#even during sex

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: [Astarion x Reader/Tav] Wilful, witty, vulnerable and endearing, Astarion blossoms slowly under the ever-present sunshine of your love.

CW: Explicit sexual content, mentions of past trauma.

Banner art: by Steven Nederveen

Dividers: @aquazero

" ... time and again

No fire where I lit my spark

I am not afraid of the dark

Where your words devour my heart ... "

~ lyrics from Distant Sun (by Crowded House)

His scent infiltrates your dreams, the dry floral notes and the rusty tang of old blood, the unique underlying essence that never fails to bring his face to the forefront of your mind.

When he falls asleep, back pressed to yours, it is merely a prelude to how you wake the following morning, with his head tucked into the crook of your neck, or pillowed between your breasts, the soft white curls grazing your cheek as you keep your breathing light and even, so as not to interrupt his slumber. You know the gentle scent of his scalp better than anyone has a right to.

There is something that goes far beyond the pleasures of the flesh when you are together like this; two easily doused candle-flames that reach for each other, flickering, across the distance of bleak memory, pain and loss.

Such a tenuous connection, so easily fractured. Yet, even through all the trials you've faced thus far, losing him had somehow transformed into an idea you simply would not countenance.

The land might burn, your enemies might dance on the ashes of the people you had failed, but Astarion's fingers winding uncertainly through yours would be the only sensation you wanted to experience at the end of the world.

You thought about it now, as rain pattered on the roof of your tent, the inside dry and warm from the heat of the enchanted lamp. He had joined you a short while earlier, wordlessly, as was his habit. To give voice to the immensity of what he had to overcome, every single time he entered your tent of his own free will, would be more than he was capable of fully processing at this time.

He lay beside you now, with his chin propped against the top of your head.

He was awake.

"Astarion?"

"Darling."

"What kind of weather do you like best?"

He was silent for a while. You lay still, relaxed. Sometimes, pauses in conversation could stretch out for ages, because time ceased to place its shackles on either of you. Even the most mundane topic was up for discussion. Words filled space with comfort. Stolen time was sacred time.

"Hmm. Weather like this, I suppose. It makes being inside feel ... somewhat better."

"You certainly weren't born for the outdoors."

He raised his fingernails for you to inspect.

"Absolutely not! Look at these beauties. Imagine if they became stained with grass, or earth, or worse still ... chipped."

"That would be grievous indeed."

A low rumble of amusement made its way up through his throat.

"What about you, my dove? If I could guess - "

"Cooler weather. Maybe breezy."

His touch skimmed, feather-light, up your arm. In times past, such an action would have been a clear provocation, an invitation to something more intimate. You acknowledge it in your mind, absorb it, like a plant takes in sunlight. Astarion is your sun, small and fitful, burning you down to the bone when you least expect it, fighting for his place in your universe.

You reached out, fingertips brushing his. He paused, allowing your hands to connect, palm to palm. His fingers are longer than yours, strong, clever. You've seen him take apart complex locking mechanisms with such ease, the same ease with which he'd unraveled your body the first time you'd been together.

"Where did you learn to pick locks?"

He lowered his hand and lay back, staring at the roof of the tent. You splayed out at his side, two children watching the imagined turn of the heavens.

"I ... think I learned it from a criminal. One I represented in a case, long ago. He was talkative. Couldn't shut him up, really. Told me how he had cracked a simple safe. I followed his instructions on a similar safe, as a demonstration."

"And you succeeded?"

You could almost sense the curve of his mouth.

"On the first try. He was so proud. Ha. Called me a natural."

You turned your head, smiling slightly. He looked self-satisfied, in that manner of a cat that gets into the choice cream.

Gods, he was lovely to look at, here in your tent, with you. Your gaze traces the impossibly artful tangle of pale curls, the elegant bridge of his nose, the sharp corners of his scarlet eyes and the movement of his perfectly curved lips.

He cocked an eyebrow, expression growing predatory, knowing.

"Darling, you're staring."

You laughed.

"Do you blame me?"

"Honestly? No."

He propped himself on an elbow, playfully prodding at your face until you were forced to swat at him. He sobered suddenly, hands falling away. You suspected you knew what he was about to ask. It was never far away from his thoughts, after all.

"Is this enough for you? Just talking? Just falling asleep together?"

You also knew by now that words weren't adequate to allay his fears. Turning over on your side, you faced him, fingers tracing softly over the profile you'd admired a few moments ago. You smoothed out the worry lines on his forehead, the skin cool and smooth as marble beneath your touch.

