#he wonders if that hunger that now aches in his teeth was always a part of him; some instinct guiding him to unwittingly consume sans

[worsesart]

Forever a part of me, I'll carry you as that lump in my throat

[sehtoast]

One Big Wet Spot (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | gender neutral reader, many creampies, aggressive homelander, come eating, biting, p in v sex, he's sweet by the end | Fic Directory

You were in shambles. This much you knew.

He has no refractory period, no need to take a rest. He can go on forever until all he can do is shoot blanks, and you?

You were to receive all of it.

You've been like this for hours, if not the entire day. Load after load shot down your throat, pumped into your cunt until you were nothing more than a leaking, whining hole for him to fuck.

It started off so sweet, too. Silly morning sex, tender and soft– but Homelander always needs more. His appetite for intimacy, for love, for you is insatiable even on a good day.

Today, he takes everything he possibly can.

He slams into you, strings of come trailing between your inner thighs and his hips with each thrust. Your body convulses with each orgasm– the count of which you'd long since lost track of. His fangs are bared above you as he grits his teeth, nails biting at your thighs as he yanks your body back and forth in time with his thrusts.

"Mine," he snarls. He rams into you deep, grinding against your cervix. "All fucking mine!"

You're covered in bite marks, some bloody, some merely indentations. His lips are stained from having pierced you, and you still taste a lingering metallic flavor from each time he'd kiss you or spit in your mouth.

You nod in agreement, head hazy at best as you try to hang on to consciousness. Each time your eyes roll back, he's gripping your jaw with a punishing force to put your attention right back where it belongs.

Him.

He presses your thighs to your chest as he fucks your near-numb pussy with a need so primal that a part of you wonders how he'll ever come down from such a state. He drives into you harsh, lifting himself off the bed just enough to really hit home, groaning deep as he pounds into another orgasm.

You feel him spill within, cunt pulsing at the twitch of his cock. He swats your legs away from your chest as his head falls into the crook of your neck, and you're unsurprised to feel another skin-breaking bite. He suckles at you, grinding lazily into your come-filled hole for a time.

Your hand works through his hair, mind and body dizzy. You wonder if you've lost too much blood or if it's simply because of everything.

He ruts against you suddenly, fucking you shallow and fast. You keen, and his hands are upon you. One at your hip, the other at the back of your neck - each one pulling you impossibly closer. He stays the way he was, face buried against you, but he's since licked your wound and let off.

He's relentless, starved, and desperate for all that he can have. He is an animal, caged and underfed for his whole life. But he has you, now. Sometimes he forgets he doesn't have to sink his claws into you for you to stay.

But it's all he's ever known.

He fills you past the point of gushing around his cock, fucks you from sunrise to sunset - but even then, you wonder if he's truly done.

Even when he's reduced himself to a whimpering, fucked out mess, you wonder if he's had his fill.

You certainly have, and you'll feel this one for the rest of the week - a delicious thought, actually.

He's reluctant to slip free, even when it's clear he's finally limp inside you. He wants to stay as one, wants to keep your slicked up bodies together. You're both covered in his come, and he's fussy sometimes about sleeping in wet spots.

Granted, he'd turned the whole fucking bed into one big wet spot.

You feel the hunger drain from his body bit by bit in the way he holds you. Bruising grips turn to soft caresses, nips and nibbles to kisses, growls to soft sighs and occasional whimpers of sensitivity. But that comes after.

After he slips his cock from you, after his come gushes from you, after he dives in and licks every ounce of it from your aching pussy.

He's thorough. His tongue traces through every fold, every crevice that the taste of your love could possibly hide. He licks you clean from mound to ass, and you almost wonder if a shower is even necessary at that point.

Of course, the slick covered face that comes up to kiss you reminds you that yeah, maybe it's just a little bit needed.

He licks into your mouth lazily, tonguing into you the shared taste of your love.

He refuses to let you walk alongside him to the bathroom, opting to carry you the second he saw how wobbly you were. He's tender and sweet, walking under the stream once the temperature was perfect, simply holding you to his chest.

You trail your fingers through the smattering of hair there, circling above where his heart is, smiling softly. You're exhausted, but he's more than willing to make sure you're cared for.

After all, look at all you've done for him.

You both end up sitting on the floor of his shower, warmth running over you as you hold each other close. He whispers love in your ear, and you do the same for him.

He looks at you with big, blue, doe eyes, and you know he means every word of it.

Tonight you two will sleep on his couch, wrapped tight in one another while the bed dries. Tomorrow?

Well, with Homelander as your lover, tomorrow will always be deliciously unpredictable.

[judeswhore]

taste on my tongue; jude bellingham

summary: you’re always open to new things in the bedroom

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni, oral (m), throat fucking basically

notes: you can find my masterlist here. this was originally a hey jude ask that i promised to write but i cant find the link to the prompt anymore :((

your head was hanging off the edge of the mattress, phone held up high as you scrolled through tiktok, eyes feeling a little heavy lidded with the need for sleep. you could hear jude in the bathroom, switching the shower off, the low sounds of him humming an unknown tune growing louder as he walked through the door. you remained in your spot, dropped your phone to the bed and watched him upside down.

he had a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else. water droplets still clung to his skin, slipped down along the ridges in his muscles and got lost in the ladder of hair leading into the towel. you could see the outline of his cock through the material and you swallowed, eyed it with unfiltered hunger.

"need to grab some more of that body wash you use, i just finished the bottle." he announced, watching you curiously with his brows pressed together, wondering why you were half hanging off his bed. he came a little closer, swiped his thumb lovingly over your cheek.

"you used all my body wash?"

"was only a little bit left." you weren't sure that was true but arguments failed you because jude had a look in his eyes. that look that said he was seconds away from ruining you. his fingers trailed the soft skin of your throat, completely exposed to him and you shuddered, blinked heavily at the bulge that was growing bigger under the towel. "you've never sucked my dick like this before."

"you've never asked me to." your words were slightly breathy, voice wavering when his palm found your cheek again, thumb against your bottom lip. you licked teasingly at the pad. "could do it now."

"now?"

"uh huh, y'know, if you want to." you reached out and smoothed your palm over his cock, annoyed the towel was still in the way. jude blew out a breath and pressed a little further into your hand. it was a little awkward from your angle but he didn't seem to mind, his eyes locked on yours.

"do you want to?"

"i always wanna suck you off." you muttered and he blew out a breathy laugh at that, bent down so he could kiss you, a soft brush of his mouth over yours before he was straightening up again. he tugged the towel open and let it fall to the floor, your gaze trailing over his thighs and half hard cock. he spit into his hand before wrapping his fist around the base and your stomach tightened.

"we can stop whenever you want to, just tap my thigh twice, yeah?"

"yeah." jude pumped his cock a few times to get himself hard, fist squeezing the tip as he gave a soft hiss. you weren't sure where to look, you wanted to watch the way his fingers teased over his cock, how his chest glistened from the left over droplets of water, the soft look of pleasure on his face as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. you settled on his cock, a desperate neediness taking over as you pressed your thighs together.

"open up f'me, baby." he mumbled, voice a little rough with want. his thumb brushed over your cheek, slid across your bottom lip as you let your jaw tip open. jude tapped his cock against your cheek and then he was pressing it into your mouth, his head falling back on a low moan at the first feel of you. you let yourself relax, thighs pressed tight together to dull the ache that was starting to grow. “oh, fuck.”

he only worked the first part of his cock passed your lips, careful at first not to push you too far for fear of hurting you despite the bubbling need in his chest. your lips suctioned around him, a happy hum vibrating through you as he slowly started to rock his hips, one of his hands holding the side of your face for leverage. you could hear his heavy breaths, the light hitches when your tongue swirled over him and your pussy fluttered, hole leaking with a need to be filled.

jude let out a breathless moan, his thighs tensing against your palms and you wished you could see him, could see the pinched look of pleasure on his face and the vein that bulged in his neck. you knew he’d look devastatingly pretty and you reminded yourself you wanted to record this next time. the heavy feel of his cock against your tongue was driving you insane but you wanted, needed, more. you needed him to fuck himself completely down your throat, to use you without hesitation. he was being too gentle and you knew that holding back was killing him.

nails sinking into the meat of his thighs you tugged, pulled so he hips would press further forward and more of his dick sunk passed your open lips. a garbled moan followed, muffled by jude’s skin and was quickly replaced by a disappointed whine when he pulled out, a trail of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

“babe-baby, wait.” you’d tried to pull jude back in but he laughed held you still, his cock teasingly just out of reach. he was soft when he wiped the spit from your lips, his gaze blown out with lust but somehow still loving when he glanced down at you. “i don’t wanna hurt you. we’ve never- you’ve never done it like this and i don’t wanna go too rough.”

you understood what he was saying, when you gave him head normally you’d be on your knees or between his legs, positions which were easy enough for you to take back control if you needed to. this position left you vulnerable, gave you very little control but that’s what you wanted. you wanted jude to take what he needed from you, to use you until he couldn’t stand straight. you knew you could take it. you curled your hands around his thighs and pulled him back towards you, tongue teasing over the head of his cock until he hissed.

“s’okay, i can take it. promise.” wet kisses were pressed against the underside of his length and he shuddered, blew out a shaky breath. “i’ll tap out if i need to but i want you to do this. please.” it was the soft plea that did him in, the desperate, needy tone you usually used when you wanted to cum and then he was sinking back into the heat of your mouth.

“always so fucking greedy. always want more.” jude was taunting you, teasing as the tip of his cock nudged the back of you throat and you gagged, nails sinking into his skin again. you relaxed into the mattress, let him buck his hips towards your face and fill your throat over and over, eyes closed as you focused on breathing through your nose. “feels good, baby. fuck, y’always take me so well.”

you made a muffled noise of appreciation at that and he tapped your cheek in acknowledgment, a soft slap before his palm was settling against your throat. he could see his cock bulging every time he fucked inside of you, filling out your throat and making him light headed. he squeezed just a little, rocked his hips slowly so he could feel the shape of his dick against his palm on every forward press.

the feeling of his hand on your throat was making you dizzy, an overwhelming need taking over your body. you were alight with want, needing desperately for him to touch you, to relieve some of the pressure that was building. you knew your pussy was soaked, had ruined your underwear and the sheets beneath you, begging for some sort of attention. your clit throbbed and your hole fluttered, a desperate sound getting mixed with a gag as it become too much having him pressed so deep.

jude was pulling out before you could tap his thigh, his cock sliding over your cheek and creating a mess you were too turned on to be embarrassed about. your own thighs were pressed tight together to dull the ache and you sighed when he released your throat and stroked your cheek.

“y’okay?” he asked and he sounded so wrecked a fresh wave of slick gushed from your pussy. you nodded as best you could, took a few deep breaths to calm your heart before you were tugging him closer again but he shook his head. “use your words, need to hear you say it.”

“m’okay. can you-“ you cleared your throat, shifted a little so you could see him properly and sent him a somewhat shy smile. “can you touch me?” jude’s eyes flickered to your legs and you opened them, wide enough so he could see the wet patch on the soft material. he gave a soft groan, nodded his head and stroked your jaw.

“shoulda asked before, baby. take your underwear off f’me.” you were quick to do as you were told, shuffling to get rid of the cotton, throwing it to the floor without a second glance as you let your legs fall open again. the cool air against the heat of your pussy made you want to moan, anticipation hot when jude moved closer to you. “poor girl, she’s just crying f’me. i’ll take care of you, yeah? make you cum for being such a good girl.”

you could only hum because he was sliding his cock back into your mouth, filling your throat with little warning but your lips wrapped around him immediately. he moaned softly when your tongue lathed over his skin, spit dripping along his shaft and over his balls. a surprised but pleased whine got lost in your throat when jude’s fingers finally made their way to your cunt. the pads of his fingers brushed through your wetness, gathered it and used it to circle your clit.

the pressure started off light and teasing, his touch barely there until your hips were rising off the bed and searching for more, frustrated sounds getting muffled by his dick. he brushed soft, slow circles, his pace similar to the one he was using to fuck your throat. it was too slow for your liking, you needed more and when your hips rose for the fourth time jude seemed to take pity on you. cock stuffed to the back of your mouth again, he made a gentle cooing noise.

