you saw her!"

"people say she's there all the time— like, almost every night until it closes. she's always by herself, surrounded by a million books!" hanni adds.

danielle nodded, lowering her voice to match hanni's. "she's kind of… intense," minji pressed her lips together, listening attentively.

"some people think she doesn't want to be around anyone— you know, like she's isolating herself on purpose or something!" danielle exclaims quietly.

a quiet laugh slipped out of minji, although her mind lingered on the idea of someone purposefully choosing solitude. "i mean… college is exhausting, pretty much. it's not that weird for someone to prefer studying alone."

hanni shrugs, a knowing look in her eyes.

"yeah, but this girl's a bit different, minji. it's like she doesn't even notice anyone else exists. no one knows her name, and she doesn't talk to anyone at all! she just sits there, toootally detached, like she's in her own world."

suddenly, the cafeteria noises faded around minji as she imagined it— a girl alone in the dim library, surrounded by books, studying late into the night as the world moved on around her.

the image was actually haunting oddly, almost poetic, and for reasons she couldn't really explain, it unsettled her. she had always thrived in social spaces, valued the connections she made, and enjoyed being recognized.

the idea of choosing to withdraw entirely felt strange, maybe even a bit… disturbing— yet again, she wasn't one to judge someone who chose to withdraw from reality, if that's the issue.

danielle nudges her arm, breaking her reverie, "don't you think it's weird though?"

minji glanced down at her tray, avoiding her friend's gaze. "maybe," she muttered. "but who cares? it's her choice, so we shouldn't be judging her."

danielle thought about it before shrugging and moving on to another topic, but minji found herself only half-listening.

she glances around the cafeteria, her mind drifting back to the image her best friends had painted of this mysterious, isolated girl who is also her schoolmate, though someone she didn't quite know yet.

'why would anyone want to be alone all the time though..?' minji wonders, a strange pang of intrigue and curiosity stirring in her chest.

throughout the afternoon, that conversation stayed entirely with her, never leaving her mind. it was rather ridiculous, she told herself, to be so curious about someone she hadn't even met yet.

but even as she moved from one class to the next, her mind kept circling back to that image of the mysterious girl who is practically living in the library.

when her last class finally ended, the resolve that had been bothering minji hardened. she knew where she needed to go.

so instead of heading to her dorm or meeting her friends, she took a different path, winding through the campus toward the library.

─────

the library was unusually quiet as she stepped inside, the warm glow of the evening sun filtering through the windows and the curtains.

the air felt quite heavy with silence, a sharp contrast to the lively chaos of the cafeteria. minji paused at the entrance, adjusting to the dim lighting and the stillness.

as she glanced around, her heart thrummed with a mix of excitement and nerves. she hadn't even realized how eager she'd become to catch even the slightest glimpse of this girl, to see if her friends' descriptions were as captivating as they'd made them sound.

after a little while, minji moved quietly between the shelves, her steps slow as she scanned the tables and reading nooks. she felt a bit silly, as though she was sneaking around on some sort of mission, but she couldn't bring herself to turn back.

and then, and just then, near the far corner of the library, she saw you.

you sat at a table by the window, surrounded by stacks of books, your head bent over a notebook as you scribbled with quiet intensity.

the late afternoon sun casts a warm, hazy glow around you, softening the sharp lines of your expression. your face was partially hidden by your hair, but minji could see enough to notice the calm, focused look on your eyes.

it was a look that suggested she was utterly alone in her own world, untouched by the presence of anyone around her.

minji felt her breath catch, a wave of something she couldn't quite name wash over her. she lingered by a nearby shelf, pretending to browse as she observed you, her gaze tracing the way your fingers moved gracefully across the page, your eyes never wavering from your notes.

for a moment, minji's own concerns felt distant, irrelevant.

she was struck by the quiet beauty of your solitude, the way you seemed so completely absorbed in your own world. it was, probably, a world that felt unreachable, as though it existed on a plane separate from everyone else's.