"This is more then enough. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because these are the things I've always wanted."

Your index finger trailed down to the tip of his nose, where you decided a kiss needed to be placed. He leaned forward, unknowingly.

"You wanted ... this? How we are now?"

"Yes. A lover is nice and all, Astarion, but I've always wanted a partner. Someone to laugh with. Someone to grouse to. Someone to sit with their back to mine in the cold and share my bread with me. Someone to whisper to when the darkness grows closer."

He was silent for a bit, hesitating. You passed your thumbs across the high cheekbones, watching as he fell slowly into the comforting familiarity of the contact. When he spoke, something bitter caught in his throat.

"But I'm not ... capable of some of those things, you know. I can't keep you warm with my body. I can't laugh like others do. I can't eat with you, nor can I claim that darkness hasn't found a permanent home inside me."

You stroked across the corners of his mouth, avoiding his lips and then tracked upwards once again, along the delicate point of his ears, into the feathery silk of his hair.

"That's all right."

"It is?"

"It is, because I say so. Astarion, very few people actually end up inhabiting the castles they build in the air. Sometimes, they find a real home. A home that's so much better. A place they belong."

His voice had now sunk to a whisper.

"Am I ... that to you?"

"Yes."

He was silent, and you didn't press him. Sometimes, it was better to inform him of the way you felt, and to give him time to mull it over. He shifted, restless, before planting a sudden, rather solid kiss on your lips.

There was no artifice behind it, no coy seduction. It was surprisingly factual, a statement of feeling, of earnest intent.

"I'll have you know," he stated seriously, "that I won't have you comparing me to some homely log cabin. Oh no. I'm nothing short of a stately, luxurious home, built on the side of a sharp precipice, overlooking the most glorious snd treacherous sea."

"That's a rather precarious position to be in, don't you think?"

He sat up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes now animated and captivating.

"But that's half the fun! Will a terrible tempest come along and sweep us away? Will a sea monster rise up from the depths and capture us in its jaws?"

His feral grin was now infectious. You straightened and faced him.

"You're only thinking in terms of disasters! That's poor planning. What about the subtle magics of the air that work directly against rock over time? Erosion is as dangerous as any sea monster, you know. Just a tad less showy."

"And what, darling, do you suggest we do about this mortal peril we find ourselves in?"

"We do exactly as we've done so far. We hammer the walls furiously into place, then drink wine and dance and stamp our feet to see how the repairs hold up."

He threw back his head and let out a laugh, warm, heady, the kind that roughened around the edges and brimmed with the wicked delight that you knew had kept him alive, for all of this time. Unable to help yourself, you placed a gentle kiss to the curve of his throat, moving away again, until he grasped your chin firmly and tugged you back.

His mouth was a stark contrast to the way his fingers sunk almost desperately into your cheeks, a gentle mapping out of teeth, tongue, sealed with the exquisite drag of his fangs across your lip.

Forehead pressed to yours, he breathed out the words, as if they'd been chained in the heavy confines of his chest.

"I want to ... I want ... you. I want ... this."

He had said something similar before, under different circumstances. You knew what he was referring to. Gently, you pushed him back. The dim light turned the red of his gaze to the flesh of a pomegranate, tempting, yielding, so easily crushed between your fingers.

"Astarion ... you don't have to - "

"I know. I know you'll wait for me for God knows how long, and I don't know why, because I - "

He bit his lip, but changed tack.

"The reasons ... are important. I know that better than anyone. But I don't want to think. I want to feel. I want to be able to just do this without - "

Worldssly, you drew him towards you, cradling his head against your chest, a return to the familiar. It's the only message that's ever mattered, at least, to you. That he always had a place, whether in your open arms, or across the breadth of the world, or in another realm altogether.

He'd occupy a space that can be filled by no other, with his easy charm, his bruised smile, the bitter twist of his spirit and every sharp edge that sliced you open and infiltrated the furthest corners of your heart.

"What do you want, Astarion?"

"To feel you."

He spoke into the hush of your tent, his breathing laboured. If you had been anyone else, you might have mistaken it for sheer arousal, nothing more. You knew better.

He was nervous. He was letting you see it.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and he lowered himself, propped on his palms on either side of you. You considered him, warmth and sorrow blooming simultaneously in your chest.

"You'll tell me? If anything I do makes you feel ... "

"Yes, my love. I'll ... yes. Right away."