“shh, i know, i know, s’okay.” he was smirking you could tell, a teasing lilt to his words. his other hand was back on your throat, light this time, just so he could feel his cock moving when he fucked in and out of you but he squeezed once. “relax f’me.” you hadn’t even realised how tense your body had gotten, the teasing swipes of his fingers on your clit making your muscles tighten. pushing a sigh from your nose you sunk into the mattress, spread your legs a little wider and was rewarded with increased pressure on your clit. “that’s a good girl. just let me do the work, yeah?”

so you did. you let him use your throat, quick, deep thrusts of his cock into your mouth as though he was fucking your pussy, each gag and muffled moan spurring him on. he kept a grip on your throat, the bulge in it sending him closer to his realise as his muscles tightened and his cock twitched. the fingers on your clit worked fast and messy just the way you liked, quick swipes and circles that made it almost impossible to think. you were on the edge within minutes, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping them open.

jude pressed a little quicker over your clit and then you were coming, hips rising from the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably as your nails bit into the flesh on his thighs. you couldn’t make much noise, each moan and whine, the soft sob when he didn’t stop, getting muffled by his cock. you’d gushed over the sheets, the small trickle of liquid dampening them and sending your boyfriend into a frenzy. he didn’t let up on your clit, worked you through your high even as it became too much and you wanted to cry from the sensitivity.

“shh, just take it, doing so well f’me. i’ve got you, baby, so fucking proud of you, yeah? did good.” he was rambling, the pace of his fingers slowing as he started to focus back on his own pleasure. when getting you to cum he’d half pulled out of your mouth, gave you a few moments to breathe but now he was fucking his full cock down your throat with new found vigour.

you gripped tight to his thighs and let him use you, jaw slack, tongue soft over his dick, throat relaxed so he could repeatedly hit the back of it. he was getting whiney, high pitched noises filling the room as his orgasm started to burn up his spine, stomach and thigh muscles pulling taut. the blunt head of his cock kept nudging the very back of your throat and a new, breathy moan would fall from jude’s lips when you tightened and squeezed around him, gagged just a little.

“fuck- m’gonna- oh- gonna cum, baby. gonna cum and you’re gonna swallow it like a good girl, okay?” his voice cracked, his hand tightening just a little on your neck as his dick twitched. “feels so good, you’re- fuck- you’re so hot. i love you, shit, i love you.”

jude shuddered as he came, a full body tremor that had you momentarily worried he’d collapse, his jaw slack as moans and whimpers bubbled from his throat. he was loud, louder than usual, babbling that he loved you and that you felt so good, his cum painting your tongue as he pulled out until only the head rested in your mouth. he’d wrapped his fist around himself again and was jerking quickly while you sucked softly at his tip, swallowed everything he gave you with happy hums and moans. he pulled back a little too early and another rope of cum decorated your cheek, your thumb catching it before it could make a mess of anything else.

“jesus christ.” jude blew out a breathless laugh with those words, stepped away and gave you the chance to finally sit up. you did so slowly, sucking your thumb into your mouth to clean away his cum and when you finally sat straight, jude was collapsed onto the bed, arm thrown over his eyes. you watched his chest heave, sweat slicking his skin, spent cock soft against his thigh. he looked mouth-wateringly hot and your pussy fluttered again, hole slick with the need to be full.

“y’okay?” you asked with a soft laugh, crawling across the bed to settle yourself on to his chest. his free arm immediately curled around your waist, a tired smile lightly up his face although he kept his eyes hidden.

“need a minute.” he mumbled, voice soft. you kissed his jaw, made your way over his chin and to his mouth, pecked his lips lovingly. “i don’t think i’ve ever came that hard before. i thought i was gonna pass out.” his lips brushed yours when he spoke and he gave you a light kiss in return.

“bit dramatic.” you teased, snuggling down against his chest. his heart beat rapidly beneath you, chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths and you realised maybe he wasn’t being all that dramatic. you danced your fingers over his skin and he finally lowered his arm, met your gaze with his own adoring one.

he looked more fucked out than you’d ever seen him and it made you ache, hips pressing down so you could grind your clit against his skin. he made a low rumbling noise, gripped your hip tight as his brows drew together.

“can you fuck me now?” you asked, needy and desperate and beyond turned on by the wrecked sight beneath you. you needed him to fuck you, to press you down into the bed and use your pussy the way he’d used your throat but jude was staring at you in bewilderment. you rocked your hips again, whimpered when your clit rubbed against the hardness of his stomach.

“now?”

“uh huh, need it, jude.” you were whiney, pouting down at him as you built a steady pace, used him to get yourself off. he suddenly gave a laugh, eyes crinkling as he shook his head, arms tightening around you. with one quick move he’d flipped the two of you, settled you on your back on the mattress and pressed himself between your open thighs. you giggled at him, the noise growing louder as he bit playfully into the curve of your jaw.

“you’re insatiable, woman.”

[catcze]

oh btw i know that a werewolf is a pretty obvious pick for your newest man but he does look like he'd make for a great vampire who has to actively resist the urge to feed on you because "your blood is... so sweet... and you're so... enticing... just a taste, please..."

or not! who knows ehe <3

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 CWS : 」 A little suggestive due to the intimate nature of blood drinking, but nothing sexual or even leading up to any sexual activity happens. That being said, if ur bothered by Wrio finding the reader tasting delicious + Reader enjoying being drank from a lot, maybe dont read;;; this is 2k words of non-sexual intimacy and love and trust !!

I have a confession;;;; I really really really love the vampire x human trope,,,,,, even just a teeny tiny bit more than I do the werewolf x human trope,,,, so,,,,, SO,,,,,,,,,, vamp! Wrio is setting all kinds of good signals off in my brain rn;;;;;;; i have;;;;;; many;;;;; many thoughts;;;; ON MY HANDS AND KNEES DONT LET THIS FLOP PLS 💔💔💔

You're on his lap. Wriothesley's on his chair, hands practically clawing into the armrests. You wouldn't be surprised if he'd rip it. His eyes don't know where to look— they flit around every inch of his office, avoiding your own. But they always end up glancing back at your neck no matter how much he tries to pry them away.

He gulps.

"You're hungry."

"I'm not," he immediately denies, ignoring the way his fangs ache at just being able to smell your blood so close.

You frown. "You haven't eaten in a week, Wrio."

"I have—"

"Animal blood doesn't count. That shit can only work for so long, and you know it."

He swallows, hands clenching even tighter, nails digging into leather armrests. He looks away from you, rendered silent.

You watch him as how he tries to ignore you. Delicately, you place a hand on his cheek, urging his eyes back to meet yours.

"Why don't you just ask me?" You murmur. "You know I'd say yes. You know I'd do anything for you."

His face twists. "That's the problem," Wriothesley says bitterly, teeth clenched. Even from here, from the limited view you have past the curl of his lip, you see how his sharp fangs gleam. "I— if I drink from you, I won't want anything else. Ever. I already have a hard enough time just being around you, but if i get even just a taste..." he trails off, swallowing. "You're all I'm going to crave, sweetheart."

Wriothesley expects you to pause or hesitate. Maybe even extract yourself from him. He wouldn't blame you. Ever since the first time his thoughts betrayed him and he wondered what you'd taste like on his tongue (honey and nectar and heaven and ambrosia, all in one) he's been so careful to hide how he hungers for you, lest you think he's a monster who'd hurt you for his own gain.

In an ideal world, you never would have had to see him like this— starving, thirsting. Every single cell in his body urging him to get on his knees and beg you for just a taste. He'd get the fear and the apprehension, even though it'd crack a little piece of his cold, unbeating heart.

But you just roll your eyes and unbutton the collar of your shirt. leaning down so the side of your neck is right within his sight. His mouth dries as the thump of your pulse comes ever closer, freezing him in place.

"You're not going to hurt me," you say, conviction in your voice. You inch closer.

Wriothesley feels another part of his self restraint collapse.

Against his better judgement, he's actually thinking about it now. He crumbled so fast that it might be a little pathetic, he knows. Maybe his mind is addled from the hunger, maybe he's addled by his hunger for you, but he knows that he's fraying with every millisecond that you spend so close.

"No, not— not there," He protests quietly, even though he's itching to reach out and sink his teeth into your pulse. Fuck, you smell delicious up close. He's damn near losing his mind here, the object of his love and the greatest temptation to his gluttony practically sitting on his lap, offering up something that he's craved for so long. Still, he gathers what bits and pieces of his restraint that he can and manages to gently nudge you back, just enough that he can think without being driven mad by the idea of his mouth on your neck.

The protest is already ready on your tongue, but he takes a gentle hold of your wrist instead, pressing a kiss to the tips of each finger. His thumb rubs gentle circles into the skin, and the pulse under his fingers makes the emptiness in his stomach increases tenfold.

"Here," he tells you. "It'll be easier to push me away if you need to."

You say nod, pushing your wrist closer to his mouth. "Drink up," you tell him. He pushes away his hesitation, and with one last lingering kiss, he presses his mouth to your wrist and bites.

And fuck, he was right.

Heaven and sunlight and euphoria bursts on his tongue, making his brain practically short circuit. Wriothesley concludes then and there that compared to you, anything and everything else he's ever tasted was bland in comparison. He can barely even attempt to describe it— with each drop you willingly give, his hunger is both sated and amplified. A sound escapes him, a mix between a groan and a whimper muffled into your skin.

When you hum, warm fingers carding through his hair and urging him to take more, he feels like he ascends. Acting on instinct, his arm snakes around your middle to hold you in place— to keep you close. His grip on you is firm, but he's careful not to dig his fingers too hard into your skin.

And as much as this is affecting him, it's affecting you too. Your head grows light in the best way possible, like you're experiencing a euphoric high. You scratch a bit harder at his scalp, pulling a desperate noise from his lips that makes you tremble in his hold. You'll sit here for as long as he needs to feel better, for as long as he needs you.

Quicker than you would have wanted, Wriothesley reluctantly pulls away. By then the color's only just started to come back to his face and he's panting like he's been on a brisk jog. He looks much less sickly, yes, but you observe with a frown that he's still not quite yet at tip-top shape.

Hesitantly, almost reverently, he presses a kiss to the wound on your wrist, then gives the smallest of licks. it tingles, but after a moment the sting of it fades to a dull throb, and then nothing. But before he can push you off, you're leaning down again, same position as before, with your neck in his line of view. An open invitation.

"You need to drink more," you murmur. You try to ignore the rush of blood in your face, the tingle in your core. For as much as he was scared of getting addicted to you, you fear now you're getting addicted to him, too.

"I shouldn't," Wriothesley says, barely above a whisper.

He should push you off— should let you rest. Should wrap you in his coat and get you some water and a snack after you've already let him drink so much of you.

It had been hard enough to resist earlier, but now? Your blood is pumping so hard he can practically hear it. And you taste so sweet. You had made the slightest of noises when he fed on you— he doubts you even realized it, what with the haze you were in. Just the smallest of whines when he drank from your wrist, but each breathy sigh and whisper of his name was enough to make him crave more.

A small, traitorous corner of his mind wonders if you'd be even more vocal with his teeth on your neck.

He swallows, knowing he's already fighting a losing battle. He's so, so weak for you. His one arm doesn't budge from around your waist, but his hand moves up to cup your cheek. He drags your eyes to meet his, and you can see the seriousness amidst the hunger.

"You tell me if anything hurts." Wriothesley's arm around you tightens almost imperceptibly. "Anything. Please."

You hum, happy, nuzzling closer into the cradle of his grip. "Okay. I know you'll stop if I ask." And oh the faith you have in him has heat pooling in his gut and a foreign pressure grow behind his eyes.

His voice is hoarse he says, "Yeah sweetheart. Of course I will."

He comes close and you shift your head, giving him more space to work. First thing he does isn't even bite— he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, decorating your skin with kisses and licks and nips, delighting in the small protest of 'that tickles!' that he elicits from you.

You let him shower you in affection a little bit more, but eventually your hand works into his hair, tugging. "Okay, no more stalling," you say, breathless. "C'mon, time to eat."

And he's still nervous of taking too much— can feel his stomach roil at just the thought of hurting you, but he trusts you. Trusts you as much as you trust him, too. So he takes another deep breath, presses one last tender kiss to your skin, and sinks his teeth into your neck.

A small whisper of him name escapes our throat just as a groan leaves him because fuck— you taste even better. Flavor multiplied times what feels like a hundred, making his cold cold heart do flips and tricks in his chest. The hand you bury in his hair tugs, pulls, but brings him closer instead of away. You push him further into you, begging him to take more, and he happily obliges.

Wriothesley presses kisses and licks to your neck between drinking down mouthfuls, making sure not to waste a single drop. He's pulling you against his chest so tightly— hand bunched in the back of your top that you fear he might rip the fabric, but you decide that you don't really care if he does.