and minji couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to step into that world,— your world —to know what you were thinking as you sat there so silently, lost in her own thoughts.

as she continues to watch, you shift slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. minji quickly looked down, pretending to study the spine of a random book, her heart pounding as though she'd been caught.

she felt an odd, embarrassing thrill as if she was peeking into something private, something she wasn't supposed to see.

after a few moments, minji stole another glance. you were still immersed in your work, your expression serene and unbothered.

you seem to be unaware of minji's presence completely, oblivious to the fact that you'd become the center of someone else's fascination and attention.

minji's mind raced with questions, each one more insistent than the last.

why did she choose to be alone? why didn't she care about anyone around her? was she lonely? or was this solitude something she genuinely wanted?

with a quiet sigh, minji forced herself to look away. she couldn't believe how caught up she'd become, how affected she felt by someone she'd never spoken to.

it was as though your presence had cast a spell over her, pulling her in with a quiet, irresistible force.

she left the library that evening with her thoughts in a tangled haze, her mind racing with curiosity and frustration. she barely noticed her friends calling out to her as she walked back to her dorm, her focus lost in a strange, new obsession.

she needed to know your name soon.

TAGLIST── @iamtired10 @saysirhc @sixflame438 @gigislovergirl @trovao-penguins @flyingcigarettes @kmjs-girl @strangercat

[sourbites]

Can I request a Kirk smut!! Friends to lovers kinda thing. For instance yall are smoking weed at your place and feeling a bit insecure about still being single and he makes a move on you???

Can't Tell You Why

thank you for the request! this was a lot of fun to write. i chose to write this imagining early 80s kirk, just to really amp up that clumsy love that friends share. hope you enjoy :)

The tip of the joint crackles, embers glowing as you coax smoke down into your lungs. The atmosphere in your bedroom is thick, smogged with smoke and giggles. There's soft rock playing in the background — some band Kirk chose.

"You're avoiding the question," He laughs, all love-me-tender brown eyes and crooked white teeth. You're both having fun, he's teasing you, you're teasing him. But still, you hesitate, exhaling smoke from your nose thoughtfully.

"I don't know," You wipe one hand on the front of your jeans. "I've only done it, like, once. Wasn't that fun, either— we were in this tiny car, and there was so much bumping around."

You twist on your bed, leaning up against the wall. Kirk moves, too, leaning his weight on a hand. "Once?" He repeats, surprised.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think I've been around?" You laugh, although there's some discomfort at his reaction lurking around in your mind. His mortification catches up with him two beats later. Eyes wide, laughing nervously along with you.

"I didn't mean it like that," Kirk exhales, smoke floating and swirling around the both of you. It hazes everything up: the light from your lamps scatter differently. Shadows look hesitant. He mulls over how to explain himself, self-conscious as he adjusts his position again. "I— I just meant, that you," He swipes a hand over his face, groaning in embarrassment through those hesitant chuckles. "You're smart, and— and real pretty. And charming enough to get anyone you'd want, so— I dunno, I mean, I'd..." He trails off. He speaks unintelligible nonsense for a few moments, before trying again. "You get what I mean." He concludes.

"Do I?" You take the joint from him. Something within you makes you feel sick with a feeling you wouldn't like to meet.

Kirk, ever the conversationalist, gives you an eye-roll. "So who was he, anyway?" He gestures to you, his index and middle finger steadying the shrinking joint.

You shrug. "Just a friend of a friend. I already told you."

He didn't say anything after that. Just hid behind his curly bangs, working his fingers into your bedsheets. Honestly, you're unsure why you even entertained this conversation. It's not like you'd find camaraderie within Kirk, not these days— tons of women want his attention. They want to taste his plump lips, hold his baby face, and kiss the crease between his brows when he frowns. You want to claw this bitter taste from your mouth. Gut the barbed vines in your stomach. As cool as you want to present, it isn't the most brag-worthy thing. Your first and only time being a half-baked hookup in some cramped-ass Ford Pinto? Get out the confetti. Your train of thought became an internal train wreck.