"Stay still. Keep your eyes on me," was the soft command you gave him.

You undid the laces of his shirt, sliding it from him. His skin gleamed with otherworldly pallor, and the knowledge of what had been carved into his back filtered into your mind. You coudn't make him forget, but you could remind him that touch could be tender too.

Such was the way you handled him, as the shirt was pulled away from his torso fully, the ridged planes of his lean abdomen fluttering slightly under your fingers. He was hyper-sensitive to the sensations you brought, a temporary spike in his breathing.

This was nothing like your previous encounter, when he had confidently displayed himself, instructing you on how to please him. You watch the lift of dense, dark lashes, the hesitancy in his glance, the way he raised his head and arched his neck to gift you the same vulnerability always granted to him when you let him feed.

You kept your palms flat against him, grounding him, as you ran them over throat, delicately traced collarbones, stroked down over the curve of his pectorals, down, down, until you stopped right above the buckle of his belt before repeating the process.

His breathing evened out. He leaned down to capture your lips, a little more steady and with more of his old flair. He nipped lightly down on your chin, playful.

You didn't want him to inhabit the persona he'd worn for so long as some kind of defense, and this definitely felt different. As fraught with nerves as he was, he was regaining some of the self he only showed when you were safely ensconced away from the world.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, and he let out an involuntary groan, low and wanton, a sound that spiked jagged heat all the way down the front of your body.

Before you have time to register his actions, Astarion lowered himself, pressing you into the bedroll. There was no art to the way he rolled his hips against yours, no finesse to the way he clumsily mouthed your neck, eager, warm.

"Astar - ahhh - slow down, you - "

"Can't, my sweet - oh yes - I feel - want you so much. I - "

He tugged down your trousers, dragging your underwear away with it. As much as this seemed far more organic that anything he'd done before, the heated throb of arousal didn't distract you from the fact that he was rushing things, perhaps in a frantic bid to prove that he could do this.

You clamped your thighs together, temporarily denying him access and he sat back on his haunches, panting. The raw hunger with which he regarded you made you as slick as melting ice. You had both gone so long without sex, something you were more than happy to accept. You knew all too well, however, the cost of succumbing to pure lust when there was something far more significant at play.

"I know what you want - "

"Then let me have it. I'm no fragile bloom, my sweet - "

"Astarion."

You stifled a smile as he huffed and folded his arms.  

"Fine. I'm listening. But don't delay. I need you."

The ache in his voice almost has your legs falling apart again, but you hold firm.

"Can you take everything off?"

In reply, he stood and unbuckled his belt, but then paused and shot you a mischievous look.

You knew that look. Your mouth twitched.

"What are you up to?"

"Giving you a show, that's all."

"Oh Gods, is now really the time for - "

"Well, since you're being so stiff, let Hortensius help you along."

"Please, not Hortensius."

"But darling, he's already here. Now, be nice."

He sucked in his cheeks, in the manner of one of the high end fashion models of the Upper City and wagged his hips from side to side, lips projecting in an exaggerated pout as the pants slid from his body. Your smile turned to a helpless quiver of suppressed merriment as he kicked the offending article away and then grasped his rigid member, advancing on you without ever losing the expression.

"My name is Hortensius Dickanthropus and you, my dear, are about to be subject to a most thorough porking."

You lowered your voice, soft and breathy.

"Oh my, Hortensius, I don't know how my poor little flower will take all of that."

Astarion dropped to a predatory crouch, crawling over to you. His grin was wide, canines toothily on display.

"Ah, my blushing maid, don't be shy! I may have a horse's cock, but I'm going to be as delicate as a pixie."

You covered your breasts in false modesty as he sidled down alongside you.

"A pixie? I saw a pixie in my bushes last week. They're so ... naughty. And fast. Are you going to piston me into the middle of next week, Hortensius?"

"With pleasure. I'm going to piston you like the Steel Watch itself is between your legs - "

Your composure gave way and you slapped at his shoulder.

"Not the fucking Steel Watch, for God's sake - "

"Why?" His fingers danced over your hips. "Maybe create another little Foundry down here - "

You're now shaking with laughter and Astarion watched you, the cheeky smirk slipping by inches, eyes kindling with an infinite warmth and adoration that only you are party to. You realised, as your mirth faded, that you had been carrying a great deal of tension too, and that he'd effectively dragged it away from you, deconstructing the last barrier; your fear of hurting him.