With each drink he takes, each satisfied, muffled noise that leaves him, you feel yourself melt more and more against him until you're boneless in his hold. Despite how he drinks as if it's his last, he still has the good mind to shift you a bit higher in his lap, to make sure he's holding you comfortably. His hand rubs soothing circles into your hip, and he tries to recline back into his seat as much as he can so you can lean into him.

Your heart pounds even harder, the blood rushing to your ears, and you think he feels it with the way his hunger seems to double.

Your eyes are half-lidded, gaze hazy and growing sleepy with each progressive second. But it doesn't hurt in the slightest. You feel warm, if anything— warm and happy that you were able to help him, and make sure he's well.

He's slowing a little. His hunger finally abating and making way for something more tender and soft. You scratch his scalp lovingly and lean your head against his. A sweet, sleepy kiss pressed to his temple makes his pace falter.

Wriothesley soon separates himself from your neck, pressing a kiss and a kitten lick to your newest wound. Like the one on your wrist, it tingles for just a bit before any stinging or pain vanishes entirely.

"Hey baby," he murmurs, pulling away slightly to look at your face, but making sure his arm is still wrapped around you. To keep you steady, to remind you that he's here. He smiles a little at your happy, dazed expression, but even now you can see the lingering worry. "You with me?"

You respond with a hum, nodding as best as you can. "Yeah. 'm okay."

Wriothesley laughs a little, watching you stumble over your words. He lets you fall flat against his chest with you head hanging on his shoulder and cradles you against him. One hand goes to twine your fingers with his, desperate to hold you as much as he can, and the other snugly tucks your head under his chin. In his embrace, you feel the beat of your heart gradually slow back to a calm. It leaves you boneless and tired, the crash of it all finally hitting you and making your eyelids flutter.

"That's good." You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. "Did anything hurt at all, honey?"

You shake your head. Too tired to look up at him, so you squeeze his hand instead. A kiss is pressed to the apple of his throat. "Nothing. I'm just tired, 's all. I'm fine."

He holds you closer, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. "Yeah. Yeah, that's good. Thank you, my love. Let's get you something to eat and drink, then we sleep— how does that sound?"

You just hum your agreement, limbs feeling heavier and heavier with each passing second. Wriothesley places a kiss to the crown of your head. With utmost gentleness, he cradles you in his arms as he stands, trying not to jostle you as he makes his way out of the room.

"I love you, sweetheart," he murmurs, heart growing three sizes in his chest, arms full of the most precious thing in his world.

You bury yourself further into him. "Love you more, Wrio."

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[thithesandofferings]

Title: The Be-comings of Ardor

Summary: You win the Demon Kure Raian as a prize. Now its up to you to get you to acknowledge him.

Pairing: Raian x Reader

AN: To be very honest, I just wanted something to write. Based of the excerpt from here . I wanted to write a slow burn Raian x Reader but...i didnt know the plot so uhm...you get him as a demon... Also this fandom isnt as big so really 8 people could read it and id be fine.

Tags: Descriptions of violence. Slow...slow burn. Eventual smut. Multi-chaptered. Nothing too crazy. I havent decided if I wanted to get any crazier lol. Honestly this is just an excuse to learn how to write descriptively so please bare with me.

Part 2

Part 3

You are drenched when you are told about your prize . You don't have time to dwell on past lives sticking and caving into your skin. Becoming an uninvited home in your nails. Teeth aching from the minute grinding of bone. Gums stained sticky with blood that isn't yours. Acrid air pours through your lashes as you try to blink through the chaos staining the marrow of your skull. There is an in-depth ignorance when you stand on your enemies. Your hunger docile only by the swaths of meat you have taken. Pealing and rotting underneath your tongue. You can taste their rage and despair. It feels like condemnation.

The Kure family is filled with demons. Gifting you a malevolent spirit for your victorious slaughter is an inconsequential choice. An ancestor long since passed. Has been alive since the world had begun to form. You do not dwell much on it. Empty... Distant and unsure of who you are at the present. Wondering if the sands at your feet have packed your soul away too.

They tell you with unsteady hands and sympathetic looks that "no one has ever been able to handle him properly." Glee tugs at simpered lips when they whisper that you will surely die if you cannot handle it.

It. Primordial. Eldritch almost in nature. The demon has ruthlessly taken countless. Sharpening its tongue with hollowed bones for the sake of good weather. They produce photos of him. The clans black eyes shimmer with thoughts of humiliation and desire to ruin when they show you their past relative. He's a God in their roving eyes. To finally ascend is a gift to them. You are driven by an instinctual tug to move when you do see the creature. He was a beast even in his former life. Hulking mass with a propensity to maim and kill.

Contempt licks up the path of your skin at the thought of fearing him. You are greeted immediately with an unbecoming emotion that impales you. Greed. A snarling voice unlike your own, claws through your numbing brain. He is yours. Your honor cannot be tampered when you think about the battles you fought and won to earn him. A cruel heat scatters your skin and you think briefly that it may be possession. You shrug it off as an afterthought.

You have always known that gluttony and greed ring soundly in your blood. Now is not the time to dwell on ideas and dreams.

The grim faces of men circle you in the centerfold to perform the ritual, bringing the archaic demon. You have killed enough men to honor its terms. The air is stale with apprehension and slighted fear. You have to prove that you're worthy, even after all the lives strayed across the sand. If you are not, then your life- and the men around you, will end.

You've never been much afraid of death.

The whispers bring forth laden wind. Wet and dense, petrichor aching to dig its teeth into your skin. There is an unnatural silence once the mutters of ancient tongue cease. Crickets noises snuffed out with the unease of the earth as it waits.

Your body knows the moment he is there. The heat almost searing at the back of your neck when he stands behind you. His massive frame slicing through the permeable silence as you hear the shuffling of the men almost forgotten. Your eyes are closed and yet you can still almost taste the ephemeral life that is behind you. The age weighs heavy on your bones. Ancient. Like they said. Inhuman in a way that makes you think that your future is just to be leftovers for him. His frame claws at you. Shadows peeling across your skin, scalding and feverish, beckoning you to turn around.

You are not one to back down from a challenge.

He takes the form of a human. Flinty, barely holding his power into the meat suit he prostrates himself in. He's the biggest thing you have ever seen in your life. Muscles fight for space, veins bulge and quake proudly. His strength carries him as he strides towards you in slow, decadents steps. Hulking in mass. He is a monster. Teeth sharpened with sharpened glee. Lips spread too wide for it to be comfortable. Skin peeling on the corners, blood tunneling to the front. There is madness in the poisoned whites of his eyes. Black ink devouring you, crumbling your resolve when you look at him. They're like nothing you've ever seen before. Archaic, unnatural- predatory when he accesses you. An ancestral look you know all too well, the look of suddenly finding prey. Gravity finds a way into the black holes that suffocates his gaze. It makes your knees tremble. You are not ready to discuss why it is not fear that echoes and tracks the shivers in your hands.

He is so close that you smell him. Ashen and bloodied earth clog your senses and you have to quickly blink away the tears from the strength of it. It mellows your brain, cleaning the abject cobwebs littered across.

You're distracted enough that you cant run from the grip he has on your wrist. Pinching and crunching the already bruised flesh, you know he is assessing you. His stare burning and muted, you feel like an insect.

His manic gaze suddenly cools, air becoming increasingly stale and scarce. He lets go off your wrist, throws it more like, and begins to walk toward the people you had briefly forgotten existed.

"Raian, we are so glad that-" There is a choked and horrid crack as you hear the mans body falls listlessly to the ground.

"Shut up and find me something to eat before I decide its going to be you." There is a stalled millisecond of silence before the group shuffles away with their ancestor in front.

The one who never looks back at you again.

Your so called prize no longer even acknowledges you.

The ache of death and fear permeates your bones. Muted until now, it is time for you to go home. A small smile cracking the edge of your lips.

[synnamonroll666]

The Bigger, The Better

Prompt 11: Size Difference Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: Never did you think Syzoth's size was possible, until the clothes finally come off. Now with a ten inch dick ready to enter your hole, you worry if you'll even be able to take it... Warnings: Size Difference, A Pinch Of Cock Warming, Implied Sex... Word Count: 1k Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot.

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Syzoth was always a lot bigger than me. In height, he towered over me. Muscles? He was a beast compared to me. So I was fully expecting him to be quite big for me in other areas as well. But in no way did I expect this.

"Fuck!" I shouted in shock as I stumbled back and away from him. "You've got to be ten inches long!"

He merely chuckled at my reaction as an amused grin parted his soft lips. "You should see my natural form; it makes this form look tiny."

"How about we wait on that then?" I suggested as I warily eyed his length. "It will take quite awhile for me to get used to the shock of that, let alone this."

He laughed at my words while shaking his head. It seemed as if my boyfriend really enjoyed intimidating me with his girth and was amused by the way I reacted to it. Usually, men who would boast about their size would annoy me. But Syzoth was a more insecure person, so seeing him be proud even about something so lewd secretly made my heart melt.

"Deal." He agreed with a single nod of his head before slowly stepping closer, his massive cock bouncing in the air as he did so. "So, shall we begin?"

"I don't know." I uttered nervously while glancing down again, wondering how in the hell I would be able to take something so massive. "Shouldn't we prep me more?"

"I think you'll be okay. I'll go slow, I promise." He said as he took another step closer. Though I could tell by the hunger in his eyes that he was mainly just saying that so I would give in and just let him start already.

But I wasn't completely sure. Syzoth was never the type to do something unless he was 100% certain that I wanted it as well. So if he said that he felt like I was ready for him, I would believe it.

Sighing in defeat, I laid down on his bed and deeply exhaled to calm my nerves as he climbed on top of me. He held his member in his hand and rubbed the large tip through my soaked folds a few times to give me an extra moment to prepare and lubricate his cock even more than it already was.

He looked up into my eyes for approval, and once I nodded my head, he lined up his head with my hole and slowly began pushing himself in. My eyes instantly broadened, and I cried out as he stretched me wide—much wider than I had ever been stretched before. I could have sworn he was about to tear me in half as he slowly pushed each inch in at an agonizingly slow pace, though I was grateful for it. 

He eventually stopped halfway through, and his eyes searched my features for any signs of agony.

"Are you okay?" Do you need me to stop?" He asked as his eyes grew worried fast. Though I was in a lot of pain, I could see it in his eyes that he was dying to enter me fully.

After heaving a deep sigh to try and forget the pain I felt, I nodded my head slowly and responded with a breathless, "Yeah."

He gently pressed his lips against mine to show his love and appreciation for me, and then he began to slowly thrust within me once again. I gritted my teeth together as my eyes clenched shut, trying to muscle through the pain. I almost couldn't take it. But when his hands went to mine and his fingers intertwined with my own, that pain suddenly began to fade into something else.

When his tip finally kissed my cervix, the agony I once felt was barely existent; it was more of a dull ache than anything. To make sure I was more than comfortable, Syzoth stayed still within me for a moment, resting his head on top of my own as he waited for me to give him the go-ahead to start.

It was in this moment that I realized just how much this man truly cared for me. Most guys would barely give a shit to wait for the pain of stretching out to fade away, but Syzoth would—he would do anything to better my well-being because he truly loved me. And that fact alone had me wanting him more than ever. Once the aching finally melted away into something much more pleasurable, I decided that it was finally time.

"Syzoth," I whispered softly, and he lifted his head to gaze down at me with worry.

"Are you ok, my love?" He asked as his eyes once again studied my face for any signs of pain or regret.

"I-I'm ready." I breathed out, my voice shaking due to my nerves and now excitement.

"Are you sure?" His expression turned into one of shock and surprise. It was clear to me that he did not expect me to be ready so soon, and he was worried that I was just saying this for his benefit, which is exactly why I thought he hesitated.

My hands reached up and found purchase on his soft cheeks. My thumbs stroked his skin gently as I gazed upon his features with love. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to find a man so passionate—so caring and loving; I wanted to do anything to make him happy.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."

With that being said, he pressed his lips against mine for a long and tender kiss. When he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, the corners of his lips had curled up into a soft and loving smile. My heart felt so full in this moment that I never wanted it to end. After giving one last nod of approval, he slowly withdrew himself from my walls to gently push back in.

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[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 2 - Scattered

The rogue rolls a critical fail.

On AO3.

The Underdark is…something. Vast caverns, so tall the roof is hidden in gloom even Astarion’s sight cannot pierce. Glowing crystals larger than palaces in Baldur’s Gate. Glowing mushrooms, glowing creatures. That last point is becoming something of an urgency.

