#hopefully i can focus enough to read

[wanderingmind867]

I'm going to try reading the library books soon, but first, I want to make a post giving my first impressions of the five books just based on summaries/synopses I found online and the book titles and stuff like that.

Serwa Boateng's Guide to Vampire Hunting: Idk how to feel here. For one thing, it's based on Ghanian folklore. I don't know too much about Ghana, besides that it's in West Africa and I've seen people from there on reality tv, and that my dad might work with someone from Ghana (which probably counts for nothing). So learning about a new culture sounds interesting. But also... vampire hunting. Usually not my cup of tea. I hated Blade and other vampire hunters in comics, because vampires are still sentient beings! They live, they feel, they have every right to live! Who are we to play god and decide to kill them!? Peaceful coexistence is the way, if it's possible! So... we'll see if my bias sneaks in.

Paola Santiago and the River of Tears: I do like mexican mythology (probably partially because there was that weird trend in animated films based on the day of the dead like Coco and The Book of Life, shortly before I fell off the animation and film/tv bandwagon). But also: this book is apparently based on the myth of La Llorona. And that's the story of a woman who killed her kids in a fit of rage, and who now cries for all time, bringing misfortune to all (according to wikipedia). So the fear is this will mess me up, and be too spooky.

Winston Chu vs the Whimsies: This one is apparently based on Chinese mythology, which is another area i'm not knowledgeable in. The synopsis made it sound supernatural too, but I don't know if it's supernatural in the mostly funny and charming way, or in the super spooky way. Still, this one is one of the two I have the most faith in.

Daughter of the Deep: Written by Rick Riordan, and apparently based on the writings of Jules Verne. So that's one plus and one minus. I don't like or care for Jules Verne, but I do tend to like rick Riordan. So I have some hope here.

Pahua and the Soul Stealer: This title alone sounds spooky. I pray it's not too spooky, because again, I have nerves so bad that too much fear would traumatize me. But I'm holding out hope, because this is apparently about the folktales of the Hmong. And the Hmong are an Asian ethnic group I never even knew existed, really. So maybe I'll learn some stuff? If I can see past the discomfort.

So I'll start with Winston Chu or the Daughter of the Deep today, probably. That's the two I have the most faith in. Following them is the Serwa Boateng book, probably.

[stopper-my-heart]

Nothing like Heartstopper S2E8 removing some of Taylor Swift's "seven" lyrics just so that the singing can specifically come back in at "Or hide in the closet" while Isaac is processing difficult emotions related to the book he's reading (i.e., Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex by Angela Chen).

Did I mention "Or hide in the closet" hits just as the camera focus finishes shifting away from Isaac?

This is fine

[cent-scratchnsniff]

progressing through the myth of sisyphus again

[orcelito]

Despite all odds, I have arrived home safely👍

Turns out that the earlier goop was the better goop. The adderall goop. The adderall has worn off now though. So I am. Very incredibly out of it.

But I am home. And I will take my quick shower. And then I will climb into bed.

I do need to eat. But... later...

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

yell at me if u see me on here now goodbye FOREVER (for the rest of the day)

[chevaliermalfets]

OF COURSE the jury president for my candidacy exam is a magnetic materials guy

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[ohsc]

₊˚⊹♡ letting you | sam winchester x reader

a/n - this might be the fastest i’ve ever written a fic??? it’s pure filth so that might be why but LMAO, i love love love the idea of soft dom sam sm he melts my brain, hopefully this is good!! getting back into writing after taking a break from being sick bc my brain wouldn’t work. special thanks to my friend who helped me brainstorm the delicious idea ilysm !! <3

cws - fem!reader, 1.6k, nsfw 18+, softdom!sam, sub!reader, cockwarming, masturbation, praise, kinda unedited

other fics can be found on my masterlist

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The only thing she could hear was Sam’s soft breathing, and the soft tap tap tap of his laptop keys behind her.

If she paid close enough attention, she could hear the way his shirt rustled when he moved his arms, the soft fluttering of book pages being turned, but her focus wasn’t really attainable, it was slipping through her fingers with each excruciating moment that she was sat there.

Sam shifted in his seat out of a pure intention to get comfortable, and his cock nudged deeper inside of her wet heat, dragged a soft gasp from her lips, which just earned her a soft “shh, honey” against the shell of her ear.

It had been her fault that she was in that position in the first place. She’d been a little too needy with Sam when he was trying to research, and on her third attempt at trying to initiate a — much needed, mind you — make out, he’d grabbed her hips and tugged her into his lap facing him. His voice had been a little stern as he told her to pull his cock out, and the tone of his voice alone had her cunt clenching around nothing as she quickly did as she’d been asked. She knew that voice, she’d had it in her ear most nights, whispered against her throat, against the plush of her thighs. It meant he was in control.

Sam had sat back from the library's table for enough time for her to pull his cock out and pull aside her panties, sank down onto him with a soft moan, but before she could move he grabbed her hips tightly, kept her still.

“Don’t move,” he’d dipped his head down and kissed her throat, pulse fluttering beneath his lips. “Stay there while I finish up and I’ll take care of you after, hm?”

If she was feeling a bit more bratty she would’ve whined or complained or just moved anyways, but his voice in her ear and his hands on her hips had her head spinning, so she just nodded and tucked her head against his throat as he leaned over her to continue what he was doing, completely focused, as if he wasn’t buried deep inside her pussy at that moment.

That had been twenty minutes ago.

It was becoming torturous.

Sam was unfairly skilled at keeping composed. He was also unfairly skilled at winding her up. Those two went hand in hand, it seemed, because each second that passed just worked her up more and more. All she could focus on was the warmth of his body pressed to hers, his cock nestled deep inside of her, the lack of stimulation. When she’d came out to the library with her attempt at bothering him, she’d craved a genuine release, not this.

Her hips shifted slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut, huffed out a soft “Sammy” against his throat when that slight movement was enough for her pussy to throb around him.

“Stay still.” He murmured without as much of a look in her direction. She glanced up at him and his eyes were locked forwards, pupils shifting left to right as he read whatever was displayed on his laptop screen. Tap tap tap, more pages turned, more reading, rinse, repeat. He was killing her.

Barely a minute had passed before she made another soft sound against the warm skin of his throat, lips brushing his neck, “Baby please-”

“My hands are busy, sweetheart,” his voice was so nonchalant it drove her up the wall. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Her eyes squeezed shut as she huffed against his throat again. “Can you just take a break?”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I’m almost done, you’ll just have to wait,” he tsked, a hand briefly pet her hair, the touch so light it was like he was purposely depriving her of any stimulation. “If you’re that needy, you have two hands of your own, baby. Sort yourself out until I’m finished with this.”

She released a shuddered breath against his throat, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.

“Hey,” one of his hands came up to the side of her neck and he pressed his thumb against her jaw, tilted her head back until he could meet her eyes. “I told you I’d sort you out once I finished, didn’t I?”

She nodded, bit the inside of her cheek.

“So isn’t it nice of me that I’m letting you get yourself off in the meantime?”

Letting you. Her cunt throbbed again.

“Yeah.” She whispered.

Sam leaned down and kissed her, just a soft little peck, and somehow it just riled her up more. “I’ll be done soon. Go ahead and sort yourself out for me, sweetheart.”

He let go of her jaw and moved his arms to the table again, continued tapping at his laptop, and her eyes scrunched closed again as she tipped forward and rested her forehead against his throat. But she was so needy that she didn’t think twice about following his instructions. One hand stayed tucked at his waist, fingers curled into the soft material of his flannel, and her other reached between them and tucked under the material of her shirt, fingering at the waistband of her panties until she slipped beneath those too, and she was so fucking wet that she was undoubtedly making a mess of his jeans from just sitting there.

Her fingers dipped down, pressed against her clit, and she shuddered as the stimulation made her clench around his cock deliciously. She pressed her fingers forwards again, started to shamelessly rub herself, exhaled soft little moans and sighs against his throat.

Before she could do anything else Sam’s voice was in her ear again, “Quiet, sweetheart. You’re meant to be letting me work, don’t make me tell you to stop.”

Her jaw clenched as she exhaled shakily, eyes squeezed shut, and she huffed a breath against his throat as she took a moment to compose herself. Now that she’d started touching herself, it’d just be a torture to stop, so she just nodded against his throat with the intent to keep herself quiet.

It took a moment for her to settle on a pace. She was a bit too needy with it, her hand squished between their bodies, knuckles pressed to his hard muscles each time she shifted her hand, but eventually she settled into a pace that had her eyes rolled back and squeezed shut, the fingers of her other hand curled tightly into the material of his flannel.

She circled her clit with the pads of her fingers again and again, but it was the feeling inside of her every time her cunt clenched around his cock that made it hard for her to keep quiet. She was half tempted to bite down on his collar to shut herself up, but Sam seemed to be letting her get away with the slight gasps and whimpers that she couldn’t stop herself letting up.

It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close — her forehead was pressed to his throat, hot breaths puffed out against his skin, trying not to shift her hips as she rubbed at her clit with a need that thrummed within her veins. Her jaw clenched and she held her breath, eyes squeezed shut tighter as she worked herself closer.