In spite of your earlier fervour, you clasped his cheeks between your palms and pressed his forehead to yours, staying like that for a while. He did not object, nose nudging sweetly against yours.

"Astarion, I want to try something."

"Go ahead."

In truth, you'd learned this minor illusion from Gale, whose knowing smile had almost had you running for the hills when you'd first asked him to teach it to you.

Fingers extending upward, you closed your eyes and focused on the Weave, drawing it closer to you, shaping with precision. Astarion exclaimed softly and you dropped your hand, ready to behold your work.

A fall of many-hued petals, delicate as snow, drifted down from the roof of the tent, each disappearing as they settled on the bedroll and your reclining forms. A pleasant scent, earthy and reminiscent of a forest clearing in the springtime, permeated the air. Soft golden motes danced between you, each emitting a delicate luminosity.

Astarion was watching the display with amused delight, allowing you to catch him off guard. Tipping him over onto his back, you took in the sight of him, fully nude, satiny skin and curls dusted in the remnants of illusory wildflowers, indigo, variegated red and yellow, rich royal purple and the dusky blush of dawn.

"You're so lovely. And free."

You banished petals with your caress, all the way down to the perfectly carved valley of his pelvis.

"I want the world to stand still when I look at you because there's no room for anything else in my mind."

He stopped you with a finger to the lips, rising so that you were both lying on your sides, facing each other. He wore his composure well, through long habit, but there was something wild and desperately cast in his eyes.

"And I'm free because of you. Don't you forget it."

This time, nothing interrupted the slide of his skin on yours, the crushing, breathless intimacy that knew no bounds. There was no artifice here, no subtle trick or sly gleam of eyes watching you beneath hooded lids.

Astarion kept your faces close together, watching every contortion of your features, drinking you in and opening himself to you entirely. He raised your leg onto his hip, still facing you as his fingers slipped down, down, between your bodies.

You gasped as he stroked over your folds, his mouth coming down on your throat. His fangs sunk in, only breaking the surface, right at the moment his fingers breached you. Crying out, you clung to him, drawing answering moans as he rocked against you.

His lips brushed yours, un-coordinated, wet against the sides of your mouth. You tasted the slight metallic tinge of your own blood, lost in heady ecstasy as the heat of his exhalation mingled with yours, rough and uneven. He nudged you when your head tilted back, keeping your eyes on him.

His fingers were now coated with the dewiness of your arousal, and he dragged them up between you again, surprising you with just how wet he had made you in such a short time. You watched, breath hitching, as he slid them over his own hardened flesh, tracing pearly fluid down from the tip, coating himself.

You turned to lie on your back, but firm fingers grasped your hip, holding you in place. He tugged your leg further up on his waist, earning a soft gasp. You're more accessible to him like this, more vulnerable.

"Darling, I can't wait any - "

"Astarion, please."

Your soft plea triggered an almost animalistic movement from him, as he ground upwards, pushing against your entrance. You were almost sobbing now, clutching at him, begging him. At his mercy, you bit your lip hard when he worked himself in, sliding into the tight grasp of your heat.

He was trembling, you realise, ecstasy and agony in equal measure, chasing each other across his face as he pushed deeper, burying himself within you, staying with you. Even with the intensity of what you were both feeling, he kept you in place, the hand that had stroked you now holding your thigh over him.

He began a measured pace that quickly devolved to one of instinct, slowing down so that you clenched around him, speeding up until your back arched, swallowing your disjointed whispers as he watched you come undone, and in doing so, came apart himself.

In this golden time, you understood that you have never been more completely aware of another, of the muscle that rippled under alabaster skin, of the rapidly cooling sweat on his chest, of the way his scent wound around you, the way his body moved against and inside yours. He had taken your blood into himself, so many times, consumed you in so many different ways, and yet, this was wholly new.

Astarion wasn't teasing you endlessly. He wasn't bringing you to the brink, and releasing you, which was his specialty, as you're fully aware. He's throwing himself headlong into the passion of a true union, every thrust bringing you both closer to the dazzling precipice.

He was reckless in his lovemaking, somehow striking that balance between base urgency and shattering tenderness. You could see the building euphoria when your eyes met his, the knowledge that this moment belonged to both of you, untainted, spun out in indestructible threads that bound you to each other.

You were close. You let him know, through the pale crescents your nails left on his shoulder and side, through the way your voice rose, the way your hardened nipples pushed into him as your whole body stiffened and prepared for mind-numbing, white-hot pleasure, the way you took his fingers into your mouth with hedonistic abandon.