Astarion is long used to the claws of starvation on his innards. At best, his hunger is a barely satiated beast seething beneath his skin. At worst, it chews apart his mind until that’s all that stares out through his eyes, until every nerve, every twitch of his muscles screams and needs and his teeth ache and his jaw clenches so hard it sends pain lancing through his skull.

He’s about halfway to that point, currently.

He’s colder than usual. This is not helped by the cool air of the Underdark. His bones ache and his joints creak. He catches his fingers hooking into claws from time to time, and takes to pretending to fuss over his nails or his knives to hide it—said fingers are too numbed and stiff for anything like dexterity, anyway.

The creatures of the Underdark are a frustratingly skittish lot. He longs for a bear, a deer, even a squirrel. The thought of biting into it, smelling of clean sunshine and forest, the skin popping as his fangs pierce and that first gush of hot, salty blood—

“Did you hear me?”

The wizard. He’s talking.

“Oh yes, darling,” Astarion lies.

They’re all standing on the top of some tower belonging to some other mad wizard. Astarion wonders if that’s part of their schooling, towers and wizards. They always go for towers. Even down here, one of them has lost her mind to madness and not only built an entire tower of her own, but of course it’s laced with traps. Wizards love traps even more than vampires, he’s learning.

Their own wizard gives him a look, clearly unbelieving. Astarion gives him his very best “hello handsome” smile, and the man looks away, a touch flustered.

He wonders if the wizard would have been an easier target.

His current target is talking with some automaton. She’d gone directly for it. Speaking softly and deferentially, the way she does with the owlbear cub (Sweetums? Seriously?). It’s not a living thing, not a thinking creature of any kind, yet there she is, acting like it matters.

She does that a lot. Even to the gur she killed. It’s equal parts bemusing and befuddling. What kind of people even produce something like her?

He thinks, sometimes—though he’ll never admit it—that it might have been for the best that the mindflayers only snatched up one Earthian. The thought of multiples of her is disquieting. He’s not sure if they would be the most effective weapon the Sword Coast has seen in a century, or the most self-righteously insufferable gaggle of idiots.

Oh, now the automaton is hugging their most illustrious leader. How twee. He’s standing at an angle that he can see her hug it back, and he notices something. He’s seen hugs and been clutched at in passion. Most people grab (or claw). But this woman, his ally, hugs the metal monstrosity with…fists. Fingers curled in tight, thumbs tucked down. How interesting.

Then he catches the druid noticing the same thing, and the slight frown marring his enormous face—no elf, not even a half elf, has any right to be so massive. It’s absurd. The druid catches him noticing all the noticing, and he seems to be trying to communicate something. A question perhaps. But it’s not Astarion’s business, so he watches that question sail on by and makes no move to catch it.

And then everything goes to the hells. Their leader says something, or the automaton does, or maybe one of their merry band breathed wrong. It really doesn’t matter. It’s a mad wizard’s tower; it doesn’t need to make sense.

The light thrumming through each automaton—because of course there’s more than one—turn red. Apparently, that’s a signal even on other planes, because their illustrious leader’s face goes blank in a very particular “oh shit” kind of way, and she says, “Ah fuck.”

It gets a bit messy after that. Spells fly. The wizard shouts something and a nearby automaton shatters into pieces. The gith and the tiefling both hack at the big one. And their leader, who is the only person in the entire party—himself excluded—who shows the occasional modicum of sense, scrambles to get clear of the whole thing.

They metal monstrosities notice. There’s a strangeness about her that he’s getting used to; a kind of hum clinging to her skin whenever he gets near. Makes his teeth itch. But it draws attention and one of the automatons sets its sight on her and lifts an arm crackling with arcane power.

He’s got an arrow knocked. But the angle isn’t good. He takes two steps to the left—

Two things happen:

He lets the arrow loose and it flies true to bury into the facsimile of a metal face and the beastie goes down twitching.

And the ground beneath his left boot flashes. Which sets of glyphs all across the room.

Their wizard notices immediately. Has enough time to turn directly to Astarion and snap, “I knew you weren’t listening to a word I said—”

And everything lights up in horrible, searing light.

***

It lasts less than a moment. Less than a blink. Then Astarion stumbles forward—the damned hunger making him so ungainly. The tower is dark. Completely dark. Not a single mote of light, though he blinks and rubs his eyes several times.

Hells.

“Wizard!” he says. “We need light over here!”

But his voice echoes. It did not echo this way before. The sound is longer, goes much further, doesn’t bounce off ramparts and automatons and his wretched party. This time, it keeps going. Echoes off something far, far in the distance.

…there’s no other sound.

Astarion is an elf. Was, rather. He’s had excellent hearing since he can remember. Then he became a vampire spawn and everything got so much louder. The Blade had said he thought vampires could hear the stars twinkle, which was just silly. But he can hear heartbeats. Sighs. The soft squeak of leather boots as someone shifts. The gurgle of innards as stomachs digest (which in the first days was insufferable but has become something rather more…routine).

Now?

He hears air move. Water drips somewhere distant. And his own clothing rasps as he sways, trying to keep his balance in the oppressive black.

He’s alone. He can feel it.

“Wizard?” he says. The echo again is long and narrow. Somewhere closed in, but with an open way forward.

The panic is familiar. The taste of rotten iron crawls up his throat.

Enclosed in the dark. Alone in the dark. Closed in, closed in, closed in—

“Eleanor?”

But no one calls back to him. There’s nothing and no one. He tries to take a step but the ground is uneven and he stumbles. Goes down on one knee in a burst of pain.

“Hells,” he gasps.

There’s rocks all around. Some the size of his head. Others large and jagged. His hands—bare, because they’d been clumsily fussing with traps and the growing clumsiness called for ungloved fingers—slap rough, sharp edges.

Hunger and cold and alone, all alone, clawing at the door master please I’ll be good I’m sorry I’ll never do it again master.

The tadpole shivers. Because he has one of those. He was abducted by mindflayers, brought to the Underdark—

He’s in the Underdark.

He scrabbles for that connection and all but rips it open—

To six other people. Shock and anger. He resists all that, someone shouting in outrage over the intrusion and he doesn’t care because that’s six other people and he all but throws himself into their midst. Thoughts jumble around him, a stone tossed into a stream: cold air, smells stale; a huge, glowing purple crystal the size of a bleeding house; something reeks of sulfur; dead fish; hard ledge oh fuck it’s too high and you’re too weak—

Slowly, they all coalesce back into more defined spheres of self. The others pull away, and after that initial blast, Astarion has the sense to reel himself more or less back in.

Where? One of them thinks which ignites like a trail of sparkpowder through all of them.

Scattered images: a pool of dark water, a field of orange mushrooms glowing eerily in the dark, an opening in stone lit by…is that lava?

They’re none of them together. They’ve been separated. And he can tell—they all can—that it’s over a vast distance.

This is why it’s dangerous to mess with waypoints, thinks the wizard.

A defensive spell has blasted them across the Underdark. Astarion, you idiot.

And he can’t let that stand. Would they rather he let that automaton blast their darling leader’s head off? How was he supposed to know some brain-addled wizard had set up a mad trap five inches to his left?

Because the wizard told him so, to his face, three separate times.

Then a surge of irritation. But from neither him nor the wizard. It’s their leader. And she flashes them an image.

Because they’re not speaking in words (none but the irritating wizard, anyway) (he takes offense to that) so much as shapes of thought. Visions, impressions, emotions. His brain momentarily processes it as words, but the initial connection is a sense of outstretched fingers. Her outstretched fingers. A distant sensation that registers eventually as one of them.

They can sense each other. Vaguely.

The memory of a portal, glowing incandescent purple as it swirls and crackles with magic. This is a question.

But the wizard shakes his head. “No. I don’t know the waypoints here and I can’t safely use that spell to open a portal without one. We all saw what happened after that gith attack. It could take us anywhere. Or trap us.”

They had found the man stuck in his own portal, so that makes sense.

“Are any of you near me?” the wizard asks.

He’s next to a waypoint stone. In a great hall somewhere. Huge pillars hold up a ceiling lost in the dark. The stone a set of glowing glyphs carved deep. The hall seems abandoned—save for ancient skeletons and rusted armor.

The wizard doesn’t even register to the faint proximity-feel Astarion grasps at.

Karlach is confused and a touch anxious (and a touch excited, for some godsforsaken reason). She’s nowhere near the wizard. Is surrounded by mushrooms that soar up on blue, iridescent stalks like shaggy trees in an ancient forest. There’s no sign of a cave rat, let alone a waypoint stone.

The Underdark is huge. They could be anywhere. It’s dangerous for creatures that have spent their whole lives down here, let alone surface folk traveling lost and alone. Searching blindly—

In his own body, Astarion snorts. The others are all near something glowing, while he’s stuck in some pitch black…somewhere.

—for a waypoint stone is asking for trouble.

And then they all see an image that makes no sense. A series of green lines all nestled within one another, like an archery target. Except another line sweeps in a circle through them all. And as it goes, it sweeps over several small, green dots that blink and beep. The lines makes several sweeps, around and around as two of those dots merge into a larger one and grow in size.

Radar comes a foreign word. And then something in his mind translates “combine into larger radar signature.” And then something about several balls set on a sheet draped tight, and a much heavier one added with sags the whole things, drawing all of them together, only it’s worlds somehow and something about a “gravity” and…what in the hells is a “space-time fabric?”

They can all feel the wizard vibrate with hunger.

That frustration again. Their leader disengages a moment, and he can actually feel her gathering her thoughts together and shuffling them around.

She senses one of them nearby. They all reach out and…and Astarion can feel it, too. A subtle pull through the tadpole. She’s closer to him than the others.

Their leader’s excitement. She throws them all another images, this time of water droplets on glass. Two of them run together. Form a bigger droplet that pulls the others in one by one.

Find another. Stronger pull on others that way?

“Yes,” the wizard muses. “That may work. You two find each other and we’ll check back to see if our perception changes.”

For being an illiterate yokel with a penchant for setting things on fire at range—and biting out throats in range—their leader’s thoughts feel sharp and solid. Like a blade. She makes a decision and that is her decision. It’s quite easy to go along with it.

“Until then, I propose we all stay where we are. It’s far too dangerous to go off willy nilly.”

Again, that agreement. And that blade of focus turns to point at him. Their leader isn’t all that far from him.

The connection dissolves. He’s once again on his own, in the dark, with pain grinding through his left knee. But their yokel leader is close. All he has to do is find her. Alone. In utter blackness not even his supernatural vision can pierce, standing in the middle of a boulder field.

But it’s that or stay where he is. Alone and blind, in the close, closed dark.

Time to move, then.

***

Notes:

Yyyyyeah. Realized if I do once-weekly updates it’ll be like, September before we get to the chapter I just finished and I don’t want to slow down that much. Plus having that deadline makes me go fast, which keeps me from stalling the hell out. So uh, updates once again on Wednesdays and Saturdays unless I get stuck!

Previous - Index - Next

[bloodinwine]

With Me Chapter 1: Effy's Gift

Story Summary: A collection of events/drabbles that are canon and take place before 'Until You' (part 1 of 'Something Else Entirely')

Author's Note: This collection of events/drabbles are canon and take place before Until You.

You can certainly read these as standalones, but I don't think they are as effective unless you are also reading 'Until You', which if you are, you can jump into 'With Me' at anytime but I will note that I only began 'With Me' after chapter 8 of 'Until You'. Hope this makes sense!

Chapter Summary: Astarion drinks human blood for the first time.

Word Count: 2,705 words

With Me: on A03

Until You: A03

Master List: (for all other chapters)

Astarion feels hunger in his veins, it aches in his bones. All he knows is that he wants to eat, drink, eat, drink. The boar he depleted yesterday was a generous helping and it should have been enough but it didn’t do anything , he was empty. He’d just returned to camp from an unsuccessful night of hunting—with nothing—not even a rabbit and all the excursion did was make him more tired, more weak. 

He almost concedes, decides he will try to trance— anything to not feel his craving when he pauses to survey the campsite. Everyone is out of sight, fast asleep in their tents…all except their supposed leader, Effy. It’s how he usually finds her, curled up by the campfire wide out in the open, she’s not even in her bedroll.

Maybe it’s the fatigue he feels. Maybe it’s the weariness. 