"Well," Kirk begins to roll another. "Where would you rather it happened?" Just briefly, his brown eyes glance up at your face to read your expression.

"Where else could it happen?" You ask no one in particular, voice hushed and ironically smoky in your fogged-up bedroom. You hum thoughtfully, picking at the thin rolling papers sprawled out on your bed. "Is it boring if I say a bed? Nothing else I can think of sounds appealing."

For some reason, you're allowed first drags. Pouring over you, Kirk lights the fresh joint between your lips. "Not boring at all. It's a classic for a reason, real nice when it's done right." He speaks easily, shrugging slightly. He's trying to soothe you. His smile makes your insides twist— and you enjoy it, in some macabre way. Teeth vibrantly white against warm lamplight and fuzzy shadows and black curls. You want to eat his mouth.

"Right." You sigh. Smoke billows from your parted lips. "I suppose you have? Done it right?" You're not sure why you ask that. You just want something to say. Preferably not about your (totally lacking) sex life.

Finally, it's Kirk's turn to bristle hesitantly. Easing his nerves, you pass him the joint.

"I've had some good nights, yeah." His answer is guarded. Your eyes glitter. What's he hiding? You nudge his side with your knuckles.

"But...?" You invite.

Kirk watches you for a moment or two, concluding you won't let this go. "But," He echoes, nudging you back. "I wouldn't say I've done it right."

"Why not?" You lean in. Drinking up the smoke that rolls off of him. You can smell him in the air, too, smoke-smouldering something spicy and musky.

He tilts his head to see you better. "Can't tell you," He whispers, grinning, wholly contradicting the inviting way his body slants to indulge you.

"Kiiiiirk."

Sigh. He's giving you the eyes. The eyes. Round and big, brown eyes so sparkly that they disarm anyone he's gazing at. You lean to him, attentive as a statue. You could soak him up if you wanted to; you're that close. Discarded smoke, already exhaled with all that high-inducing goodness soaked up, swirls around the both of you, murky white tendrils making you want to sway with them, beckoning you to move. Speak. Breathe. Live.

"Ideally," He shifts again, wanting to reshuffle his atoms. "Ideally, it'd be a bed..." A warm palm brushes your wrist and sneaks the joint from your fingers. "With you..." Your heart pauses. You stare at him, bewildered. "And me..."

What. The. Fuck.

Kirk takes your silence as a sign you want him to keep going. One hand cups your cheek, so tenderly you're tricked into thinking you're made from glass. "C'mon. How many more hints do I need to drop?" He coos at you before taking a much-needed drag of the joint to ease his own racing heart.

The funny thing is, you've hoarded his name in your throat for months. You didn't realise he had been holding his own breath for you.

Why? Out of everyone— you?

Kirk runs his tongue over his teeth, getting antsy. Softly urging you, he brushes the pad of his thumb along your lower lip while you just stare at him, amazed. You watch him from beneath your eyelashes as if he hung the stars in the sky. It comes again: the longing. The desire with no name, because no one has yet given you the language to speak it in.

Wordlessly, you draw his hand into yours. "That, um. Sounds nice." You reply, with what limited cohesive brain cells you have left.

Testing the waters, Kirk brushes his lips against yours, his breath mingling with your own. And it's hands down the most intoxicating thing you've ever had— you want to swallow it down in handfuls. Your eyelashes flutter again, and you almost feel drunk. He holds your cheek with clumsy, gentle fingers. He puts a heat in you that you didn't think was possible. And it feels so unfathomably perfect to feel wanted.

It's slow. Gently, you gravitate towards Kirk as if you're floating. Your mouths connect with a little more certainty this time. He laughs softly against your mouth. There is no better taste than that, you decide. Someone's honeyed laugh on your tongue. You're dizzy— should you feel dizzy? You want this feeling to stay.