He drank it all in, tracking every movement, every glimmering bead of sweat, every minute crease between your brows. Fighting back years of conditioning, he held you impossibly closer, your body a shield against the memory of every meaningless, sordid encounter.

Your eyes dragged open, tears glistening where they had gathered at the corners, slipping down across the bridge of your nose, bringing the sight of his face to sudden clarity.

You let him see it, all of it; the moment your climax crashed like a wave over every sense, that most secret of faces. You let him see that he was the only one who could bring you to this place, this endless horizon that curved across your vision like a shard of jacinth.

Astarion was now gasping endearments. They fell from his lips in a litany, one declaration melding into another. You held onto him as your own mind slowly cleared, senses thrumming with the aftermath of the pleasure he had brought you.

He was close.

You surrendered complete control to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hips lifted from the bedroll in fitful abandon, his teeth sinking into your shoulder and releasing.

"My ... my sweet, I'm - ah - you're so - don't know what you - "

At any other time, seeing Astarion, with his mastery of seductive words that bordered on legendary, in this barely coherent state, would have been cause for wonder indeed. As with all else, however, you took things as they were, treasured them.

Here, with you, he didn't have to be that. Here, he needed no flowery phrases and practiced gestures. Here, he was yours, in wiry strength and hidden fragility, in biting humour and those rare moments of stark realism, when he did his best to protect you from a world who's cruelty he had experienced all too many times.

When he finally reached his peak, lips drawn  back from teeth, brow furrowed in supreme pleasure, tendons standing out on his neck as a series of guttural sounds escaped him, you smoothed your hands up and down his back, bringing him slowly back to you.

You pressed soft kisses across his nose, along his jawline, his body giving one last shudder as your lips ghosted over his ear and you nuzzled into his hair. Regaining focus, his gaze fixed on your face, a slow, radiant smile gathered, a stray ray of sunshine burning through overcast skies.

Something bubbled up in his chest, overflowed into the almost non-existent space between your bodies. A peal of laughter, so bright, so free of pain, lancing through you like the keen point of an arrow, the barbs lodging somewhere deep in your chest.

You could listen to him laugh like this forever.

He finally released you, rolling over onto his back, that same giddy smile refusing to diminish. One of his arms extended, drawing you close so that your head now rested on his chest, your shoulders encased in the solid curve of his arm.

"My love, my light, that was - "

His chest heaved again, and his head moved from side to side in cheerful disbelief. You couldn't help the grin that broke across your own countenance.

"Careful, Astarion. You sound happier than the first time you drank from me."

"But this is better! This is - "

His enthusiasm cut off, faster than words escaped him. Something choked him, held the rest of sentence prisoner until he took a heavy breath, released it. The catch in his voice added strength to your grip on him.

"This is perfect. This is ... everything I want it to be."

You remained silent, not trusting your own voice now. When he spoke again, it was so soft that you almost missed the words.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Never for this."

Later, as the outside intruded once again into the sanctity of your tent, when the rustle of the wind in the trees, the crack of new firewood given up to the hungry flames of the campfire and the distant song of nocturnal birds echoed back to you, you placed your hand over where his heart should beat.

It had been somewhat disconcerting, the first time you'd felt the lack of that steady rhythm beneath your fingertips. Now, however, you felt something entirely different.

This was no empty void, no echoing palace of yesterday's torment. Astarion had come so much further than that. He was here, beside you, of his own free will. There was no such thing as true emptiness, not in a life as rich as this one, that of a man who had given up so much to walk, just once more, in the sun.

No. This space where vitality should make itself known was threaded through with so many scars, but from that barren landscape, verdant new growth came, tended carefully. You could see how it stole over him, and you, in every shared touch, every wound bandaged, every battle fought side by side, every new delight you found in each other.

It came like a thief, robed in night, and laughed as it took the title of queen, enthroning itself in your hearts. It had taken up the sceptre, usurped your earthly kingdom and banished all notion of loneliness.

Such was the nature of love, and so it would remain, until that final red sunrise came to claim you both.

@tattoo-of-a-bird Finally got the courage to write this one.

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Eddie “I know you hate the attention but every song is about you baby” Munson

Steve “normie bf who HATES the attention” Harrington

They make a lovely pair.