But he doesn’t realize he’s been standing there watching her sleep for a little too long until she shifts, rolling away from the heat to lay on her back. Her arms are splayed out and her face is turned from the flames, he can see the shape of her face. Astarion wonders how she’s slept this close to it all this time and hasn’t caught fire yet. 

There’s something about the way she’s sprawled out in the open, exposed to all the world that draws him to her. She’s the same way awake, always the first person to throw herself into danger and devising plans inspired by dead myths and superstition. 

Pure rubbish, sheer idiocy, utter recklessness. 

She could get them all killed and still, she’s the best chance Astarion has in breaking his own chains. Every quality she carries he’s come to find so very irritating - he just doesn’t understand it and wants to study it up close. 

To really see.

Astarion crosses the campgrounds until he’s above her only to be surprised by what he finds. 

There’s an expression on her face that he’s never seen before. She’s resting, but she looks… exhausted, fragile. 

She’s in a gown so revealing all Astarion can really notice is her dark hair and light skin flushed pink from the fire—she hates layers, complains that her adventuring clothes feel suffocating to her. 

She has beautiful skin. And there’s so much of it to see—her dress is hiked past her thighs to the point he can see her underwear and it’s so transparent he can see the color of her nipples and the flushed swell of her breasts. She is quite the sight, yet somehow he finds nothing erotic about it, she just looks vulnerable. Anyone, anything could kill her right now—she is a death wish personified and she could be his. 

Astarion nearly bites his own lip when he thinks of plunging his teeth into all that flesh. His hunger only deepens as he watches the rise and fall of her chest, which brings his gaze up to her bare neck where a lovely vein fills his vision and ignites in him a different kind of hunger that he had never experienced, and he knew better than anyone what it meant to starve. 

If he didn’t do something about this soon he was going to lose his godsdamn mind.

I need this to survive. I need this.

He is on his knees, but he doesn’t remember dropping to them. His thirst is a pale wasteland, cold and harsh and it feels all the more terrible when he’s so near this woman with blood that smells like a sunshower, fresh petals and the salt of tears cried—all the ingredients for living. 

He feels like he’s gone mad, unable to think about anything but the desire to drown in it. 

Astarion’s mouth waters, he sees red. He lowers himself above her neck and he opens his mouth, fully succumbing to his desire to taste and know her but when he looks down he sees gray waters, ocean blue. 

Her eyes are open.

“…Shit.” He tries to extricate himself from her as quickly as he can, he almost steps back but stops when he realizes that she doesn’t seem startled in the least.

She’s still lying on her back, looking up at him. He almost wonders if she’s sleeping with her eyes open when her mouth moves and she smiles at him. 

“Come to steal a kiss? Can’t blame you.” Her voice is soft, sleepy. “You could just…” Her face transforms to what he knows, if it was fragility he saw before then it was gone. 

“Suck my cock,” she gasps, eyes blown wide, she shoots up onto her elbows. “You’re a vampire.” 

Astarion takes a step back from her. He could not have her shouting and waking the others. “No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” 

But she doesn’t shout, she remains calm, almost too calm. “Red eyes? Fangs? You were about to bite me with them.” 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.”  

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” The way she says it unnerves him, like she can’t be bothered. She runs a hand through her hair which catches in a tangle of knots, she gives up on them, freeing her fingers with a look of annoyance. Then she sits up to pat the ground in front of her as if everything is fine , as if they are friends .

“Sit with me.”

Astarion hesitates. 

Because either she is the most objectively stupid person alive, or she is plotting to ram a stake in his heart. 

He takes his chances and sits down tentatively before her, but the woman just stares at him, she doesn’t say anything. 

What in the Hells is she thinking? 

Her silence spurs him to explanation, before she can decide she wants him dead after all. “I feed on animals, whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” Astarion grits his teeth, hating how desperate he sounds.

“That’s how I feel every morning without my coffee, but you don’t see me taking things from people without asking.” 

“I—” Astarion starts.

I’m not some monster, he almost says. But she’s not looking at him like a monster. She’s looking at him the same way she did all day, the exact same way. 

Still, he has to be sure that she trusts him. 

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please. ” 

He brushes against her mind, it’s the second time he’s done so but it feels different,  maybe it’s because he’s inviting her in, maybe it’s because she’s hiding less of herself, perhaps it’s because she trusts him more. Still, she rushes into him like an exploding spark, like she’s breaking pieces of herself, and that makes it damns difficult to think straight. 

Astarion tries to focus and shares with her the number of times he could have easily bitten anyone else, but instead, had yielded to living off animals and anything else he could get his hands on. Of course, he doesn’t show her that it was from lack of choice. He almost cuts his thoughts off from her, scared to reveal too much, when he catches sight of an image that doesn’t belong to him.

He sees an elderly woman with large, round orbs of silver-blue for eyes, they look just like Effy’s, except they peer from a face that has seen too much–a map of wrinkles and scars. 

Surprisingly, it is Effy that breaks the connection. She tilts her head at him. “I’d be your first human.”

Astarion balls his hands into fists, he hadn’t quite thought of it that way. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.” 

What delicious treats your lies give to me. Bring her. Now.

Astarion tries not to flinch from the revolting thought, from hearing his voice. No matter how far, he could still hear it, still couldn’t get away.

Effy is silent, the look she gives covers him like the sky…and there is no hiding from the sky. 

She’s going to say no. Who in their right mind would say yes?

“I only trust one person in the world.” Her voice is grave. “And she would say that a vampire that drinks from his first human is bound to protect them. If I give you my blood, you will have no choice but to fight for me.” 

“Yes, your blood will surely make me more equipped for the task.” Astarion responds automatically, the words spill out before he can process what she is really saying. 

Protect her? Is she joking?

He doesn’t need to look at her long to know she’s not, not even a little bit and somehow it makes the whole thing so damn funny to Astarion. 

He can’t believe his luck. 

Centuries he’d spent seducing and manipulating others, and still, no one has stopped him. 

He’s still here. He’s still doing the same thing. It’s still too easy. 

Effy nods. She agrees. Of course she does. 

“Is—is that a yes?” He stammers, because he still can’t believe it. 

“Only if you want to.” 

Only if I— She’s stark mad. 

“It’s important that you’re sure, that you find me worthy,” she continues, mistaking his silence for uncertainty. “Our binding will weave a thread between Shar and Selune, bringing their eternal conflict one step closer to the end–” 

How ridiculous. 

“ –for I will give you life, and you will give me death and then together - we will become something else entirely.” Then she breaks out of her solemn demeanor and grins at him. “And that sounds rather nice, doesn’t it?” 

She lays back down on her back and waves him over, like she wants to tell him a secret. 

Astarion catches himself digging his nails into the ground. It dawns on him that he’s going to drink her blood–human blood–for the first time. 

His body feels taut as a cord when he brings himself to his knees and plants his hands on either side of her head but when she turns to bare her neck, it takes every ounce of his willpower not to let go and bury himself in her. 

He pulls strands of her hair away, its silk in his hands, and the scent of it drags him into a summer evening—a garden of wild roses and blackcurrant. His fingers slip under her head to cradle it and the gesture feels so intimate it's almost sickening, he tries to focus on her smell because maybe then he could stay in that place that is uniquely her and away from the looming revulsion that hangs around him like a shadow.

“Just be gentle with me.” She whispers into his neck. He’s not sure why, but Astarion feels a strange twinge in his chest from the way she says it. 

Be gentle. 

It was the least he could do, but the second his fangs sink into the softness of her flesh, he is slammed by a devastating force that spurs in him something that is even greater, stronger and deadly.

Be gentle. 

He is surprised he can hang onto that thought, that he can register the way she shudders and gasps beneath him. He feels her hand run up his arm as if to cling for life—

Be gentle. 

—then her hand falls over his in surrender and she lets out a sigh that is unmistakably pleasing and it makes him want to be anything but gentle.

He has no one to compare her blood to, but he is sure animals will never satisfy again. She tastes divine, oh yes, she certainly does, but it’s not simply the way she tastes, it’s the way it moves through every piece of him. 

How every vein becomes knitted in his veins. How her blood mixes with his blood–  and how her heart beats for his heart. 

He is the one feasting on her, but he is the one that is claimed. 

Everything, every part of her becomes laced into all that he is, and he becomes, just like she’d promised—something else entirely. 

For a moment—that he would spend eternity wishing for—he is alive.

He feels her squeeze his wrist hard, but looking back on it later, he’s not sure if it was her way of telling him to stop. 

Desperate to not lose the feeling of her too quickly, he closes his eyes to savor it all when he pulls away from her. He doesn’t want to forget this. 

“That -  that was amazing.” The words feel like air in his dead lungs. He feels at his mouth, to savor any of her remaining essence—it’s too precious to waste. 

“My mind is finally clear. I feel strong I feel…” He pauses. “Happy.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he looks down at Effy who appears to be in a half-daze. 

“You’re really beautiful, do you know? It’s almost unfair,” she says.

Did I almost kill her?

“What—how much blood did you lose?” 

Effy raises a finger up to the sky behind him. “Seriously, I’m not kidding. You’re literally prettier than the moon. I could fucking cry looking at you.” 

Astarion lets out a sharp laugh. He reaches back down to wipe at the remaining blood from the wound on her neck with his fingers, he sucks them clean and his lashes flutter. She might be demented, but she tastes so godsdamn amazing .

He clears his throat, remembering himself and pulls a piece of cloth he meant to use to patch his shirt with. He puts it in Effy’s hand, prompting her to hold it up to her neck to staunch the bite, his bite—it sinks in that they would scar, that they would be there for the rest of her life. 

“…I might have gotten carried away…but I was just swept up in the moment.” 

“Good,” she sighs.

“Good?”

“It’s nice to be swept away, doesn’t it? Happy is good too, you know? I’m glad you are.” She pulls the cloth from her neck and holds it up to her face, to survey the blood there. “I feel numb.” 

She clutches the fabric tightly to her chest and Astarion notices the red blisters on her fingers—he’s not sure how he hasn’t before, they look painful.

“I’m…uh, I’m sorry .” The word feels weird in his mouth and according to the smile on Effy’s face, unnecessary to say. 

“Whatever for? It feels nice to not feel. I’ll probably actually get some real sleep around here for once.”

“Nice to not…Hells below.” Astarion snorts. “You won’t pass out will you? We sort of need you afterall to lead us into more danger.”

“I’m fine. I always am,” she says. Her eyes begin to close, like she might really drift off to sleep. “…you’ll protect me now, will you?” 

Astarion wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Won’t be long before we find out. So many people need killing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” 

That wasn’t true. For the first time, he feels like he doesn’t need anything at all. He just wants to go back in his tent to savor this memory. 

He turns to leave, until he hears her say, “Goodnight Astarion.” 

His first human.  The first time he drank what he wanted. And he felt, well, he was grateful.

“This is a gift you know. I won’t forget it.” He’s not sure if she heard him. When he looks over his shoulder he sees that she’s fast asleep again, but this time she looks… peaceful . 

Still, he feels a strange impulse to walk back and pull a blanket over her.

He shakes the thought away and returns to his tent but when he tries to slip into a trance all he can think of is her. Not his plans to manipulate or seduce her for his own preservation. 

Just her.

200 years. 73050 days.  Thousands of people—and she reminds me of no one. 

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Special Thank You: THANK YOU ALL FOR READING ❤️❤️❤️

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Until You Tag List: @hopeful-n-sad

[friccinfricks]

Joe Elliott x Reader: penpals edition, pt 2

WARNING: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT

SUPER DIRTY, DELINQUENT SMUT

MINORS DNI, 18+ EXCLUSIVE

nsfw content warning: (relatively) light bdsm, overall rough sex

- “oh… oh my god.”

- you’ve checked in early and made a mental note of the amenities in the hotel, particularly the spacious bathtub with jets.

- after the night you’re planning to have, you’ll definitely be looking forward to a hot bath. you hope so, at least

- the king sized bed sat across from a closet, which had sliding doors that also functioned as a mirror. you couldn’t help but smile when you saw yourself, completely in black, your skirt riding up and the buttons on your blouse clinging for dear life.

- you assured yourself, yes, tonight would be memorable in all the right ways.

- you also took note of the two silky white bathrobes that hung on the bathroom door. you wondered if you should change into one now, but after another once over, concluded that no, if you wanted the night ahead of you to be rough, it would be best to dress the part.

- sex with Joe wasn’t always rough, in fact it could be quite intimate and gentle, but lately you’d both been craving something animalistic.

- in the letters you’d written to each other, Joe detailed his hunger to you

- how badly he wanted to dig his hands into your hips as he fucked the living hell out of you.