Restless, he abandons the joint in the ashtray. With both hands in use, they swipe over your back, worship your thighs by the handfuls, winding and sewing roots in your hair.

"Can I take care of you?" Kirk whispers into the edge of your face, right underneath your chin. His mouth- wet and wanting, marks the uncharted territory of the soft underside of your face with a slow, hot kiss that ripples through you, reshaping you into something with an emptiness that's hurting to be filled. His tongue is laving wet and dripping with eagerness, building a taste for your skin as it glosses his spit down your throat. He tilts in to suck below your ear.

"Fuck, Kirk. Yeah— yes." You stumble out, nodding, your hips squirming in their cage of your jeans. You sweep your aching palms along his back, mussing his curls. He tucks your earlobe between his teeth, grazing the bluntness of his front teeth slowly along your skin. His breath sends chills down your spine. He grinds both hands beneath the waistband of your jeans, reading your mind.

He's aching to get a taste of you. The softness of your inner thighs swath around his head, dark curls rasping against your skin. His hot mouth is drinking you up through your panties, nosing into your pelvis. He wants to breathe as many 'I love you's' as he can into your skin, he wants to rake his tongue against your slit, lick your cunt open. Kirk can tell you're soaked— arousal drooling through the fabric that covers you, teasing him with the cock-hardening punch of girl flavour that he loves so much, seeping along the edge of his mouth.

Your underwear is thumbed off, his face shoved right into your cunt, and yet you still want to steer him by the shoulders and pull him closer. He takes slow, indulgent sucks on your quickly throbbing clit, that snowball into big, broad licks, tongue flat and mopping up your slick from bottom to top. He sinks two fingers into you, each pump straight down to the knuckle, creating crude squelching noises with the purest, stickiest arousal simmering within you. It's all burning hot, hot, hot.

Kirk swoops down again, filling his starving mouth with what he thirsts for: your leaking pussy. His cute nose is smooshed against your pelvic bone, and every dirty lap of his searing tongue forces your hips to scatter restlessly and yanks a whine from your throat. He's wild and heartache and sin, and it leaves you reeling from his every touch, every curl of his fingers and every relentless, starved suck of your clit, until his cheeks hollow.

"Can't believe I went so long without this," He groans with lusty delight, releasing your aching clit with a pornographic, wet pop. He kisses your parted entrance, tips his head down and spits on your slit. Whatever honey-soft brown was left lingering in his baby-love eyes has been devoured by total blackness, glimmering in delight as he watches his work of art, your soaked, spit-slick sex. He goes back in, shoving his parched mouth onto you, sucking in a fold, nipping the other, thumbing at your throbbing, swollen clit. He wants to eat you whole. Every salacious lick of his neverending tongue thunders within you— your cunt, tight and hot and so adored by Kirk's divine mouth, squeezes of arousal building within you until they morph into full-body trembles, your abdomen clenching and un-clenching, taut.

He glances up at you, dark eyes glittering behind his curly bangs, eyeing the heave of your tits with each tremoring breath. He touches you where hands simply cannot. His thick tongue eagerly tastes your heat: flesh, sweetness, salt. His cock is bursting against his too-tight boxers. You roll your hips against his mouth, chasing every lap of his tongue, every brush of his calloused hands. Softly, he becomes endless in you, and the searing pleasure he paints for you becomes explosive. Your volatile hands fist into his hair and yank, grinding down against his pretty face as gasps block your airways. He's drinking your soul - stuffing his mouth with every morsel of your worship-worthy pleasure.

You wail through the orgasm, something deep within you awakened and booming; how you survived him, you don't know. Your cum, sticky and warm, ebbs down Kirk's plump lips, smearing on his chin as he laps you up, thumbs spreading your cunt open to ensure he's licked every part of you clean. Even then, the impish flicks of his tongue do not go unappreciated.