[emmcfrxst]

jason todd swears like a sailor whenever you ride him. the visual of your body on top of his, the feeling of your hands on his chest and your cunt fluttering around him, the sweet sounds of your moans and mewls— everything about getting ridden makes jason’s dick hard and turns his brain to mush

[mandatory-ftmbreeder]

my red flag is that i think the "*PLAP PLAP* GET PREGNANT" meme is kinda hot and it makes me 1% hornier any time i see it

[vaguely-concerned]

So much of Garak as a person starts to make sense once you know his childhood was a fucking gothic novel. His main playground was a graveyard and he'd play pretend by perfoming improv eulogies to an imagined audience. For a long time his main touchstone for most important figures from recent history is 'oh yeah I know about that guy my dad buried him. great flower arrangements for that one'. He finds out later his 'parents' are actually a brother and sister who had to get married to avoid the utter shame and social devastation of having a child born out of wedlock, and they live in the basement of his biological father's house. (the madwoman in the attic vs. the tiny elim in the basement.) His biological father calls himself his uncle and locks him in a closet whenever he fails to live up to his insane and unpredictable expectations and everyone just has to act like that's normal and expected, and his will hangs over everything at all times, unseen but always felt keener than anything else. The father who actually raised him grows the world's most beautiful (and as it turns out, most poisonous) orchids and keeps the mask of a god hidden in a box in his work shed. Everyone in the house is choking down secrets like it's the only air they know how to breathe anymore.

What I'm saying is that right from the get-go this guy never had the faintest shot at turning out normal, so I'm glad that by middle age he's found a way to get a bit silly with it as he continues to be deeply deeply not normal about anything ever <3

[all-or-nothing-baby]

oh man i CANNOT get enough of closed-off shut-down loners finally—finally—allowing themselves to break down and become all soft and gooey and needy and whiney when getting lovingly railed into next week by the very person they've been locking horns with

[nightlocked-in]

“peeta is bisexual” you guys are losing the vision. peeta isn’t even straight. katniss INVENTED sexuality for him. whatever katniss identifies as, he’s like “yeah, i’ll take that one” no questions asked

[until-i-set-him-free]

Tommy "I'm wearing a medal" Kinard and Evan "if I had a medal, I would never take it off" Buckley ❤️

[goldenpinof]

some photos of the show under the cut

[manichewitz]

i dont think yall understand how floored i was when i found out that the interview with the vampire books are actually incredibly erotically gay for real and not just light queercoding or fan's gay ships?? bc this changes everything. i had always assumed anne rice hated fanfic authors for making her male characters fuck, but no, she just wanted to be the only author making her male characters fuck

[emmcfrxst]

you’d think that being an outlaw and having been with other women before would lessen the impact a peek of your bare skin has on arthur, but it really doesn’t. as soon as you bare yourself to him— even if it’s just a flash of a soft, bare leg, a peek between the valley of your breasts or the dip of a shoulder— arthur starts fumbling immediately, ears turning red and mouth going dry. he’ll chastise himself, embarrassed by his lack of restraint because he’s a grown man for god’s sake, he’s not a hormonal teenager anymore; but if you do it on purpose—and you always let him know when you do with a sly, wicked little smile he wishes to kiss off of your lips— he immediately feels his heart beating faster, ears ringing as he focuses on the part of you that’s exposed to his hungry eyes, cock straining against the coarse material of his riding pants— he’ll indulge you in this little cat and mouse game for a bit more, already thinking about the way your warm, wet cunt is going to feel around his cock when he finally takes you after you break the last of his (surprisingly) solid patience

[aliusfrater]

<3

[optogeneticist-nsfw]

thanks @thrumbo for the beautiful recontextualization above and for sharing my brainworms

link to full image set

[loumandforyou]

Why is there this fanon (?) that Louis isn't good at aftercare or didn't care for it?

[fisheito]

... peace on planet bottom, then there's whatever this is

[zombiecowboy65]

i can’t stop thinking about how if anyone bothered to learn how to stop conflating dom and top and look up what a service top actually is we could’ve had so much as a fandom. jeremy being a service top is PEAK jeremy patheticism breeding grounds that is a position BUILT for grovelling

Anon EXACTLY 😭😭 the most realistic service top Jeremy fic I saw was a Kevin / Jeremy fic. Man was GROVELING to get Kevin off and make him feel good and I was like damn. Why can’t the jerejeaners take notes lol. But last time I said that I got jumped. I’m still a verse truther , but I do stay away from the tag just because I was tired of Jean losing every aspect of his character and Jeremy turning into this macho alpha dom experienced man yk? I haven’t tried to venture in post TGR but maybe one day I’ll try again lmao .