- to hold you down and-

- just drill into you.

- you told him how much you ached for his touch, how badly you needed to feel him.

- you both thought about it constantly.

- you could already feel heat rise to your cheeks as you thought about those letters, previous nights, and the night that was right in front of you.

- you sighed and reached into your duffle bag, pulling out a book as you waited.

- and waited.

- and waited.

- and then you heard it, the sound of the lock turning, the flip of the light switch to the entry light. the shuffling of shoes and bags

- he did a double take when he saw you, curled on top of the duvet, book in hand. you made eye contact, an absolute shit eating grin on your face.

- “oh… oh my god.” he said it so softly, you weren’t even sure you heard him correctly.

- “Y/N!” he nearly shouted, dropping his bags and running towards you as you got up from the bed.

- “Joey!” he embraced you tightly, his hair and skin still slightly damp from the post-show shower.

- “How are you here?” he asked, just before he kissed you tenderly.

- “It’s… a lo…ng story.” you mustered between drawn out, increasingly wet and intense kisses.

- “I’m so happy you’re here.” he said softly. you felt him smirking against your lips, before he nipped at your bottom one and moved his hand from your lower back to your ass, quickly massaging it before giving it a brisk smack

- you leaned further into him, hissing air through your teeth, but humming satisfactorily as you felt him massage the spot again.

- before you could protest, Joe picked you up from your waist and tossed you on the bed.

- he climbed on top of you, purposefully placing one of his knees between your thighs.

- he sucked on your lip and moved down to your neck, clinging onto any skin he could.

- fuck, you’d missed this.

- suddenly, he stopped, pulled back and said, “Ah, love, I’m so sorry. I’ve needed to pee since before I got here.”

- you chuckled as you sat up, “go on, then.”

- “right. sit right there. and you know what?” he paused, leaned in and whispered in your ear. “I know you’re wet. why don’t you get us started?”

- he kissed your cheek and hopped off of you, quickly retreating to the bathroom. after a few minutes, you heard the faucet start and stop, the lock click, and he emerged.

- in his hand he held both of the belts to the silk robes, a smirk spreading across his face when your eyes met his.

- his eyes alone ravaged your body, taking in the sight of you leaning against the pillows with a hand tucked under your skirt, teasing your own entrance and clit.

- you sucked in a breath of air when he came back out, wearing only his boxers, with a very obvious outline of his raging erection.

- “Oh baby, do not expect to be let off easy tonight. not when you’ve shown up dressed in this.”

- you whimpered as he moved in on you, grabbing your wrist before replacing your fingers with his, and bringing your hand to his mouth. he gently sucked on them, closing his eyes in a tiny expression of ecstasy.

- “mmm, no panties?”

- “fuck” you whispered, ignoring his question as his index finger circled your entrance.

- “hmm? what’s that?”

- “I said fuck.”

- “Oh, I could have sworn you said, ‘please, fuck me like a slut.’”

- “That’s what I meant.”

- he smiled at you, before inserting a finger inside of you.

- he pumped it quickly, then added a second.

- by this point, you’re instinctively squeezing around his fingers, gripping the sheets around you and trying your best to stay quiet.

- “honey, did you bring your…?”

- your vibrator. you did, it’s sitting in your bag at the foot of the bed, but your ability to say all of that is highly impaired.

- you nod your head.

- “You did? where is it?”

- “it’s… it’s ov-”

- “words baby, use your words.” he says, feigning ignorance as he continuously curls his fingers up into your g-spot.

- “it’s over there, in my bag.”

- “thank you, love.”

- he pulls his fingers out and instead shoves them in your mouth this time. you make a small, muffled gasp as you taste yourself.

- “turn around, please.”

- “what?”

- “around. now.”

- he slides off of you and the bed as you sit up further and turn around, resting on your knees.

- he helps you slip your blouse off, soon followed by your skirt.

- another brisk smack against your ass.

- “hands.”

- you slowly place your hands behind your back, and are immediately met with the cold touch of silk being wrapped around your wrists, then tied exceptionally tightly.

- not that you have any desire to escape, you instinctively start to struggle once you feel the knot secured.

- “tsk tsk tsk. you’re not getting out this time.”

- you sighed as you felt his warm hands move your hair away from your neck

- he placed a soft kiss and reminded you, “just tell me if you need me to stop, okay? if it’s too much just tell me.”

- you nodded, he kissed your neck again, and muttered, “good.”

- you then felt the second silk belt wrap around your head and your eyes, looping twice to ensure its placement

- you felt Joe’s hands guide your shoulders to turn you back around and lean you into the pillows

- he kissed your cheek and whispered, “be a good girl and sit still for me, hmm?”

- you nodded

- “words.”

- “yes.”

- “yes what?”

- “yes sir.”

- a second kiss on the cheek

- you felt him walk away and soon heard him rummaging through your bag

- “oh, you dirty girl.”

- the vibrator started buzzing.

- you felt the bed shift as he sat down on it, he smacked the side of your thigh harshly.

- “go on, open up.”

- you listened and quickly parted your legs

- you didn’t last long.

- after just minutes you were squirming under his touch as he increased the intensity, pressing harder into your clit, arching your back when he added a surprise finger

- Joe loved making you shake like this, he found so much satisfaction in watching you unravel at his fingertips

- before long, you were softly whimpering, “Joe, please. I’m close”

- as soon as he heard this, he immediately turned off the vibrator and removed his fingers

- “what the fuck?!”

- he tossed the vibrator aside and shoved his fingers in your mouth again,

- “it’s my turn.”

- “your turn?” you mumbled against his finger tips

- “mhm.” he took them out of your mouth and took off the blindfold

- “hello again, sunshine.” he said softly, smiling

- “hello my dear.”

- he grabbed your hips and moved you further down on the bed, lifting them slightly as he aligned your entrance with the tip of his cock

- he leaned in and thrust his hips forward slightly, entering

- you both hitched your breath as he sank into you

- “shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

- “no, you’re so fucking big.”

- you both chuckled.

- “we’ll call it even, then.”

- after that, it was intense, hot, and fiery.

- he moved you into all sorts of positions,

- while in doggy, he turned you around to make you face the mirror so that you could watch him pound into you.

- during the transition from doggy to putting you on top of him, he removed your silky bonds so that you could hold onto his shoulders

- neither one of you could have said how long he’d been plowing into you, but you’d finished on his cock twice before you felt his hips start to stutter from beneath you

- “Y/N, I’m gonna cum. oh my god, I am going to fucking fill you to the brim.” he said through gritted teeth as he looked up at you

- you nodded and said, “do it.”

- immediately after you felt him finish twitching inside of you, you slid off and collapsed next to him

- in the dim lighting you watched the outline of his chest move up and down with each breath, yours doing the same

- he turned his head to smile at you, “thank you, my dear.”

- you laughed and said, “the pleasure is all mine.”

- he kissed your forehead and sat up, his smile disappearing when he noticed your neck

- “what’s wrong?”

- “um… do you have a problem with wearing turtlenecks everyday to work for a few days…?”

- your smile grew larger as you watched a blush run across his cheeks

- “no, not even a little bit.”

- “good.” his smile returned.

- soon after, he insisted on carrying you to the bathroom so that you could clean up and take a warm bath together

- you sighed contently as you leaned against his chest, your head fitting perfectly against his shoulder.

- “so, tell me about your trip.”

:)

[athenasparrow]

No. 19 - Shadow | Jily Micro March

Thank you @jilymicrofics, for the lovely prompts xx

Read on AO3 | 797 words

Or cut for story that includes smut xx 👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼

“So we’re done,” James said tentatively, breaching a topic they hadn’t discussed in months.

The sun had set and the warm summer air blew a gentle breeze of relief. The sky was a deep shade of blue on the verge of blackening into night. The symphony of laughs, clinking glasses and music still rung in James’ ears even in the quiet streets.

“Yeah, we are,” Lily said turning to face him.

She looked radiant, James thought as his eyes travelled over the stunning woman beside him. Well, she always looked radiant. But tonight, resplendent in her flowing red dress as she walked the shadowed streets of Paris, she looked positively breath-taking.

It was fitting then, that such a divine woman be surrounded by a scene straight out of a romantic fairytale. The old, irregular stones of the alley were softly illuminated by the warm glow of the streetlights, the air was full of the sweet aroma of pastries as the chefs began their day at dusk, and the warm breeze ruffled through the trees making James wonder what precious secrets were being whispered between them.

Eight months ago they’d agreed to be friends, even though James’ body had been aching for her since they’d met. Sometimes he swore his soul was stretching right out of his body, just trying to touch hers.

But they’d had research to do. And moving the needle forward on viral solutions for glioblastomas had been important to both of them. So important they’d agreed to put aside their overwhelming attraction for one another so they wouldn’t end up in a mess.

But eight months later and James’ feelings were far from resolved. He’d felt them burning inside him, growing stronger each day. He had been attracted to her from the moment he met her, how could he not be, but eight months later he had her friendship, her trust, and was her closest confidant. 

And now, as they stood on a deserted street in Paris, their last fundraiser done, James could finally kiss her.

Her lips seared against his like he imagined lava would hit the ocean. He felt a burning mist deep down his body and settle deep in his heart. The moment between them ignited, the kiss deep and urgent, fueled by a hunger that had been building for too long.

Fuck she felt good.

He captured the moan that escaped her as he slid his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss and moving their bodies so he could press her flush against the wall. James kissed her with abandon, the lights and noise of Paris fading away as he felt the contours of her body, heard the softness of her sounds, and the met the feverish intensity of her lips.

Her legs squeezed around him as he hitched her up so he was holding her, hands around thighs, moving to press hot kisses down her neck.

“Shit, I’ve waited a long time for this” Lily gasped out as he licked a gentle circle behind her ear before dragging his teeth across her earlobe, giving it a slight tug at the end.

Her confession caused a rumbling laugh to unravel deep in his chest as he pressed his hips into her, groaning long and deep.

“It’s been eight months of torture,” James agreed, finding her soft lips again, unable to stay parted.

“Many unsatisfactory wanks in the toilets at work?” Lily asked tauntingly, as she pulled his bottom lip between her teeth.

James’ hold on her faltered. Her back slid down an inch from where she was pressed into the outside of some poor sods house.

“You know about that?” he asked, staring at her in horror.

“At least I know you’re vocal when you finish,” she whispered, grinning against him as she resumed their sensual kiss, ignoring his huff of indignation.

“And if it makes you feel better, your little indiscretions at work made me soaked,” she said huskily.

“Fuck” James murmured.

“I thought you’d like that,” she said, letting her head rock back against the house as her breasts rose up and down rapidly as she caught her breath. James moaned, showing her how much he liked it by pressing into her so she could feel him hard and aching; by slipping his hand up her dress and down her knickers, murmuring a quick curse when he found her dripping. He showed her when he dropped to his knees, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder and took a long lick of her hot centre. And finally, he showed her how much he liked her dripping, and how much he loved her, when he buried himself inside her and made love to her against the side of the house, hidden by the shadows of the night.

[nero-vanderwolf]

When Izanami first opened her eyes, she was met with the brilliant shine of dawn. 

It shone bright and golden through the morning mist, sending beautiful mosaics of light onto the floor of the apartment. 

Beside her lay her beloved, the one she would go through fire and shadow for, the one, the only one, who knew her for what she was and remained by her side. 

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, wondering idly what it was he dreamt of. Did he dream of his home back in Tatsumi Port? Did he dream of better places than this? 

Did he dream of her? 

She smiled at the idea. Long ago, they had sworn to never become close. They promised each other they would only remain acquaintences as long as he was in Inaba. Now here he was, holding her close like she was a valued treasure that he couldn’t bear to part with. 

As he dreamt, Izanami wondered what it would feel like to have him by her side forever. Never grieving, never searching for his wandering soul in her domain. No, never searching, for he would be the king by her side. He would be the first mortal ruler of her kingdom, and thus it would always be. 

What would happen, she wondered, if she gave him a piece of herself? A fragment of her immortality. Would he accept it? Would he take it, glad and happy for the chance to remain with her? Did he even consider her the same way as she did him? 

As though sensing her doubt, her beloved stirred beside her. Tired eyes blinked away the sleepiness, and he brushed her hair from her face. Such a tender, intimate gesture... Her heart ached, yearned to tell him of her desire, of her wish. But now was not the time. Not when he was pressing a kiss to her forehead, as she had to him when she first awoke, and giving her a rare genuine smile. 