“Breathe,” Sam’s breath tickled her ear as he spoke softly. She had a tendency to hold her breath when she came sometimes if she was especially worked up — she didn’t even know Sam was paying attention. She took a shuddery breath, and he murmured a soft, “that’s it.”

It only took a few more circles on her clit before she came and she grit her teeth, huffed out a sharp breath through her nose as the feeling washed over her. Her cunt pulsed in pleasure, waves that kept her rubbing at her clit until it felt too much, and when she finally stopped she was breathing sharply against his neck. Her hand was a bit cramped, fingers wet, heartbeat drumming, but the release felt so nice after she’d been so worked up.

“Good girl,” Sam crooned, and she could’ve cum again at the tone of his voice. “Good girl. Did that help?”

She nodded against his throat, relaxed into his front.

“Yeah?” He asked. “Are you gonna keep still until I’m finished now?”

She nodded again.

“Baby,” she felt his hand smooth up her back until his fingers delicately tangled in her hair, only enough to pull her head back to look at him. “I wanna hear you say it.”

She blinked a few times up at him. He was so devastatingly handsome, it wasn’t fair. “I’ll keep still,” she mumbled, face feeling far too hot. “Promise.”

“Oh, you promise?” She didn’t miss the teasing edge to his words, the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

She nodded again. “Yeah, Sammy.”

“Good girl,” he praised once more, and was nice enough to give her a proper kiss that time. It still wasn’t what she craved — she didn’t feel his tongue in her mouth, he didn’t kiss her until she went dizzy — but it was nicer and kinder than a little peck. “Ten minutes and I’m all yours.”

She settled back into his chest as he went back to work, comfy to just rest against him in her post-orgasm euphoria, happy to wait the ten minutes until he was finished. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fucked her on the library table that week.

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Hiii love your writingggg, could you plsss do very innocent!reader and pervy!ethan 🫶🏻

Hiii! I hope you like it, even though you requested this MONTHS ago.

I'm not innocent, so I'm not the best at writing it🙃 Hopefully this is okay:)

Creep - Pervy!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You ask Ethan for help in econ, and once Mindy mentions the empty bedroom in the apartment she shares with Ethan and Chad, you agree to move in. But you realize that your sweet, dorky new roommate has been stealing your panties.

Contains: Pervy kinda creepy Ethan, innocent inexperienced reader, fingering. m!masturbation.

A/N: Okay...this needs a part 2 but I'm already at 5k words lmao. A lot of fics I've read along these lines had had Ethan more subby, but not in this one. 👀

*For the poll I posted earlier today, this one had the most votes at the time of me posting this fic. I'm going to write them all in the order that they're wanted:)*

It seemed like your life was starting to fall apart. You couldn’t stand your roommate, your boyfriend had broken up with you, and your grade for econ was starting to tank. When you brought up your grade to your professor after class, hoping to figure out some way to raise it, she suggested that you talk to Ethan Landry.

The next time you had class, you beelined towards him once he walked in. He noticed you, getting a little nervous the closer you got. He wasn’t the best at talking to girls, he even thought this could’ve been a figment of his imagination that the girl he struggled to take his eyes off was walking to him. He was chewing the inside of his cheek, his eyes not leaving you until you were finally face to face.

“Ethan, right?” you sweetly said, as he nodded. “I hear you’re the best for tutoring, and I desperately need your help if you have the time.”

“I’ll make the time,” he spat out, before he internally screamed at himself for sounding so desperate to help. “I mean, I can help you.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said, as you pulled out your phone. “What’s your number?”

“Oh, um…” he trailed off, racking his brain for those ten digits that he suddenly forgot. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “Are you okay with me just giving you my number and you can text me so we can set something up?”

“Yeah,” he said, as he pulled out his phone and went to create a new contact. He passed you his phone as you typed in your name and number, before you handed it back to him.

“Don’t forget to text me,” you said, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you turned to walk back to your seat.

“I won’t,” he said, tightly gripping his phone in his hand as you turned to smile at him once more.

He was struggling to focus as he sat through that class. His fingers kept rubbing over the phone screen that your thumbs had moved across, and he started to realize how pathetic he was for already being so addicted to you when you’d only spoken to him once.

Later that week, you were supposed to meet Ethan in the library to study. You both completely forgot about the renovations they were doing, the normally quiet space filled with the loud sounds of the various pieces of machinery on the opposite side of the room.

“Maybe we should try to do this some other time,” you yelled over the noise. “I can’t concentrate on anything you’re saying.”

“Oh, okay,” Ethan said, looking down so you wouldn’t see the sad look on his face. That’s when he started to get an idea. “My apartment is only two blocks away. It should be quieter. You want to come over to study?”

You liked to be cautious, and you normally wouldn’t go to someone’s apartment that you barely knew, but Ethan seemed innocent enough, and you desperately needed to pass the class so you wouldn’t have to take it again.

“Sure,” you said, wincing as the noise in the room got louder.

You walked beside Ethan as you went to his apartment, and even though it was just for studying, he felt a glint of pride as he walked with you. He hoped that anyone who saw you together would think you were his.

“Hopefully my roommates won’t be too loud,” Ethan sighed, as he stuck his key in the front door.

“Nothing is worse than what’s going on in the library right now,” you said, as he shrugged.

“You say that now…”

You barely made it inside when you heard arguing. Ethan sighed in defeat before he turned to you, “I moved in with my friends, and they’re constantly arguing.”

“Oh,” you giggled, as you followed him into the living room of the apartment. “Oh, hey Mindy,” you said, as she turned to you and smiled.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” she asked, as she walked over to you. Chad just stood there, still worked up from the spat they were having when you walked in.

“Ethan’s trying to help me not fail econ,” you said, as she nodded.

“I remember you mentioning you were having trouble with it.”

Ethan was confused as he stood there, because Mindy had never mentioned you, but she seemed to know you quite well. The two of you talked for a few minutes, and once Ethan heard another guy’s name get mentioned, he immediately got jealous.

“I’m proud of you for not giving him another chance,” Mindy said, as you let out a small laugh.

“I’m not going to say I didn’t think about it, but I don’t need him making my life any harder than it needs to be right now,” you sighed, “On top of the bullshit with him, my roommate is just so awful. Like, she woke me up blasting music before the sun even came up today. I’m trying to find somewhere else to live, but I haven’t had any luck yet.”

“Well, we’re looking for a fourth roommate…” Mindy trailed off, as Ethan’s eyes grew wide. “It’d be nice to have another girl here.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you joked, as Mindy smiled.

“Seriously, think about it,” she said, before she started to yell. “Chad!”

You noticed that the other boy was no longer in the room, but you saw him again as he turned the corner and groaned. “What?”

“Okay, don’t be rude,” she snapped, “I’m trying to convince her to move into the fourth bedroom.”

“Oh,” Chad said, his annoyed face turning up in a smile. “Hey, I’m Chad.”

“Hey,” you said, before he started to go over rent and other things you’d need to know. “Why would I want to move in when you two argue like this?” you joked, as Chad tried to play it off.

“We shared a womb, we lived in the same house until we moved into our dorms, and I finally got a break from her,” he said, as she scoffed, “But now we have to live together again and we’re trying to figure out how to do that.”

“I’ve never lived with boys before…and I’m sure my parents would kill me if they ever found out, but I’ll definitely think about it,” you said, before you turned to Ethan. “I’m sorry, you want to study now?”

“Yeah, let’s go to my room,” he said, as he led you there.

You both got settled on his bed. He sat across from you, his back against the headboard as you adjusted to get more comfortable, laying on your stomach. He bit his lip once he noticed the perfect view he had down your shirt, the neckline barely covering anything as your chest was pressed against his bed.

“So, where should we start?” you asked, your soft voice barely getting his attention as he kept staring at your chest. He wanted to squeeze your boobs, suck on them, fuck them, even. “Ethan?” you questioned as you looked away from your notebook, and opened your laptop, completely blocking the sight he was fantasizing over.

“Oh, uh…” he said, as he opened his laptop. “Maybe let’s work on the quiz that’s due this weekend. It’ll show me what you do and don’t need help with.”

You spent over an hour studying with Ethan, and you felt like you were having a little bit of a better understanding. You were starting to get hungry, so you closed your laptop. Ethan glanced over his screen the second he noticed, getting another peak down your shirt again. This time, he saw a part of one of your nipples peaking out of your bra, the sight making his pants grow tighter. He fought off the sound that was threatening to come out before you sat up, once again taking his perfect view away from him.

“I’m starving,” you said, as you started to put your stuff away. “But thank you so much for your help, and I hope you’ll want to keep helping me. You’re my only hope.”

He softly chuckled at your words, “If you move in, we can study whenever you want.”

“You’d be cool with it?” you asked, smiling at him. “You didn’t really say anything out there and I didn’t want to actually start considering it until you said something.”

“Yeah, I think it’s cool,” he said, “If you do want to, and you need help moving or anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Ethan,” you said, smiling again before you made your way out of his room.

He wanted to walk you to the door, but he knew the second he stood up, his hard cock would be so obvious. He ran his hand over the spot you were laying on the bed, your warmth still soaked up by his comforter. The view down your shirt was burned in his brain as he got up and walked over to the door, shutting and locking it before he dropped his pants to give his aching cock the attention it desperately needed.