To get him to stop his (wonderfully feeling) assault on your cunt, you peel Kirk away from you, a hand in his hair and your other palming at his shoulder. "How'd," You breathe, stupefied, "How'd you learn to do that?"

Kirk hides behind his curly bangs as if he has the right to get coy after gorging on your pussy so filthily. His teeth, white and charmingly crooked, glitter as he grins flusteredly. He wipes his mouth of spit and slick with the back of his hand. You feel a pang of emptiness without both his hands somewhere on your overheating body. "I, uh, I have a thing for it, I guess."

Great. You sigh, lost for words.

"Can we keep going?" You murmur out, gingerly pressing a warm palm to his worn-soft denim jeans, which are all warped and taut from his hard bulge.

Kirk's hands, all slow tenderness to soothe you, cup your cheeks, fingers sweeping into your hair. He lays a kiss on your lips with his own hungry mouth, kissing away at your senses. "Of course, beautiful."

His bulge swells right beneath your pussy, your orgasm simmering away and dirtying his denim jeans. Handsy with it, he palms off his belt and throws his jeans and boxers somewhere in your room. You let one of your legs fall open while he scoops up the other, forcing your thigh high up his waist, his palm sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. He sinks inside the molten ache of your eaten-raw cunt. He kisses you into oblivion at the sight of his thick cock disappearing within you.

The odd thing is, it all feels so easy. You're choked with the sincerity of the moment. Kirk's hands are devoted worshippers, thumbs stroking along your skin where you tremble, holding you where your thigh and hip meet, cradling you. Weightlessly, and yet with heavy limbs, you lay into the bed. You're full of paradoxes tonight. Light, heavy, friend, lover. They're all the same.

Your hands glide up his taut biceps, sliding down the slope of his back, tracing along muscles and bone. You hook him in, keep him close. Kirk's biting down on his lower lip, his eyes lidded, fluttering at the dreamy feeling of your dripping cunt clenching down on him in searing hot pulses. You shift your hips a little— you can feel his cock smushed into your cervix. Kirk groans low near your ear.

This hot, fulfilling fullness seems to seep deeper and deeper within you, endless. With a hitching breath, Kirk's hips withdraw, taking his body-hot heat with him. Until it pours all over you again in waves, easing your abuse-swollen sex, his thumb dipping down to gather the sopping wetness of your slick, cum, and his drool, and stir it around your puffy clit in full circles. All while he takes you in long, eager strokes, delicious friction causing your hands to skirt around his shoulders, putting a cramping, throbbing, ache in your hips.

You shudder, going tight around him. Kirk presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. You can feel his baby face, sweet cheeks and plump mouth, those fawn brown eyes of his squeezed shut. Those charming features on a man who is fucking you with so much impeccable spirit that you're surely driven crazy with every rock of his hips, snapping up to wallop into the tenderly sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Every wet sound of his mean cock scraping the velvet insides of your aching cunt draws sobs out from deep within your stuffed-full belly. Your heart feels like a bass pounding in your ears, surrounding you with so much noise, every throbbing thump causing your breaths to shake.

Tangled bodies feel like they're cooking with all the hot friction between them. It smoulders, threatening to ignite— as if the hazy smoke of your social chainsmoking wasn't enough to put you in an awestruck daze. You clench your teeth, scraping your nails up the hollow of Kirk's shoulder blades, your own back arching off the bed, (which he uses as an excuse to get another gropeful of your ass) while he works your throbbing clit even harder. You want to squirm and writhe, but that'd disrupt the gorgeous rhythm of his cock. He drags himself through your wound-tight pussy, sloppy, indescribably thorough whacks of his pelvic bone right on the beginning of your slit.

You forget who's air you're breathing. Or if you're breathing at all.