Their love was disgusting. It was bloody and messy and full of guts and bones. But there was something sweet to be found in the gore of her ribcage and the rip and tear of his teeth. Bloodsoaked smiles and terrible, messy kisses. Her beloved swearing, over and over in between shredding the meat from her bones, that he would never, as long as he remained on this earth, leave her. 

Never leave her. 

Izanami closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. Her beloved always found a way of driving all weariness from her body. 

As she lay there, she thought back to many months ago. Her beloved was not yet her beloved- simply Tohru Adachi, a man she had given incredible power to out of boredom. Yet there had been something there, a pull that drew her towards him. An urge, almost, to hold power over his head and watch as he struggled for it, rewarding him when he came close. 

He had told her of his deeds in the TV world, of the women he had pushed in with no remorse all because they didn’t suit his needs. They could not satiate his hunger, they could not fill the emptiness inside him, where Izanami knew she could. 

So she had smiled, a cigarette between her fingers, and leaned against him like a light pole. No personal space for her little mutt, the source of her entertainment. 

“You’re pretty cruel, aren’t you, Keiji-san? Thought police were supposed to be the good guys,” she’d said, catching herself with ease as her mutt stepped away. 

“We are. I don’t have a clue what you mean. Me, cruel? You wound me, Nami,” he responded, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Izanami was so glad she had chosen him to be her little plaything. He was effortlessly entertaining. 

All the better for the fog. 

Now here she was, ribcage split and open for that same plaything to take whatever he pleased, whatever he needed. Now here she was, completely and utterly devoted to that mutt, for better or worse. 

Blood soaked the bone-white sheets beneath them, her beloved’s teeth were red and dripping, and caught her lip a bit when they kissed. 

She would tear this world up by its roots for him if he asked. 

“My beloved,” she whispered, and he stilled beside her. Listening. Waiting. 

...No. Not today. Today was a day of peace, of love. Perhaps tomorrow. 

“...I love you. Please... Never leave.” 

She felt arms wrap around her, pulling her close, and she almost wept. He was there, he was beside her. He would never leave. 

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice a whisper. 

All would be well. She would keep him at her side, and there they would remain. 

All would be well in time. 

RAAAAAGHHH IZADACHIII fuck where do i begin. the fucking cannibalism symbolism gets me everytime. it looks so cruel and disgusting from an outside view, but to them it's their love. and the mortal x immortal stuff... the fear that one day her love will die. just wanting to give anything to live with him forever, anything to make him immortal like her. i love both of them being hungry for affection and for love. adachi secluded himself from love, and izanami's love betrayed her, but together they just. ravage each other. they finally get the love they longed for. i love your izanami writing mav its so yummy GRRRHHAHHHHHHGHH

[dark-elf-writes]

🎭 For WSTS Harry.

Send in a character or characters and an icon and I’ll give you…

🎭 A headcanon about what they lie about

Everything.

The hat told Harry he could have been a snake before placing him in the lions den. He hasn’t really felt like either of those. If asked, Harry would say he feels like a spider, sitting in his web of carefully crafted lies that he has been cultivating for as long as he can remember.

“I’m not hungry,” The five year old version of him says to a teacher, smiling through the hunger pains with his hand holding onto her desk so the lightheadedness doesn’t send him to his knees. Her smile is sad as her mouth forms an unfamiliar name. (Not Freak or Boy but a name that was tossed at his feet as an afterthought. Abandoned, just like he had been and left to the very last second. He isn’t sure how he feels about it.)

“I’m sorry I was bad” The ten year old version of him says through clenched teeth, eyes down and suppressing the trembling of his arms through sheer force of will. The truth doesn’t matter here, not in this world where the Dursleys rule and Harry is left to scramble for the scraps they leave behind: broken army men and bread crusts clenched in too small hands. Dudley smiles from outside the room, content that his rightful place is upheld.

“I’m not crying” the eleven year old version of him gasps, wiping away the tears with rough hands as he forced himself to laugh, to pull back from the only warmth he has ever known and try, desperately, to remind himself how to breathe. Hermione has returned from Christmas break and the hug she gave him was automatic, thoughtless. Like he deserves it just by merit of being there. It’s the first hug he has ever had. He wonders if they always feel so warm.

“You don’t scare me,” the fourteen year old version of him spits at a monster. The body of his classmate, his friend, lays across the graveyard and the bones of the lost, the hated, dig into his feet through his too-thin shoes. Voldemort can touch him now, Harry doesn’t think he has ever been more terrified in his life.

“I’m ready to die,” The seventeen year old version of him whispers, trembling lips pressed to the cold metal of the snitch. He isn’t surprised when it opens, revealing the stone he had been looking for all this time. He isn’t surprised when they show up either, the faces of those he has loved and lost. Lairs too as they tell him death is nothing to be afraid of. That it is a release. (He should have known better. There is no happy ending planned for him. No gentle goodnight. He is a weapon, a soldier, with hands painted red with blood and steel in his spine. There are no happy endings for someone like him.)

“I’m just not tired,” The nineteen year old version of him laughs, all broken glass and shattered bone as he hikes a screaming toddler higher on his hip. A baby raising a baby. He hasn’t slept in nearly a week now, hasn’t been able to sit more than a few minutes at a time with the need to move pressing against his skin. Like it has been since he woke up, a five days ago, with the aching raw edges of his scar surrounding his eye and the knowledge that he shouldn’t be alive once again threatening to shatter him entirely. Once was an accident. Twice is a pattern.

“I love you” the twenty year old version of him tells a man with cold silver eyes and a painted on smile. It doesn’t feel like a lie, not like the other ones have, but it enters the web all the same. It takes Harry four more years to realize why.

“It’s not that bad,” He says now, not meeting Shouta’s dark eyes as his thumb traces over the words carved into the back of his hand. The words he had laughed until he sobbed when he realized they would forever be a part of him. ‘I must not tell lies’ as if he knows how to do anything else. The words Shouta always gravitates to like he understands. Another hand, rough in different places but just as familiar as the one tracing those scars, hooks under his chin and drags his eyes up to meek soft smoldering red.

(He had hated red eyes for so long, had been driven from what little sleep he managed to get with them chasing him, with them looking back at him in the mirror, but now he wonders why he had been so afraid. The man, yes, would always hold court in the darkest parts of his mind, but the color… he was realizing was quite beautiful.)

“You don’t have to lessen yourself for us,” Hizashi whispers, so quiet compared to their larger than life persona outside of the safety of this dorm. “You don’t have to pretend that it’s no big deal. If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s fine, but please don’t pretend that what happened to you is okay.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know what to say to a lot of the things Shouta and Hizashi tell him, but for the first time in his life he thinks he doesn’t want to lie anymore.

[suntiger745]

Hope

-screams and the clash of steel. She instinctively rushed towards it. There was pain when she moved, but it hardly registered. There was always pain. Then she saw them, three humanoids in battle with both devils and an ilithid. She dove towards them, shortsword and dagger sinking into soft purple flesh. The ilithid died first and her blood sang. Then a devil, an imp, another devil. Then there are no more devils. The humanoid, a human male, speaks to her. "Thank Tempus you arrived when you did, friend! Even here, all hope is not lost! Quick, come with us, we must- Darkness.

-huddling in a crook of the ilithid ship. There is only her and the human now. Another, half-elven female, is laying on the ground, still. Two chitinous spikes are still sticking out of her throat. The man speaks. "Lord of Battle watch over you, Thalia." he turns to her, a suit of chainmail and a gambeson still mostly untouched, somehow, by the battles in his hands. "Here. Your armor is in tatters. This will protect you. I think Thalia would be proud to see you wear it." A ghost of a smile flits over the features marked by sorrow and exhaustion. "Perhaps if we survive this I can take you to our temple and, if you are willing, have you swear the oaths of a paladin of Tempus properly." She takes the armor. It feels heavy. Then lighter. There is magic in it, though as she begin to put it on there is comfort and unease in equal measure filling her. She wonders why briefly, but then she rises. There is little time for reflection or rest. The ilithids and devils are still after them. Darkness.

-on her knees beside Harrin. There is a gaping wound in his side. She is excited and angry as she tries in vain to staunch it. "Blasted devil... got a last hit in..." he looks at her. "Not a bad... death, all in all." he gasps in pain, the continues. "Keep going. Survive. Tell my order... There is still hope... With you." Her heart aches more than her wounds for a moment and another part of her wants to bend down and rip the human's throat out with her teeth. The conflict distracts her in a vital moment. She catches a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye, then there is darkness. Faintly in her mind she hears: :Put it in a pod. It must not escape again.:

She wakes from a shudder and crackling sound, the ilithid pod that held her opening. She blinks, then stumbles out. There is little pain now but she feels... weak. Not physically, but she has lost something. She tries to search her memory, but there are only fragments. Looking down on the armor she's wearing, she manage to recall a few bits of memory. She must be Hope, it seems. Moving towards the damaged vat with the tadpoles - she does remember that. The githyanki female, the attack by the dragon. With new purpose, she moves towards the exit.

Despite her urges, she recognize the need for allies in this moment. The tadpole and her fragmented memory makes her vulnerable.

More allies are found. An ilithid found still alive though, is quickly dispatched.

She finds the githyanki warrior from the ship, and tell her about her urges. She is quite understanding and supportive, but also cautions her.

A knight of darkness and fire comes to their camp. Oathbreaker he calls her. She objects. She has sworn no oaths. The knight insists, telling her that her memory does not recall it, yet he can feel it upon her and within her. However, he does not judge her for it, merely opens a path for her to walk.

Whatever is in her past, she does not want to be chained or restricted by anyone. She accepts his path.

Her memory is still fragmented, she still has an ilithid tadpole in her head, but now she feels... hope. For herself. Her new companions seem cautiously approving.

Yet unbeknownst to her, there is now quite the family resemblance to her sister, especially in those moment when she enjoys the urge raising its sharp-edged hunger.

(The screenshot of Orin is not my own. It's from Farntube, an italian gaming site. Needed an image of Orin from the shoulder's up, smirking, to compare and contrast Hope.)

[troublewithvampires-a]

Closed starter for @swxpped :3c

The sound of footsteps echoed all around Salvatore’s empty, concrete cell as the vampire paced back and forth, his head bowed low and his arms wrapped tight around his emaciated midsection. His blood red eyes were wide and wild, and he felt a churning in his long-dead heart that he hadn’t in a long time.

Earlier that day, a new caretaker had been foolish enough to enter Salvatore’s enclosure alone, noticeably without the silver around their neck that would protect them. Almost immediately, Salvatore lunged, slashing their face with his claws as he snapped at their throat. Unfortunately, and embarrassingly, he wasn’t able to actually bite them, as the other caretaker on duty caught wind of what was going on and quickly intervened. Bullets couldn’t hurt Salvatore anymore, but the silver nitrate they poured on him burned like a motherfucker.

Though he’d ripped the new caretaker a new one, he hadn’t gotten his meal, and now he was in pain and significantly more aware of his hunger than usual. Salvatore didn’t need blood to survive, sure, but the starvation still lingered heavily in his bones. All these years, and he hadn’t had even a single fucking drop.

More than that, though, Salvatore felt an aching sort of loneliness deep in his gut. He’d attacked the caretaker, sure, but before that, the kid had seemed eager to talk to him. People didn’t talk to Salvatore anymore--Victor had made sure of that. Yet this bright-eyed, fresh addition to Victor’s staff had decided to be the exception.

And what did Salvatore do? He ripped into them like a fucking animal. Shit, he really was a goddamn monster, wasn’t he?

Frustrated and furious at both himself and the world, Salvatore had taken to pacing his cell, glaring daggers at the cameras he knew were always watching him.

“Hope you’re enjoyin’ the fuckin’ show!” he snarled to the empty air. “Ol��� Sally finally put in his fuckin’ place, huh? Yeah, you sick fuck, I bet this is what you always wanted!” Nothing greeted him but his own voice, of course. Victor never spoke to him either, even though he knew the fucker was always listening.

Eventually, Salvatore grew tired of his frustrated pacing and collapsed near the back corner of his cell, in a little spot he’d learned was just out of the cameras’ view. He ground his sharp teeth together and growled, more to himself than anything. It felt good to be angry, but it wasn’t long before the anger melted out of him. He knew it was useless. No amount of anger would save him now.