The next time you had econ, you walked in and sat down beside Ethan. He didn’t notice at first, but he soon smelled the familiar scent that he couldn’t get out of his head after you’d left his apartment a few days before. He wasn’t sure if it was your hair or the perfume you were wearing, but it smelled delicious.

“Hey,” he smiled, his pupils growing large as he saw you. “Are you okay?”

He took in the stress on your face, and how tired you looked.

“Yeah, are you sure you’re cool with me moving in?” you asked, “Because I can’t deal with my roommate anymore.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, “What happened?”

“She invites her boyfriend to stay over whenever she doesn’t have class the next morning,” you sighed, “I don’t want to explain all the sounds I had to listen to while I tried to sleep last night.”

“Oh,” he said softly, “Well, your room would be beside mine, and I wouldn’t keep you up all night.”

“I bet that’s why I’m failing this class right now. I never sleep,” you said, as you looked over to him. “Wait, you don’t have a girlfriend that stays over?”

“No,” he said, his cheeks turning pink at your question.

“Sex is overrated,” you shrugged, “But I really thought you would’ve had a girlfriend.”

“Really?” he asked, as your professor walked in.

“Yeah, you’re a cutie,” you smiled, before you directed your attention to the lecture.

Ethan was thankful that you were so focused and didn’t see the cheesy smile on his face. The girl he’d been thinking about as he jerked his cock for the last few days called him cute, and his heart was swelling.

After a couple weeks, Ethan, Chad, and Mindy showed up to the apartment you currently lived in while your roommate was at her boyfriend’s to help you move.

“First, I want you guys to know that none of this mess is mine,” you said, as soon as you answered the front door for them.

“Whoa,” Chad said as he glanced around. “There’s no way you live with a girl.”

“Yeah, you’ll never guess what I found on the kitchen floor this morning,” you said, as Mindy started to think.

“With the mess, I’m going to guess…dead mouse?”

“Not even close,” you said, as you shook your head and shuddered as you thought about it. “It was a condom.”

“Like…in the wrapper or…?” Chad asked, as you, once again, shook your head.

“Used.”

“Ewwww,” Mindy said, cringing at the thought.  “Okay, is anything in the kitchen yours?”

“I already boxed that stuff up. Except the dishes that she’s refused to wash,” you said, as you led them to the living room. “The TV is mine, and that lamp,” you said, as you pointed, “But other than that, I really just have to worry about my room.”

“I think it’d be best to have all the heavy stuff in the living room so Ethan and I can worry about that,” Chad said, as you nodded and led them down the hall.

You had already packed up most of your room, which made it so easy for your new roommates to help you. Once Chad was carrying your mattress out and Mindy had ran out to get coffee, Ethan started to glance around your room. He noticed the hamper full of clothes in the corner, and he found himself inching closer towards it as he listened to you and Chad talk in the living room. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed a shirt off the top of the pile, inhaling its scent. He let out a deep breath before he went to put the shirt back in the hamper, before he noticed some black lace sticking out under a pair of your jeans. He snatched it out of the basket and put it in his pocket before he put the shirt back in it once he heard footsteps coming back down the hall.

“Did you need help with this?” Ethan asked, pointing to the basket, trying to make it not seem like he was being weird.

“Shit, I forgot to do laundry,” you groaned, as the realization hit him that the panties he’d grabbed had been worn. “I’ll carry that out.”

“Okay,” Ethan said, before Chad motioned for him to help with the dresser.

Later that day after you got your stuff moved into your new room, you flopped on your freshly made bed as Mindy popped in.

“So, I’m going to try to convince the guys to share a bathroom so you don’t have to share with Ethan,” she said, as you shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, “I just hope he doesn’t mind all the girly stuff in the shower and the makeup and stuff.”

Ethan didn’t mind at all. In fact, he’d already been in the bathroom, smelling your body wash, your shampoo and conditioner. The skincare products you used. He realized that all those things together were the cause of the scent that made his head spin.

Later that night after you had takeout with everyone, Ethan excused himself to go to bed. He couldn’t stop thinking about your panties that were still in his pocket. Once he pulled them out, he ran his fingers over the lace before taking in your scent. He softly groaned before he dropped his pants, the thoughts of his face buried in your pussy making him harder by the second. He had them tightly clutched in his fist as he started to stroke himself with his free hand, small whimpers flying out of his mouth as he tried to imagine how soft your hand would feel wrapped around him. His bottom lip was in between his teeth once he started to get louder, the tip of his cock red as be brought himself closer to the edge. Just as he was about to cum, he deeply inhaled the scent of your panties one more time before he rubbed them against the tip of his cock, his thick, white ropes covering the lace.

You thought living with boys was going to be difficult, but your first month wasn’t bad. You were surprised at how clean they liked everything to be, and Ethan always put the toilet seat down. You started to get close to your dorky roommate, especially once you spent so much time studying together. You already thought he was cute, but once you actually got to know more about him, you realized that he was so sweet, so nice. He might’ve been a little shy, too, but he got to the point where he was doing cute little things to make you laugh.

One day, you went to do your laundry in the apartment. You walked over and were about to throw stuff in when you noticed clothes were already inside, and Ethan quickly rounded the corner with the rest of the stuff he needed to toss in.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, “You want me to take my stuff out? I can wash it later.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” you said with a smile, before you noticed something familiar in the washer. “Oh,” you said, your cheeks turning pink as you reached out and grabbed your panties out of the washer. “Must’ve dropped these in.”

Ethan’s eyes grew wide as he noticed them in your hand, the realization hitting you that they were sticky.

“Eww, what is all over these?” you said, a disgusted look on your face as you tried to figure it out. You looked over to Ethan, his face bright red and his eyes huge, when you pieced it together. “Ethan…”

He just stared at you, the silence deafening as he tried to think of something, anything to say to you. He’d gotten away with stealing your panties for a month, but it was a way for him to feel close to you, and satisfy some of the sexual frustration he had whenever he thought about you.

“What’s on my panties?” you questioned, as he tensed up. “Actually, I don’t think I want to know.”

You tossed them back in the washer and walked past him and headed straight to the bathroom to wash your hands. When you went to your room and shut the door, Ethan huffed and tossed in the rest of stuff that was in his hands before he started the washer.

As the day went by, you couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan, and how you’d noticed that pairs of your panties had been going missing ever since you moved in. But then you’d randomly see them again, in the top drawer of your dresser after a few days. You didn’t think Ethan was like that, and it made you feel a little uneasy to live with him.

Later that night, you had to say something to him. You walked out of your room and glanced around the apartment for him, before you walked to his closed door and started to knock. He eased it open after a few seconds, his eyes connecting with yours through the small crack.

“Can we talk?” you asked, as he took a deep breath and hesitantly opened the door for you.

You walked in and took a seat on the side of the bed, your gaze on his floor as you tried to think of the right way to talk to him.

“You want me to leave the door open,” he asked, barely above a whisper as you shook your head no.

“If Mindy or Chad come home, I don’t want them to hear the conversation.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, before he took a seat beside you. “I’m sorry.”

“Why were you stealing my panties?” you asked, as he took a deep breath.

“I can’t explain it without sounding like the total creep you probably already think I am.”

“So…that was what I thought it was on them,” you said, as you turned to look at him. He nodded, looking away to not meet your gaze.

“Again, I am so sorry,” he said, “I know you probably hate me, and I understand if you don’t want to be around me. I’ll stay in my room so you don’t have to see me.”

“I’m just a little confused,” you said softly, as he finally let his eyes connect with yours. “What’s so exciting about my panties?”

At that moment, one thing you said to Ethan started to play in his head. ‘Sex is overrated.’ He was questioning how much experience you actually had.

“Do you really not know or are you fucking with me?” he questioned.

“Like, does it feel good? How does it even turn you on?” you asked, curiously staring at him.

“They uh…yeah, it feels good when I uh…rub them on myself. And they smell like you.”

“They smell like fabric softener and laundry detergent,” you said, a small laugh slipping out as he shook his head.

“I haven’t been stealing clean ones…they smell like you.”

“Oh,” you said, as you looked away from him. “That turns you on?”

“You have no idea,” he said, and even though the conversation was uncomfortable, he was getting hard.

“Why are guys so weird?” you thought out loud, laughing a little as you shook your head. “So does that mean that you like me? Or you’re like…sexually attracted to me? I still don’t fully get it.”

“Both,” he said, “I think you’re so beautiful, and I’ve had so much fun with you this last month…but I also think about you in a different way, too. Ya know?”

“I’ve thought about you that way, too,” you admitted, “It’d kind of hard not to. I hear you through the walls all the time.”

“You’ve heard me?” he asked, a blush spreading to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I know you hated when you heard your old roommate.”

“I like it when I hear you,” you said so softly that he barely heard it.

“Do you touch yourself when you hear me?”

Your breathing got heavier at his question, and Ethan noticed. You were getting so flustered under his gaze.

“I…I’ve tried to,” you said, as you took in the curious look on his face.

“Tried to?” he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Like…I know what feels good, but I can never get myself…there, if you know what I mean.”

“You’ve never made yourself cum?” he questioned, admiring how cute you looked as you got embarrassed.

“No one has.”

“No one?” he asked, his throat dry at the thought. “Are you a virgin?”

“No…but I’ve never enjoyed sex. Like, it feels good, but I think it’s so disappointing when you hear how amazing orgasms are and then I just never get one.”