In carnal screams that scratch up your sore throat, you murmur something akin to more more more don't stop, Kirk. Please. Kirk. His pace stumbles, landing right on his high while you're already curling around him, nails anchored in his skin, cries spilling from your lips. You squeeze around him with so much zeal that Kirk quite literally cannot move for fear of splitting you in two. All epic highs have lows, however: you scrape your hands down, tracing where your cunt oozes out your climaxes, feeling the boiling heat settle down, watching Kirk's glistening cock withdraw from you.

Everything feels suspended. Mid-air, hanging on the edge of something. Maybe it's longing. By some phenomenal stroke of luck (maybe it's your lucky day), the joint you were sharing is still lit. Kirk takes a long drag, exhaling against your clammy, bare skin. His mouth reaches your shoulder, and he kisses it with that pretty, insatiable mouth until you feel faint.

"Fuck," You take the joint he offered to you. Although you're not sure that this moment can get softer and warmer. "That was definitely better than my first time."

Kirk grins at your words, grunting quietly as he lays beside you, guiding your splayed-out hair away from your neck. "Just you wait. That was just a warm-up."

[cadaveerie]

cw: child abuse and non-sexual grooming

VEILGUARD SPOILERS (from lucanis' writing, a mission towards the ending and a little general)

About Lucanis and the Antivan Crows...

after finishing datv, I can finally say for sure that despite the fact that i find this game was overall fine, there are several things about it that have disappointed me. one of those things is about lucanis (and it's not even the only thing about lucanis that bothers me, but we'll leave that discussion for another time, because there's a lot to say about the writing).

in this game, Caterina Dellamorte (lucanis and illario's grandmother) is portrayed as a woman that's cold and demanding. not particularly nice, lucanis fully acknowledges that she's not exactly the loving type, and it's easy to assume things about her and about their relationship based on that... but for some reason it's never addressed that she abused lucanis when he was a child, by beating him and starving him. this is something that you can read in lucanis' story in tevinter nights, the wigmaker job, which was lucanis' introduction.

"Memories of sweat-filled days without food or water came unbidden Lucanis’s back tingled from where his grandmother’s cane had bruised his flesh for letting his guard down or fumbling his footwork. For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way he was prepared for this life—that he survived."

I was waiting to finish the game before I said it, because I expected him to mention at some point but... no, nothing. I don't know if there's anything in a codex or something specific I missed, but even if that's the case, I expected it to be significant at all. it wasn't.

i'm not even going to get into what lucanis should feel about this. before the game came out i talked about some of my hopes for him based on the info we had about him, and imo there was not even half of that level of depth to his character. but i wouldnt have minded if the game went in another direction, or if lucanis simply just wasnt open to discuss it, or if he came to the conclusion that it was fine. i won't get into how "problematic" thinking that is, because i could understand that he tells himself that, and as a fucking assassin, i understand that he's come to terms with it because otherwise he probably wouldnt have survived in such a dangerous enviroment. i won't get into it bc as i said, i can understand it. my problem is that lucanis never says it. he never tells rook or anyone else that caterina abused him, or that the crows overall are very abusive and that they do this to children and break their minds basically in order to become emotionless living weapons. and if this is said in any banter, then i missed it in my 91h of gameplay, and i had lucanis in my party every single time we went outside. or it might be in a codex entry, idk. the point is that even if that's the case, that's not a great way to tell this info, especially when in the story theres no other way to learn anything like this about the crows. ppl that i talked to that didnt read tevinter nights didnt know this fact abt caterina and lucanis' past, they simply didnt cause how could they. I just wanted to say this because I think it's important to know if you like lucanis, or the antivan crows, and it's never even actually implied.