Salvatore lay there on his side, huddled into a ball and staring into nothing. He did that a lot these days. However, it wasn’t long before his exhausted eyes fell on something he hadn’t noticed before: a small gap in the concrete wall, perhaps an inch or two long at most, only a few feet away. It was pretty unremarkable for the most part, but something about it had Salvatore transfixed, especially when he realized he could hear faint sounds of movement from the gap. Was there someone on the other side…?

Slowly, the vampire sat up, shuffling closer to the gap in the wall and pressing one pointed ear to it. Yes, he could hear someone on the other side. Most likely not a caretaker, because he couldn’t smell anything human there, but still someone. Someone alive and breathing and, hopefully, capable of talking.

Salvatore would never admit to the hopeful little smile that crossed his face as he pulled his head back to stare in wonder at the gap. Abruptly, he felt nervous, but more than anything he was excited. If this was real, he could finally talk to someone.

Feeling more than a little giddy, Salvatore leaned in and spoke into the gap in his dry, raspy voice, “Hello? Anyone there?”

[navybrat817]

Just imagine Nick with his girl in a chill day. Like, just in the bed, naked and eating ( anything that you think 😏).

Maybe a little bit of eating, nonnie. 😏

Wake Up Call

Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female Reader Summary: Just a morning in bed with NIck. Word Count: Over 900 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, brief oral sex (f. receiving), brief unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), married life, Nick Fowler (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: You all know me by now. Not beta read and written on my phone, any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment if you feel inclined!

Keeping you in bed is one of Nick's favorite things. He should have felt guilty since he was going to wake you up early, knowing he wore you out the night before. But you're the one who made him so insatiable and he wouldn't be denied. Pulling the sheet away, his gaze roamed your body possessively. Your eyes opened briefly in protest as you curled up for warmth.

Nick was always enthralled when he saw the love for him in your eyes. His own reflected the same, but with an intensity that would make most go still. And that was the difference between the two of you. While you were soft, warm and inviting, he was the rough edges that left invisible marks along you, claiming you as his.

Like your wedding ring.

He took your hand in his, admiring the band circling your finger as he brought it closer to his face. He had it made just for you because you were one of a kind. Smiling to himself, he pressed his lips against it. Part of him wondered if you ever compared the ring to a shackle, keeping you chained to him for all time.

He would never let you go.

You made a small sound in the back of your throat as his lips moved to your wrist. He smirked as he tongue stroked along your racing pulse, the way it would move against your sweet pussy. "Go back to sleep if you want, sweetheart," he mumbled against your skin, even as he shifted to lay you on your back.

"Can't. I'm cold," you mumbled back, but your legs fell open, beckoning and begging for him to take you.

What kind of husband would he be if he didn't oblige?

"Are you?" he asked, his fingertips ghosting along your cheek before he bent his head to take possession of your mouth. Just as your legs opened for him, so did your lips. So soft and pliant, urging him to take you over completely. He'd make sure the heat of his body would warm you as he split you open. "Mmm. You can still sleep with my cock inside you. Keep you nice and full."

You moved restlessly underneath him before he settled between your legs, spreading them more with his hands. The mewl you let out when his teeth nipped and scraped over your inner thigh made his need rise to the surface. "Please, don't tease me."

"You're the fucking tease," he groaned, his tongue easing some your undoubted ache as he licked a stripe along your slit. Oh, you'll ache when I'm done with you. "Going to bed naked and ready for me."

As if he'd let you sleep any other way. Lingerie was always discarded or ruined before the night was over. He swore you bought some of it to test his patience. Whether he ripped it to shreds or slowly undressed you, he always had you squeezing around his cock by the time he was done with you. The way it would always be.

"Who said I was ready for you?"

The hunger in his eyes shifted to determination as he smirked up at you. Oh, you're in one of those moods. "You're not?" he questioned, gently spreading your lips with his fingers as if to inspect you. "You feel wet," he murmured before he licked you again. "Mmm. And you taste ready for me," he added, using his tongue to fully explore your walls. He wanted to bury his cock in the warm haven of your body, but not until you begged.

"Nick," you whined when you pushed your hips against his face, his hand firmly holding you down.

"Said you were cold. That you wanted to sleep," he taunted, flicking your clit. He loved watching your body jerk when he was still in control. "I said you can still sleep with me inside you. So close your eyes. Dream of my mouth on your sweet pussy before I stretch you with my cock."

"Fuck, please!" you cried as your hand flew to his hair.

"Please, what?" he asked, wrapping his lips around your bundle of nerves and humming. He knew your body, knew what buttons to push. He could bring you to the edge and pull you back before you could fall. And he could do it long enough that you drenched him by the time he made you come. "Tell your husband what you want and maybe I'll give it to you."

He lifted his head again to watch your breasts rise and fall, tempting him to grab the nipple clamps. Later. "Please, let me have your cock," you begged, smiling down at him. "Ruin me. Show me why I'm yours."

Just like he knew what buttons to push, you knew how to push his as well. You fed his possessive nature well. You were perfect for him. And his cock had been hard with need the moment he pulled the sheet from your body. "Say it again," he demanded as he stroked himself.

"Ruin me, Nick. Don't you want to take care of your wife?"

Fucking minx, sweetheart. You drive me crazy. He wrenched a cry from your throat as he sheathed you, grabbing your chin as he stretched over you. "You know… I said you could close your eyes, but I changed my mind. Watch me ruin you before I fuck you to sleep."

*****

Hope you enjoyed. Love and thanks! 💙

[radiowallet]

Yours

Kinktober Day 5(?) - Breeding Kink

Main Masterlist II Kinktober Masterlist

Summary: You have some news for Marcus. Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader WC: 1.4K Warnings: Mature 18+ MDNI Breeding kink, pregnancy, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, vaginal fingering, cream pie, slight cock warming, slightly possessive behavior, dirty talk. Just Marcus being stupidly happy about putting a baby in you. A/N: I wasn't actually planning on doing this one, but it's been collecting dust in my WIP folder for a while, and I thought it would be a good time to set it free. Technically, this started as a PWC one-shot, but it definitely reads as a stand alone. Dedicated to the one and only @magpie-to-the-morning who uttered the phrase "Put many babies in me" in regards to Mr. Moreno and Emma-- when you're right, you are so very right.

Marcus hadn’t stopped touching you since you broke the news earlier that day. He seemed incapable of moving away from you, even for a second, as if stepping away would make you and everything you built together fall away.

All throughout the evening he looked on you with awe, eyes shining glassy wet, lips parted around thankful disbelief, hands always finding you. And beneath it all, under all of his love and adoration, was a hunger, fierce and protective and snapping in time with the beat of your heart. 

A hand on your cheek, your waist, your stomach.

And you couldn’t help but wonder, curled in bed together at the end of the night, what other touches were still left to come. 

“A baby?”

You shuffle closer to Marcus between the sheets of your bed, fingers reaching out to cup his jaw and pull him close enough to feel his breath along the seam of your lips. Immediately his hands are on your waist, twisting you until you’re beneath him, his nose nuding yours playful, his smile catching in the street light filtering between the curtains.

He’s just as surprised now as he had been when you told him — a hilarious, anxiety riddled misunderstanding that led to you sharing the blessed news in a rush to calm him down— that only had Marcus bursting into tears immediately. 

“But…but we haven’t been trying. I wasn’t…do you…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mixing with your own tears. “I think your superhero sperm took my birth control as some sort of challenge.”

“But…do you want…?”

The question didn’t even have time to take up weight in the air, your lips on his answering his doubt. 

Yes. You very much want. 

“My baby?”

He says it reverently. Something like worship coloring in around his words. You know he doesn’t mean it in a possessive sort of way, but still there’s a thrill down your spine, a flare of heat sparking to life as his lips find your ear with one single word.

“Mine?”

“Yours,” you promise, and you feel his cock jolt at the word, half hard against your hip. 

“Shit,” he groans, forehead falling forward against your own. “Our baby. My baby.”  

He doesn’t stop whispering the chant. Not once. Not even as he slips down your body, kissing every inch of skin his path crosses, until finally his lips are hovering at the apex of your sex. The air changes, the room quiet, only Marcus’s breathing left to fill your ear, the need between your legs suddenly screaming for relief. 

“Marcus,” you plead, hips arching up. 

He doesn’t hesitate, reaching up and guiding your hands to the back of his head. You tug gently, a grunt of appreciation meeting the touch, and it’s the only encouragement you need to push him towards where you ache most for contact. Marcus goes comfortably, his tongue carving deeply between your folds, again and again, drinking down every drop of arousal that pours out of you. 

His tongue swirls up and around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips before releasing it, only to lap at you again. His face is practically buried inside of you, nose bumping again and again into your clit, tongue and teeth scraping sweetly at the folds of your weeping cunt.

You can only pull him closer, legs wrapping around his head, heels digging just below his shoulder blades. His fingers find the meat of your ass, pulling and digging, his own groans of pleasure vibrating through the waves of your pleasure.

Heat coils deep in your gut and spreads out like syrup, up your spine and down your legs, leaving you trembling beneath Marcus. You clench hard around his tongue, body shifting and shaking as you crest up and over your release, ecstasy slamming into you as he continues to drink you down. Before you’ve even begun to recover, he pulls away, just barely but it’s enough for you to whine out a pathetic cry. He shushes you, fingertips finding your clit to ease the loss. 

“Fuck, you taste sweeter, baby.”

You want to laugh, but you can’t catch your breath, his fingers still stroking softly at your clit, the last of your orgasm coursing through your system. You twist your head from side to side in protest, a frantic too soon falling from your lips. Your vision is bright white bursting black, legs shaking where they’re still wrapped around Marcus’s head. You feel him lean in, the whiskers of his beard rubbing at your overheated skin, and he hums as takes another lick between your folds, groaning audibly at the taste.

“You do. I promise.”

And then he’s climbing back up your body, kissing you long and slow and deep, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue as it slips between your lips. You moan into the kiss, something sweet settling on your tastebuds, heady enough to have your hips bucking, the need between your legs roaring back to life. Marcus is quick to comply, happy to give to you again and again, the hard length of his cock sinking inside you.

“A baby. I put a baby inside you. Inside my pretty little wife. Fuck.”

His mouth is a runaway train, lips pressed into the curve of your neck, his words grinding out in time with each thrust of his hips. You’re already sensitive, hormones and adrenaline screaming in your veins, and without warning you already feel another wave of pleasure unfurling inside your core. Marcus doesn’t miss a single beat, slamming into you harder and harder, fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs, pushing your legs as wide as they can go. 

“Filled you with my cum. Filled you up full and you’re gonna have a baby. My baby. Gonna be so round. So beautiful.”    

Again and again, his cock punches up inside you, and you do your best to muffle your cries into the meat of his chest, another orgasm already starting to crest inside you. 

“M-Marcus…”

“Shhh, I know, baby. I feel you. Fuck, you feel so good. So wet. Soaked for me.” He thrusts a little hard, grinding his hips into your own, everything slicked in sweat and arousal where your bodies meet. And still, he can’t seem to stop himself, his words coming faster the closer you both get to the edge. 

“I’m close too… I promise. Gonna fill you up again. Pump my cum inside you. Fuck you full of me. Keep my cock stuffed in you. Can’t waste any of it.” 

His voice is ragged, every promise sending a fresh wave of slick out of you, your pussy clenching down hard around his cock. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know you can’t get pregnant again, but his words are like a drug, pulling you under the crashing waves, and suddenly you hear yourself begging.

“Yes, yes, please – fill me up. Fuck your cum into me. Make me keep it inside … please … Marcus-”

Your words choke off, his hips shifting, just enough to find that spot deep inside you. Everything is burning too hot too fast and you’re coming again, a sobbing gasp parting your lips. Marcus doesn’t stop, his voice growing more frantic as he chases down his own release.

“So pretty. Pretty wife fucked full of my cum. Gonna be so beautiful – fuck – I can’t wait…”

And then he’s crying out your name, face buried into your neck, tears and sweat and spit pooling on your skin, cum spilling out of him and into you. His thrusts are fast, desperate, and you feel yourself trembling as you ask for more, more and more, your fingers digging into the hard planes of his back. 

Too soon Marcus slows to a stop, every movement more shallow than the last, his weight a comforting blanket on top of you. He doesn’t pull away, even as you feel him soften, as if he’s trying to trap all of himself deep inside. You think maybe you could sleep like this, content and sated and feeling so very full. Your husband seems to agree, his warm breath marking time on the curve of your neck, his hands soothing a gentle pattern along your hips. 

Sleep is just about to find you, and him as well, you’re sure of it, but then his voice pulls you back, just enough, with one final question.

“A baby?”

“Yours.”