Ethan expected the conversation that was happening to go so differently. He thought you hated him, but there you were, telling him that you’d tried to get yourself off when you’d heard him. The thought of him being the first one to make you cum had him salivating, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if he offered.

“Have you ever…given someone an orgasm?” you asked, as he nodded. “I’m jealous of whoever she is.”

“Don’t be,” he said, scooting a little closer to you. “Fuck, I’d make you cum all the time if I could.”

“Really?” you smiled, “If you ever want to, I’m right next door,” you joked, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Hey, don’t offer that or I’ll be in your room every day.”

You were starting to squirm against his bed, your thighs rubbing together so subtly that he could barely tell. The sexual tension was so thick, your breathing getting heavier as you thought about how good Ethan would make you feel.

“I think I need to go back to my room,” you said, as you started to stand up. That’s when you glanced at Ethan’s lap, noticing the tent in his sweatpants.

“Do you really want to?” he asked, “Because if you want me to take care of you right now, I will.”

“Seriously?” you questioned, as he smiled and nodded.

“Come here,” he said, reaching out to grab your hands, pulling you to him.

Once Ethan leaned in to kiss you, he was almost taken aback by how quickly your lips were moving against his. He was desperate for you, but you were just as desperate for him. He matched your pace before he pushed you back on the bed, his hand running from your hip, up your ribs, until it landed on your breast. You gasped into the kiss once he squeezed it.

You had massive butterflies in your stomach once you felt his cock pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants, your head was spinning, but you were loving every second of it.

“Hey, I have an idea,” he said, once he pulled away to catch his breath. “I think we should go to your room.”

“Why?” you asked because you didn’t want to stop. You needed his lips back on yours.

“Because you have that full length mirror leaning against your wall,” he said, chuckling once you noticed the confused look on your face. “I want you to see what I’m doing to make you cum…in case I’m never here to help you.”

“Okay,” you said, as he stood up and grabbed your hands.

Once he opened his bedroom door, he listened to make sure he didn’t hear anyone else in the apartment before he walked out and to your room next door. He shut and locked your bedroom door once he made it inside, before he pulled you into another kiss. His hands held onto your hips until they started to rub against the flesh under the hem of your shirt. He kept inching it further and further up, until he pulled away to pull it over your head. His lips went back to yours as he reached around to unhook your bra, his hands squeezing at your breasts once they were free.

His mouth moved to your neck as his hands explored your body, before they snaked under the waistband of your leggings. He moved them down over your hips as you shimmied out of them, leaving you in nothing but your panties. He recognized them as the first pair he ever stole, the black lacy ones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, as his hand moved to rub you over your panties. The material was soaked as you moaned at the feeling. “That feel good?”

“Yes,” you said, quickly nodding your head just in case he needed the extra confirmation. “So good.”

“I hate that I have to take these off you,” he said, as he inched the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely nude in front of him. “I’m going to sit on the floor in front of the mirror, and I want you to sit between my legs.”

“Okay,” you said, as he took a seat on the floor, his legs spreading for you to sit. You did as he said, looking at him in the mirror as he spread your legs, placing your feet on either side of his legs on the floor.

You watched him lick two of his fingers before he placed them against your clit, rubbing slow circles. Your eyes stayed on the reflection of his hand, your mouth parting as you started to breathe faster. He added a little more pressure as you fully relaxed back into his chest, the softest moans slipping out as he went a little faster.

“Ethaaan,” you whined out, the noise quickly becoming his new favorite sound.

“Shh, I don’t know if anyone else is here,” he said softly, “Just keep your legs spread for me, baby.”

He rubbed a few more circles on your clit before his fingers moved lower, one of them slipping inside you. He pumped it in and out for a minute before he added another, as you angled your neck to look up at him. He leaned down to kiss you as his fingers moved, before he started to mumble against your lips.

“If you ever finger yourself, this…” he said, as he curved them just right, a low moan flying out of your mouth, “Is the spot that needs attention. Okay baby?”

“Okay,” you whimpered, as he moved his fingers faster.

The sounds you were making just kept getting louder, and Ethan was just hoping and praying that no one else was home. One of your hands clung to his thigh as your other hand wrapped around his wrist, as you started to feel…different. It felt so good, and the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. Once he went even faster, the squelching sound of your wet pussy and your whimpers filling the room, your legs were trying so hard to close as your toes curled against the carpet on the floor.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, your fluttering eyes watching his hand in the mirror as your body started to tingle.

“Cum for me baby,” he encouraged, as you finally let that feeling wash over your body. You were jolting, your eyes screwed shut as his fingers started to slow, his free hand roaming your chest as you let out all your sounds.

Once you fully relaxed in his arms, he placed a kiss to the top of your head as your hazy eyes connected with his in the mirror.

“Now you can’t say no one’s ever made you cum,” he said with a smile, as he slid his fingers out of you. “Did it feel good?”

“That was better than I thought it was going to be,” you said, “Thanks, Ethan.”

“You’re welcome.”

You sat there in silence for a minute as you felt his cock pressing against you, and you wanted so badly to take care of him, until you heard commotion in the apartment.

“Hey, guysss,” Chad yelled, as he walked down the hall.

You tensed up as you glanced at your door, before Ethan whispered, “It’s okay, I locked it.”

You relaxed again before Chad started to yell again, “Tara’s here!”

You forgot about hanging out with Mindy and Tara for the night, and you didn’t want to pull away from Ethan, but you hesitantly did, your legs wobbling as you tried to stand. Ethan got up to help you, and once you got your bearings, he started to grab your clothes off the floor for you.

“Thanks,” you said, before you noticed him pick up your panties.

“No, thank you,” he joked, a smirk playing on his lips as he backed towards your door. “I’ll see you when you get back in the morning.”

“I better still have panties in that top drawer when I get back.”

[vesrin]

😖

[http-shield]

whatever you say, old man- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: post endgame but no one is dead and life is good, think 2012 Avengers fandom where clint is in the vents yeah that is where I'm at, established friendships, pining, yearning, bucky is not used to new age dating rituals, explicit language, sexual tension ~ wc: 2.6k ~ not proofread

You: Hey, are we still on for tonight? Rita’s at 7?

Him: ye

“So you’re telling me this is normal?” Bucky’s tone is judgemental as he quickly reads over the words on your screen.

You nod, wordlessly confirming that situatuonships are a staple part of the modern dating scene.

Bucky’s brows furrow, eyes flicking from the lack of effort text message to your face as you lean over the bed, phone gripped between expertly manicured fingers. He blinks once, twice, as if taking the time to formulate a response that will rebuke your earlier confirmation without hurting your feelings. This is new for him. A habit he has only recently picked up upon developing his friendship with you. He usually isn't as careful with his words, not caring enough about the recipient's opinion or emotional well-being to warrant enough time and consideration when responding, but with you. It was another ball game entirely. Bucky doesn't want to hurt your feelings, to see you frown because of something he has said; in fact, he wants the opposite. To see you smile and laugh and blush because of him. For you to want to talk to him about anything and everything, share thoughts about your day and how things make you feel. Bucky wants to know everything that happens in that pretty little brain of yours, even if he doesn't necessarily agree with it. Normally he would take the time to sugarcoat his words, sweeten his tone and make it easy for you to swallow but this is a situation where he couldn't, doesn't, want to mince his words.

“There is no world where that is normal.” He stares at you, expression bored and a little annoyed. At you? Never. At the man on the other side of the phone? Incredibly so.

You groan at his very true statement and pull away, slipping the phone into the pocket of your cargos as you turn towards your open closet.

He’s right. You know he is.

There is nothing remotely normal about two grown adults being in a relationship that is defined by the amount of time the other left the first one on read, or how much emotional vulnerability there could be put on the table before the other got too scared and ran. There is nothing normal about being in your late twenties and having a grown man introduce you to his friends as a 'buddy’ despite having an entire draw dedicated to you in his apartment but you can’t admit that, refuse to admit that you know its wrong and desperate and frankly, demeaning. If you can't own up to your own patheticness, how are you supposed to admit it to the man you are secretly interested in. There would be nothing more humiliating than confessing that the only reason you are with and putting up with bullshit efforts from this other guy is to hopefully distract yourself from the desperate need you feel for Bucky. This new guy is mediocre at worst yet attainable at best and that is something you will live with until your crush on the super soldier is dead and gone and you can finally focus on something other than him.

——

You had spoken with Natasha about Bucky last night, her voice a soothing purr over the phone as she encouraged you to disclose your concerns about pushing the boundaries on your friendship with the super soldier.

“The worst thing that can happen is he says no and then you both move on.” She croons, voice laced with comfort and reassurance.

“Wrong.” You shake your head despite being on a voice call.  “The worst thing that can happen is he says no, I lose him as a friend and then I’m stuck pining after someone who wants nothing to do with me” You place another dish in the washer before continuing with your point. “Or I push him before he is ready, again losing him as a friend, and now I’m left with the guilt of possibly taking advantage of a war veteran.”

“You take advantage of Steve all the time, how is this any different?” 

“I take advantage of Steve to get someone to carry in the groceries. I’m not trying to date Steve.”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “What if he is interested in you as well?”

Your hands stop scrubbing at the pan in the sink.