I also have many other issues with his writing, but the antivan crows are unfortunately also whitewashed. at least if you've played dragon age origins you know this, but our first antivan crow companion, zevran, talks about how he was taken as a child by the antivan crows. how he was literally bought by them as an orphan, and forced to become an assassin, and when he tries to flee, they attempt to murder him throughout the game. he even talks about how apparently some crows even made their members go through blood magic rituals to acquire abilities (SOUND FAMILIAR? IT'S LITERALLY WHAT ZARA DOES TO LUCANIS, ISN'T IT. HOW FUCKED UP). i think it's so disrespectful to dragon age's worldbuilding and so appalling that they simply... ignored all of this. I'm very upset that this was completely whitewashed. i wont get into it, but i assume they didn't show the crows being awful because, well... they have to be the good alternative for government in antiva. the bad guys are the antaam, and that's it. but one of the things i always loved about dragon age is how they treat these sort of political things. as i said, in origins the crows were more of an antagonistic figure, but at least it made them feel more real and serious. and people loved the crows like they were, fucked up assassins. in this game... idk, am i supposed to believe the assassin guys are nice? why hide the ugly? of course it's gonna be there, and it's ok. irl it happens a lot that oppressed people have to rely on groups that are less than ideal for their liberation, and a lot of times citizens are kinda ok w it bc no one else will stand up for them, so they have to work w what they have, and they're just relieved theres someone there for them. and it also shows that people are not perfect victims. if you're putting ppl in a corner, at some point ppl are rarely gonna care about being "good", and it's only human. and im not even gonna get into being an antivan crow rook because... sigh, it's more of the same. just disappointing. rook even mentions that theyre an orphan. and im pretty sure in the final mission about treviso, at least if you helped jacobus, he is like "i'll take in orphans and give them a chance". oh man, yeah. cool. please tell me how you'll raise them to be, im so curious to see how you won't groom children and abuse them into becoming mindless cold soldiers. that's fucking insane. this feels like fucking US army levels of propaganda and grooming. i love when we normalize child soldiers that's so fucking awesome i love this "woke" game when it's pro-military and anti-fucking-questioning-anything-a-military-force-does.

i even wondered if all of this has been retconned or simply ignored. i dont have a problem w retconning overall, and it's only natural it would happen in a franchise that's as old as DA, but the thing is... why would you do it. it literally just makes them flatter, it doesn't make any fucking sense.

so yes. im VERY disappointed in this game and the writing. this is one of the many things in the writing that disappointed me. the antivan crows are an organization that bring hope, and im perfectly fine with them being portrayed as "saviors", but im not ok with them conveniently not addressing any of their very bad issues. it's unrealistic. it's disrespectful to our intelligence, to dragon age fans and to dragon age origins. it's disrespectful to characters like zevran, who got into an insane war with them for a fucking reason. it's disrespectful to every antivan crow character to be honest. and im sorry, i dont even think this is insane to ask from them. like.... im literally just asking for consistency. they had it already, i dont understand why they did this. i had faith in them, but perhaps that's on me. im so heartbroken.

and i promise i actually think the game overall is ok. it was fun. definitely one of my least favorite games, if not my least favorite, but still. i appreciate it, and LOVED. LOVEEED some scenes. in fact, it might have at the very least one of my favorite scenes from the whole franchise. i think this game has very low points, and very high points, so it's hard to say what i think about it in few words.... but there are so many things like this in the writing, and it's just SO upsetting and disrespectful. im sorry. im truly sorry, you don't know how much i wanted to love this game and the writing. you have no idea. but i have self respect, and i don't lie to myself when i see something i dont like. it feels like they're whitewashing the crows cause we'd be too stupid to understand complex political issues. i thought this game was mature and could handle mature themes, but it doesnt seem like it's the case anymore. perhaps bioware is dead. i still want to believe they can come back from this but......... the post credit scene doesnt reassure me AT ALL. sigh. im just upset and sad. and as i said, this is only one of my many issues. i'll talk about the rest in the future, but im writing all of it down and i need time for that. i hope you understand that this comes from a place of genuine love. sorry i can't be happy about this game, but some of the stuff i see just ruins the rest for me.