“I can find out.”

Heat fills your body, your stomach twists at the idea of having that information. It would put an end to the constant yearning you feel, but the thought of finding out he doesn’t like you that way, that he sees you as no more than a friend will destroy you, humiliate you beyond all logical reason and you would be forced to cut off the friendship out of pure self-preservation.

You shake your head again. “I’m good.” And return to scrubbing your pan. “I'll just wait out the crush and then move on.”

——

“This isn’t the 1940’s anymore.”  You sigh and completely shift your attention from Bucky to the mess that is staring back at you.

Endless outfit options are strewn about the small closet but so far none of them have come together, just single shirts, skirts, and pants all muddled in a heap of black.

“I know it's not the 40s but I doubt relationships and dating have changed that much." Bucky grumbles from behind you, the bed creaking as he shifts.

Another sigh, this one long and exaggerated as you will the frustration to leave your body. You want to turn to him and explain that you know all this, and are very aware of the fact that nothing about your current predicament is what you want. You want to be wooed with flowers and preplanned dates and soft kisses on hands and longing looks but that’s not the reality of life anymore and having to be reminded of it is getting annoying and your heart is starting to ache at the lack of effort given to you by your current choice of dating partner.

“You know if I was taking..” Bucky starts but you quickly cut him off with a whine of his name.

“James, please.” You don’t turn to face your friend, afraid to even glance at him because you know you will crumble. “I need help picking out an outfit so help me or go back to your room.”

--------

“You know if I was taking…” You don’t let Bucky finish but, God did he want to. His name on your tongue was enough to shut him up, to send a flush rushing to his face in a way that no man his age should blush, but he can’t help it. There is something about the way his name falls from your lips that has his mind racing to thoughts that should not be there, should not appear when the picture of you enters his mind.

“You know if I was taking you on a date, you’d get flowers and chocolates and champagne and those little baby dolls you like” is what he wanted to say before you shut him up with an annoyed grumble.

His intention wasn’t to display how things were different back in his day but to indicate exactly what you’d be getting were you about to go on a date with him, to explain the reason why you should go on a date with him and not some loser who couldn’t even formulate a fully fleshed out text message. How if you were to drop that kid, and say yes to Bucky he would gather the moon on string for you, pick every flower in every field, find every single little Sonny Angel there is and give them to you each and every day for the rest of your life, you would never be sat wondering why he isn’t calling or responding, if you were even going out the next day, if he even liked you. Bucky would make his feelings for you so abundantly clear that even a blind man would be able to see the signs, but you are his best friend and best friends don’t feel that way about each other. It’s all platonic hugs and hair tussles, cheeky jabs at each other over coffee, shared trauma and secrets over whatever dinner you bring to his apartment and he yours. There will be no dates, or long hugs that turn into kisses that turn into you beneath him, whimpering his name as he makes you feel oh so good.

Fuck.

Bucky’s entire body is on fire, and he needs to stop thinking about the way you would feel wrapped around him, his mouth on yours, the taste of you sweet on his tongue.

“Okay, what about this?” you announce as you walk into the bedroom from the ensuite. “Too much?”

You stand in the doorway, dressed in plain jeans and a black shirt.

“Too much?” Bucky is confused. “This is the outfit you wore to breakfast this morning.”

He is right about this too. You had worn a very similar outfit this morning, but tonight isn’t a full-on date, a semi-date, where things shouldn’t be that fancy so why shouldn’t you recycle your outfits. Bucky stands from the bed, readying himself to dig through the mountain of clothes that had formed at the entrance to the bathroom. He crosses the small space and squats before the clothing, fingers expertly rifling through the material, quickly brushing over the lace of bras and panties, before finding purchase on a black dress he thinks he has seen you in before. It might have been the dress you wore to a funeral or press conference, either way, it was not alluring in the slightest, not that you weren’t stunning in everything you wore, hell you could come out wearing a garbage bag and Bucky would be in awe of your beauty. It was just that he didn’t want your date to ogle you, to think of you the same way Bucky does so he is being a little selfish and conniving in his choice of garment.

“Where is he taking you?” His question is disguised as interest in the dress code but his real curiosity is far from an outfit.

There are two reasons why he needs to know where you will be tonight. The first is to judge whether this manchild is even worthy of a date with you, second if he knew the exact location and time, maybe he could show up and show out your date, make you realise what you deserve and how Bucky could be the one who gives it to you.

 “We’re meeting at Rita’s down the road and then might see a movie, maybe something else. I’m not sure yet.”

“He hasn’t planned anything?” Bucky whips his head around to you, finding you standing there looking incredibly embarrassed at the lack of effort. What the fuck happened in the years he was gone?

The defeated shake of your head is enough to have Bucky’s chest aching. He sits back on his haunches; the dress discarded back in the pile and gives the outfit another look as he decides on where to go from here. “Yeah, I think it’s too much.” He nods and stands up, brushing his hands as if he had just completed an excavation on some ancient site.

“Go change back into your sweats ‘cause there is no way I’m letting you go on a date with a guy who can’t even plan something.” He nods his chin towards the bathroom, more of an order than a suggestion.

He watches you tilt your head back as you groan in frustration. “I’m not going through this again, old man. This is how it works now.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to get frustrated. He takes a step towards you, hulking 6’0 frame rising to tower above you with a somewhat menacing glare, but you know he will never hurt you no matter how much you push his buttons.

“I’m not talking about what it used to be like, little girl.” The jab at your age/generational difference comes out before he can register it, but he notices how your eyes widen. “This is about getting what you deserve.”

He pushes in on the space between your bodies, now chest to chest as you square your shoulders, not ready to back down from an argument despite knowing you will not win.

“And what’s that?” you stare up at him, brows raised in anticipation of his answer. You aren’t sure where this is going. If you are going to receive another lecture or maybe even a verbal beatdown as to why your standards for men are so low, a common topic of conversation between you and Natasha, but instead you are met with a soft smile as his Vibranium hand is raised and brushes against your cheek.

“You deserve flowers and preplanned dates and wine and jewellery and everything you could ever want.” Bucky’s voice drops into a whisper, cold fingers trailing soothing lines against your heating skin. “You deserve a man worshipping you, to be on his hands and knees begging to take you on a date. Not some punk who can barely put together a sentence.”

You hold his gaze, blue eyes staring intently as you shudder in a breath. “Who’s going to do that, huh?” your voice is small, no longer filled with the same bravado you had not a minute ago. “You know anyone who wants to do that for me, you send them my way Bucko.”

His metal hand slips to your cheek to your jaw, fingers pressing into your pulse points so he can feel the speed at which your heart is racing.

“I’d do it.” He states matter-of-factly, eyes dipping to your lips. “I’d do anything for you.”

Breathing becomes a little bit too difficult as his human hand traces up your bare arm.

“Anything?”

Bucky nods and dips his head until his face is mere centimetres from yours. “You didn’t let me finish before, but I'd give you anything you’ve ever wanted.” Fingers move to cup your chin and tilt your head up. “You want flowers, I’m a florist. Moon? Stars? I’m getting Stark to build me a rocket. Anything you want, you’re getting it.”

“And if I want you on your hands and knees barking like a dog for me?” You smirk, the mental image of Bucky on his knees panting like a puppy has your stomach twisting.

“Put a collar on me and call me Spot 'cause I’m yours, doll.”

The confession has your eyes widening.

“I’m all yours, from now until whenever you’re done with me.” Bucky whispers, breathless.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, knowing he is waiting for your permission to do just that.

Bucky crumbles, his expression falling from that of teasing into one of pleading.

“I want you to kiss me, James.” You whisper.

His resolve breaks and he presses his lips to yours. Softly and timidly, closed mouth and restrained but as your hands reach out to grip his waist, a delicate gasp slipping past your lips, does he deepen the kiss. His mouth opens over yours, lips slotting against your plush ones, tongue darting out to test to waters only to be met with your slackening jaw. Bucky’s grip on you tightens as he continues to kiss you, afraid to let you go in case this was one of the many, many dreams he had where he woke up alone and confused, but as you bite down on his bottom lip, he is brought back to reality. Your hands on his waist, pull him tighter against you, the softness of your body had Bucky’s mind wandering to places it should not be. You pull back, pupils blown wide and lips parted as you pant. Bucky is just as breathless, hands cupping your face with a gentleness he doesn’t think you’ve ever known from the way you stare up at him.

“You’re not going on that date.”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

a/n: eee this is my first avengers fanfic since like 2018 pls be nice I just need something happy to think about clint living in the airvents, thor eating poptarts era was my happy place

[flowersforbucky]

higher than heaven

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.5k - my masterlist

summary: bucky's first time smoking 🍃 since the 40s. bucky finds you smoking alone one night, leading to two of you growing much closer.

warnings/tags: use of marijuana, language, brief use of alcohol, nightmares, ptsd, anxiety, pining and tension, heated kissing, friends to lovers, pretty fucking fluffy, no use of y/n, fem reader, 18+ only

author's note: no smut? gasp! everything else i've written for bucky has contained smut so bare with me, i just wanted to take a break for some fun and fluffy (but still tension-filled) toking.

a/n 2: bucky and reader smoke in this, but i wouldn't say that's the main focus of this fic, just something that brings them closer together. i tried not to focus too much on that aspect, and also tried not to give too vivid of descriptions of being stoned so hopefully readers who don't smoke 🍃 can still enjoy this fic for the fluff and feels. however, if this is a triggering topic for you in any way, please be careful and read at your own discretion 🖤

The Avenger's compound truly has everything you could ever need. A state of the art gymnasium and training center, indoor and outdoor pools, beautifully maintained grounds with walking trails and lake access.

And, one of your favorite things, no shortage of secluded smoking spots.

Tonight's choice? The roof directly above the living quarters. This is likely the spot that you frequent the most, out of sheer convenience.

You keep a couple of extra folding chairs stashed in the stairwell, for the rare occasions that you can convince Natasha or Wanda to relax enough to join you.

Tonight, like most nights, you're by yourself. You don't mind - you enjoy this alone time. You usually come up here after missions to unwind before passing out in your bed.

It’s a chilly night, with temperatures finally dropping down into the low fifties as the early days of fall approach. You're bundled up in an oversized hoodie, sipping on oolong tea to warm you from the inside. In your left hand you clutch the warm mug, and with your right you pinch the tail-end of a burning joint between your thumb and index finger.

You've been up here long enough to have already burnt through one joint, and you now take slow, heady hits of a second as you wait for the meteor shower that's expected to begin over the northeastern United States any minute.

The creaking of the large metal door that leads to the roof startles you, causing you to break your gaze away from the stars littered above you in the New York sky. All the times you've come up here to watch the sunsets over the lake, no one has stumbled upon you. You're surprised by who emerges from the doorway a second later.

Bucky freezes in his tracks when he notices you sitting just a few yards in front of him.

“Oh, sorry,” he pauses, seemingly glancing around the roof to see if there's anyone else here with you. “I didn't expect - I didn't think anyone would be up here right now,” he stutters out.

“You're good,” you smile at him over your shoulder before turning your attention back to the sky. “Trying to get a good view of the meteors?”

“Yes, actually,” he says, surprised. You hear his boots scratching the pavement of the roof as he walks closer to you. You look up at him when he comes to a stop right next to where you're sitting.

“Well, you've come to the right place.” You gesture towards the scenery in front of you - the endless inky sky overlooking the lake next to the compound. “There's some extra chairs stashed in the stairwell, if you'd like one.”

“I didn't know that you smoke,” he says curiously, eyeballing the blazing joint still clutched between your fingers. He visibly sniffs a couple times, as if to confirm that he is indeed smelling what he thinks he is. He doesn't acknowledge your offer of a chair, instead choosing to sit directly on the cement, criss-crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Are you going to tell on me?” You ask as if what you're doing isn't perfectly legal and your friends don't already know.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he smirks up at you, eyes flicking between you and the joint.

“Want a hit?” You offer, extending your hand towards him. He hesitates, uncertainty blooming across his features.

“I haven't smoked since the forties,” he starts with an awkward laugh. He reaches up, carefully taking the joint from you and pinching it between his own two fingers and inspecting it. “I still remember the last joint I smoked before finding out that I had been drafted. If I had known it was going to be my last, I would've appreciated it a lot more.” There's a hint of nostalgia in his words.

You picture it - baby-faced Bucky, in his early twenties, with glossy blue eyes and a lazy, content smile. The thought makes your cheeks warm, and a small, sad smile spreads across your own face. That was a literal lifetime ago, and you didn't know if he had felt as carefree since then.

“Well,” you begin after a sip of your tea. “You're no longer property of the United States Army, or HYDRA, or any organization. So if you want to smoke, then smoke. And if not, that's okay, too, but give me my joint back because you're burning perfectly good weed right now.”

He chuckles at your scolding before bringing the joint up to his own lips and taking a slow, long puff. There's a sharp inhale before he erupts into a coughing fit, smoke billowing out in a cloud in front of him. You give him a few awkward pats on the back while he works through the burn that he is undoubtedly feeling in his esophagus.

“Damn, I've missed that,” he sighs once he has regained his composure. He holds the dwindling joint back up to you.

You shake your head. “Finish it off,” you insist. “I've already had one tonight. It’s all yours.”

You expect him to argue but to your surprise, he takes a second hit. And a third, and fourth, while you sit next to him in an amicable, comfortable silence. Soon, there's nothing left but a small roach that he stubs out against the cement next to where he sits.

“How're you feeling?” You ask, knowing that his tolerance has to be in the negatives if he hasn't smoked in over seventy years.

“If twenty-two year old Bucky knew that I was this stoned off half a joint, he'd never let me hear the end of it,” he says with an amused smile, propping back on the palms of his hands to stare up at you.

“Well, I think one-hundred and six year old Bucky is doing just fine for himself,” you muse. “Twenty-first century weed has got to be more potent than whatever dirt weed you were smoking in the forties, so cut yourself some sla–”

“I did not smoke dirt–”

“Look!” you exclaim, cutting him off as you point up at the sky. He goes quiet, following your gaze.

You both watch in awed silence as flashes of bright white-blues and purples begin to dash across the sky above you. At first, there's a bolt here and a bolt there - but before you know it, there's dozens - too many meteors to count, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Where one disappears, another takes its place.

You lose track of how long the two you sit there, on the roof, under the shower of the shooting stars - and it has nothing to do with being stoned. They are just that mesmerizing.

“I think we’re supposed to make a wish,” you murmur after a long while, remembering the old legend about shooting stars. You watch the last few meteors as they burn out, and then the sky goes dark once more. When he doesn't respond, you glance down at where he sits to find that his eyes are closed.

You smile to yourself - you didn't actually plan on making a wish, and you definitely didn't expect him to. You figure that he is just humoring you, but you can't help but think how adorable it is nonetheless. You can't stop yourself from snorting a laugh, causing his eyes to snap open and up at you.

“What? Did you make your wish?” he demands, his tone serious.

You hum. A familiar, glowing warmth grows from your lips and down to your toes despite the chilly night air as you stare at him. You tell yourself it’s a physical effect of the marijuana.

“I think I’m good, actually.”

••••••

Every year, a different member of the Avengers chooses a charity to hold a gala in honor of.

Sam's choice last year, Homes For Our Troops, build specially adapted, custom homes for severely injured veterans. Natasha's choice the year before that, Children of the Night, is a non-profit organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating children who have been victims of prostitution.

Always funded by the Stark Relief Foundation, always held in the most high-profile and illustrious venues that money can buy, and always filled to the brim with every philanthropist and major news reporter in the state of New York.

This year, for the first time, it was your turn to select a charity. You decided on Women For Women International - a noble and worthy cause that you are proud to raise awareness and donations for. However, now that three hours into the gala, you are fucking burnt out. From the moment that you and your teammates arrived at the venue, guests and reporters began forming lines for their chance at interviewing you or getting their picture taken with you. You feel like you’ve talked to every person in the building, except for the one person that you truly wanted to. Add in a ten minute long speech addressing five hundred plus guests, you are drained. Physically, mentally, and socially drained.

“You did incredible with your speech,” a soft voice says from behind you. “All that worrying for nothing.”

You're exhaling a sigh of relief at the familiar voice before you've finished turning around to meet his dimpled grin and deep blue eyes. You think he might just be as ready as you are to get out of here with the way he's already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his tux. His hair is tousled - though you haven't had a free moment to speak with him since the car ride over here with Sam and Steve, you have no doubt that he's ran his fingers through the short locks a few dozens times throughout the evening - a habit that flares up every time he's out of his element. With this being the first gala he's attended as an Avenger, and possibly the first gala he's ever attended, you're surprised he has any hair left.

“I wouldn't say for nothing,” you turn back to the bar in front of you and wave a singular finger to the bartender, signaling your desire for another drink. “I stuttered at least eight times, and lost my place on the page twice. I felt like I was going to puke shrimp cocktail and espresso martini all over the podium.”

You can see him grimace from your peripheral vision. He pulls out the barstool next to where you stand, and then takes a seat. You're pinned between the chair on the opposite side of you and his thigh, the cool silk of his pants tickling the bare skin of your leg where your dress cuts off just above mid-thigh. Close enough that you can feel warmth radiate from him and smell the essence of his piney aftershave. Subconsciously, you relax for the first time all evening.

“You are your own worst critic,” he reminds you, repeating the sentiment that he’s been saying to you for the last few weeks, anytime the gala or your speech would come up in conversation. “No one else noticed if you stuttered. They’re all too full of liquor, or too concerned with getting their photo op with Iron Man or The Hulk..” he trails off, glancing over his shoulder at where Tony and Bruce are both striking signature poses for some selfies with guests.

“And what about you? Have any of your fangirls begged you to take a picture with them?” You smirk at him as the bartender slides your martini across the countertop. You angle your body so that you’re now turned to face him, leaving practically no space between the two of you.

“More than I can count,” he exhales, and you force a laugh to not roll your eyes - not that you were surprised or that you could blame them for wanting their picture taken with him.

“Well, I’m glad that we were able to raise so much money,” you sigh into your drink. “But I would be lying if I said I’m also not glad that it’s over with. I’m ready to get these shoes off, submerge myself in a hot bath, and then sleep until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Always the introvert,” he murmurs, a sly grin appearing on his face. He carefully tugs the lapel of his jacket to the side and reaches his flesh hand inside, pulling out a tin of wintergreen Altoids. You look at him curiously as he gives the small container a shake. It makes no sound, seemingly empty of mints. You cock an eyebrow at him, about to ask him what the deal is, when a familiar, earthy scent wafts towards you.

“What’s in the tin, Buck?” you ask rhetorically, as if the odor isn’t a dead giveaway.

“Just a little something I’ve been saving for when I could finally get you alone tonight,” he shrugs, slipping the tin back inside the interior pocket of his jacket. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe he’d been wanting to talk to you, see you, spend time with you as much as you had him.

“I’m just happy to see that you finally have your own weed,” you tease, trying to polish off the remnants of your drink so that you can get the fuck out of here. “Now you can stop smoking all of mine.”

You’re just giving him a hard time, of course. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you have smoked together since the night of the meteor shower just two months ago, and you were more than happy to share your supply with him - he gives you a lopsided grin that tells you he knows you don’t actually mind.

“Hence why I have pre-rolled three joints just for you,” he quips back. “One for how much time and effort you put into this event, one for conquering your fear of public speaking, and one for how much of your weed you have let me smoke.”

Your cheeks warm at the thoughtful gesture. You swallow the last swig of the brown liquid and slide the glass back across the bar.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go get a cab.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky are in the backseat of the taxi that drives you away from bustling downtown Brooklyn and towards a park that Bucky had instructed the driver to take you to. You didn’t object, trusting that he knows this area of New York better than you do.

The driver comes to a stop next to a nearly desolate sidewalk that appears to lead to a waterfront walkway. Bucky hands the driver a handful of cash, tells him to keep the change, and hops out of the cab before extending a hand to you as you scoot across the seat to follow his exit. You mumble a quick thanks to the driver as he helps you onto the sidewalk and shuts the door behind you.

You pull your coat tighter around you, attempting to shield yourself from the chill of the November air. Fall is now in full swing in New York, and the short cocktail dress that you wore to the gala does little to protect you from the night air.

“Me and Steve used to come to this park all the time,” he tells you as he pulls the Altoids tin and a BIC lighter from his jacket. “I vividly remember having to break up a fight he got into just past that fountain when we were teenagers,” he motions towards a large granite fountain ahead of you, “when some asshole stole a kid's frisbee.”

You laugh as he passes you a joint and the lighter, able to picture the memory he describes clear as day. It's far from the first time he's told you about a time that he had to get pre-serum Steve out of trouble.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you mumble as you pinch the tail of the joint between your lips, inhaling as you hold the flame up to the opposite end. A wave of smoke instantly fills your esophagus and lungs with a familiar, comforting burn and you pass the blazing joint back to him. “He’d still do the exact same thing, too,” you add as you exhale the thick cloud of smoke that mixes with the cold air. “Only difference now is that he can handle any fight that he gets himself into.”

“Some things never change,” he says before bringing the paper up to his own lips. You follow as he guides you across a small grassy area and to the walkway that runs alongside the river. Truthfully, it’s too chilly to be on a park stroll at this hour in your current attire, but with Bucky’s body heat radiating from directly beside you and the buzz you feel from the weed, you’re surprisingly comfortable.

“One thing that has changed however,” he continues as you’re inhaling a second hit, “is how well I’ve started sleeping on the nights that we smoke together. On those nights, I don't wake up over a dozen times. Hardly ever even have nightmares anymore.”

Your skin tingles at his admission - a whole flight of butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach that you push down. You know that he means this because of the weed, not because of you, but for some reason - maybe it's the way his arm keeps bumping against yours or the way the moonlight reflects in the pools of his blue eyes as he glances over at you - you let yourself believe, even for just a split second, that you're aiding in bringing him peace on those evenings spent together. On the roof above the living quarters right before bed, or at the edge of the lake's water when you stop after a late run to watch the sunset, or -

“I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful that I found you up on the roof the night of the meteor shower,” he continues when you don't respond, his voice now possessing a nervous edge. Your mouth suddenly feels dry - the worst cotton-mouth you've ever had times ten. “For more reasons than one.”

You both gradually slow until you've come to a complete stop in front of a boat dock. Between the martini you had before leaving the gala, the effects of the marijuana, and the way he's looking at you while standing so close, you think it's a miracle that you haven't tripped in these ridiculous chunky heels and fallen into the East River. You clear your throat, hoping that you don't sound like a lovestruck teenager when you speak.

“I'm really glad too, Bucky.”

••••••

You stare down at the picture displayed on your phone screen as you and Natasha take the elevator up to the compound's living quarters.

Rolled and ready for you to be home reads the text attached to the picture of the joint pinched between the thumb and index finger of his flesh hand that Bucky had sent you ten hours ago, before your flight from Arizona to New York was supposed to depart.

Our flight has been delayed due to a thunderstorm. No current ETA your reply reads with a frowny face emoji at the end.

Now, at 2:16 in the morning, you are finally back home hours later than originally expected.

You were sure that Bucky was asleep by this point, and you didn't blame him. You wished you were asleep right now, too. Natasha slept the entire plane ride back to New York.

You, on the other hand, may or may not have spent the plane ride reading back over recent text messages between you and Bucky and zooming in on the picture he had sent you because for some reason you really like his hands. Both of them.

You were acting like a goddamn fifteen year old.

“What are you grinning at?” Natasha's voice snaps you out of your trance. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your duffel bag.

“I'm not grinning,” you lie, but it's Natasha - of course she sees right through you.

“You were grinning,” she shrugs with a knowing smirk. “But it's okay. We'll chalk it up to sleep deprivation.”

“I am sleep deprived, actually. Someone snored the entire flight back home.”

“For someone who wasn't grinning you sure are being defensive right now,” she retorts with a shit-eating grin as the elevator dings and the door slides open. You roll your eyes as you both step out into the hallway that leads to the living quarters. You turn to the left, towards your bedroom, and she takes a right but then comes to a sudden stop, calling your name. You freeze, turning to look at her with a raised brow.

“For what it's worth, I think you should go for it. It's obvious to everyone around you two.” She looks at you expectantly.

“Get some rest, Nat,” you huff a small laugh under your breath, and try not to smile. She doesn't press the subject any further.

Before reaching your bedroom, you pause at the door to Bucky's room. You don't knock, but wait to see if you hear any movement from inside. All that you hear is a loud static from his white noise machine.

Although you expected him to be asleep at this hour, you couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment that you hadn't been able to get back earlier. You knew you would see him tomorrow (well, technically later today), but you hadn't gone this long - a mere three days - without seeing Bucky since the two of you had become close months ago.

You quietly make your way into your bedroom and toss your duffel bag onto the end of the bed before stripping off the dirty, sweaty tactical suit that you'd been wearing since the early hours of the previous morning.

In your bathroom, you turn the faucet handle to the hottest setting and watch as the small room fills with steam before stepping under the showerhead.

You think about what Natasha said as you scrub your body clean and let the harsh but satisfying stream of water relax your aching shoulder muscles.

You wanted to go for it. Goddamn, you wanted to go for it. Every time you are alone with him - whether he's helping you train with target practice, or you're paired up together for re-con, or you're just simply eating breakfast together in the common area - you want to go for it.

All you have to do is stare at his stupid, pretty pink lips for a split-second too long and you're thinking about going for it.

But for so many reasons, you don't.

Though your heart wants more, you love your friendship with him, too. And you would be devastated if you tried for more and it didn't work out and you lost that friendship altogether.

You also don't know if Bucky wants more. Natasha says that everyone around you sees it, but he's never directly said it. You know there's an undeniable chemistry, but what if you're the only one experiencing it?

You watch the last few suds of your body wash go down the drain and turn the shower off, deciding that it's too late and you're far too tired to be thinking about this right now.

You speed through your post-shower routine, desperate to feel the silk of your bedsheets against your clean, freshly moisturized skin as you drift off to sleep.

You're rolling some deodorant under your arms when a deep, loud cry thunders from somewhere outside of your room causing you to let out a shocked gasp. You drop the object in your hand immediately and it falls to the floor as you rush out of your bedroom, wearing only thin cotton shorts and a matching tank top.

As soon as you step into the hallway, you are able to identify where the screams are coming from. Pained, booming yells originate from behind the door directly across from your own.

Bucky’s room.

You don't hesitate to twist the doorknob, letting yourself and shutting the door behind you.

The pale orange glow of a small table lamp in the far corner of his bedroom illuminates the room enough for you to make sense of what is happening. The sight before you makes your heart sink to the floorboards.

He's asleep - his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed together in obvious agony. He's shirtless, and his skin looks pale and clammy with thick beads of sweat littered from his forehead to his torso.

There's a meek voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that you don't know what you're walking into, as you've never encountered Bucky while he's having a nightmare before but he looks so fucking pitiful that your only concern is alleviating him from whatever prison of torment his mind is currently trapped in.

You rush over to the side of the bed, nearly tripping on the comforter that he's apparently through to the floor in his sleep. Both of his hands form tight fists, his knuckles strained pale. He lets out another guttural yell that causes you to instinctively flinch away.

“Bucky,” you say, attempting to keep your voice from breaking. “Wake up, Bucky. You're having a nightmare.”

He gives no indication that he can hear you, his head thrashing violently and fists slamming down against his mattress as he makes a pitiful whimper.

“Bucky,” you repeat, leaning down to perch on the few inches of free space on the side of the bed. You reach out to place your hand on the flesh of his bicep, about to attempt to gently stir him awake, when he shoots straight up in his bed. You flinch again, but don't move from your position next to him, firming your grasp on his bicep in an effort to ground him. His blue eyes are as wide as saucers and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings.

“You're okay,” you assure him in a soft, uncertain voice, rubbing your thumb in circles against the skin of his flesh arm. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is–”

“I could have hurt you,” he interrupts you, his voice faltering on the last word. “I could have–”

“You didn't hurt me,” you interrupt him back. “You're okay, and I'm okay, too.” He nods, and you can tell he's trying to convince himself that the words you say are true.

You quickly glance around his room until you find what you're looking for. Strewn on the floor next to his bedside table, you see a black t-shirt. You reach over, picking it up. You hesitate for a moment before slowly extending the fabric to Bucky's face, where you delicately wipe away the thin layer of sweat that glistens on his forehead. He relaxes into the movement, his eyes closing until you pull away.

“I'm sorry that I woke you up,” he murmurs after a moment of heavy silence.

“You didn't wake me up,” you assure him quickly. He watches you with something akin to guilt across his features. “I had just gotten out of the shower. We didn't get home until half an hour ago.”

He glances down, noticing your attire. You suddenly feel naked in only the thin gray shorts and tank top. You awkwardly clear your throat, reaching to place the t-shirt on his bedside table when something catches your eye. Bucky follows your gaze to the joint laying on his bedside table.

“I tried to wait up for you,” he exhales a soft laugh. “Ended up passing out around midnight.” Your whole body warms at his admission. The idea that he tried to force himself to stay awake just so he could see you when you got home makes you feel dizzy despite the fact that you're sitting down.

“Do you want to now? To help you sleep?” you ask, gesturing towards the joint. You don't even care that it's three in the morning and that you're borderline delirious from lack of sleep.

He takes one of your hands in between his own and brings it closer to him, giving it a tight squeeze as he shakes his head.

“No, I know you're tired. But could you just..” He trails off, bringing your hand clutched between his up to his mouth to rest his lips against the skin of the back of your hand. It's not quite a kiss, but it sends goosebumps across your flesh nonetheless. You're holding your breath without realizing it. “Could you just lay with me for a while?”

You nod your head in agreement without even thinking about it. “Yeah - yeah, of course,” you answer, hoping that you don't sound too eager while simultaneously knowing that your voice has risen several octaves.

You lean over once again, grabbing his comforter off of the floor as Bucky scoots towards the middle of the king sized bed to give you room to crawl in beside him. He extends his flesh arm away from his body, a clear indication that he wants you to lay in the space between his arm and his chest. You lay down, tucking your head under his chin so that your cheek rests against the mildly clammy but soft skin of his chest. He helps you tug the thick blanket across your bodies before bringing his arm around your abdomen, pinning you to him.

Luckily, you’re far too tired, and he’s far too warm for you to overthink it.

“You smell really good,” he murmurs into your hair and you hope that his preternatural abilities don’t pick up on the way your heart skips a beat. “I probably smell like sweat.”

You hum a laugh against his chest, sniffing the skin next to your nose without thinking about it.

“You don’t smell like sweat. You smell just as good as you always do, somehow,” you assure him, reveling in his unique scent of vetiver and something citrusy.

You’re both quiet for a moment, sleep threatening to overtake you at any moment when he brings two metal fingers to the underside of your chin and gently tilts your face to look up at him. Your breath is trapped in your chest at the close proximity of your lips and his.

“Remember the night of the gala, when I told you that I’d started sleeping better and having less nightmares since we’d started smoking together before bed?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to answer verbally. He’s so fucking close, you can smell the spearmint of his toothpaste from when he’d brushed his teeth hours ago.

“That was true,” he continues, looking down at you with an indiscernible expression. “But what I’m now realizing is that I don’t think it has anything to do with the weed,” he pauses, a small smile forming across his face. “It’s just you.”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms in return, just as you can’t stop what you do next.

Closing the distance between your lips and his own, you kiss him as you’ve thought about doing for months now. You’re hesitant at first, worrying that you’ve crossed that line that you can never go back over - but then he’s moving his mouth with your own in a synchronicity sweeter than you could have dreamed.

His arms dart under the comforter, wrapping around your body and pulling you even tighter against him. You bring one of your hands to cup his face as he sweeps his tongue along the swell of your bottom lip. You open up for him, letting him inside your mouth as you move your hand from his jaw to his hair - lacing your fingers through the short brown locks as he explores your mouth. Your thigh hooks around his, and it takes everything in you to hold back - to not swing yourself over him and lay the full weight of your body flush against his.

He’s just had a nightmare, and it’s late, and you’re tired, and you don’t want to move this sweet, special thing that you have too quickly.

He pulls away, and you fight against whimpering at the loss of the sensation of his soft lips.

“The night of the meteor shower,” he starts, his voice strained and his pupils dilated. “You told me to make a wish, and I did. Now that it’s come true, I can tell you what it was I wished for,” he pauses, running his metal thumb across your kiss-swollen bottom lip as you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “I wished for as many moments like that as I could possibly get with you.”

Your heart swells in your chest. You're convinced that you're asleep because this is something straight out of your dreams. You remove your hand from his hair, placing it directly above his heart to make yourself believe this is real.

“Speaking of meteor showers,” you start as you trail the tips of your fingers over the defined planes of his chest. “There's supposed to be a cool show at the planetarium in Manhattan this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

His answer is a soft smile before attaching his lips to yours once more.

thanks so much for reading! as always reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated. i hope you enjoyed 🩷

other recent works by me: love language • delirium • it's nice to have a friend

[orteil42]

Cookie Clicker turns 10 today! Having outlived our enemies, let us celebrate with a fresh batch of announcements!

🍪First of all, Cookie Clicker is 40% off on Steam this week! The perfect gift for your loved and/or hated ones! (the web version is still free forever but you don't get Steam achievements or music by C418!)

🍪Secondly! The mobile version has been lagging behind the browser game for years and is in dire need of an update. I've been dedicating most of my time recently to bringing its content up to par! Here's a progress report:

Compared to the current version, this update adds back 284 upgrades and 179 achievements from the web game, which leaves 83 upgrades and 94 achievements still unimplemented plus a good amount of heavenly upgrades. I am determined to close that gap!

Seasons and the pet dragon are currently partially implemented. These are complicated, compound features with side-effects in all kinds of places so once the update gets an alpha release I'll likely be needing everyone's help to hunt for bugs and oversights. I'm being as thorough as possible but there's no way I didn't forget some obscure interplay somewhere!

I'm also updating the UI! Cookie Clicker's interface makes heavy use of woodwork, which is largely absent from the mobile version; I've been aiming to bring it back. Rather than recycling desktop assets, I'm looking to push the game's visual identity towards less "plain wooden boards" and more "victorian biscuit shop" (something I'd have liked to go for when I first made the game but didn't quite know how yet). Here's some early screenshots!

I'm using Blender for the new assets, I might make a more in-depth post about my process in the future. Please note that these are experimental and I'm still fiddling with the look! Once I'm happy with it I'll ideally be giving the desktop game a similar makeover.

This update will hopefully come out later this year and will likely involve multiple rounds of alpha. Once stable, future updates will focus on adding sugar lumps and as many of the minigames as possible.

🍪Thirdly: the Makeship grandma plushie is real and we're doing a giveaway! Please read this twitter post to enter. Note that if the launch campaign succeeds we've got other plushies in mind! Maybe a wrinkler?

🍪Fourthly - there was going to be a really cool announcement here but I've been informed I'm not yet at liberty to discuss it. It's sooooo cool tho trust me. things happening. u gotta take my word for it. tune in next time

🍪Lastly:

i've got enough dough for like, idk 50 more? mom's recipe. white+dark+milk chocolate. they're very good thank you

PS. thank you for playing with us all these years! odds are some of you reading this have been here since the very start. that's mad to think about! Opti and I couldn't have done this for 10 whole years without all of you hyping us up. i want to see if we can do 10 more. get real freaky with it

[slut4thebroken]

Mark The Day

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jackson Rippner x reader

Summary | Jackson wants an heir, so he buys a slave from an underground breeding farm.

Warnings | NON CON, smut, sexual slavery, dark, dead dove do not eat lmao, vibrator, overstim, multiple orgasms, breeding, light humiliation/degradation, mentions of branding/inflicting harm on reader, bondage, dehumanization, AU?

Words | 2k

Notes | Idk I tried to keep the focus on reader only and not really write anything about the ‘other women’ but I kinda had to a tiny bit just for the ‘plot’. Hopefully it wasn’t too much tho😓

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 16: sexual slavery

Read this first ❤️🫶

“As you can see, we make sure to thoroughly train each slave.”

Jackson glanced around the room, but his attention was drawn to you. You weren’t acting out, but you were significantly more jittery and visibly anxious than the others. “What about her?” He asked, pointing at you. 

“Arrived at the facility a week ago. We’ve just begun the training process…” Jackson continued admiring you, taking in the way your red rimmed eyes looked around frantically and your body trembled. “If you’re interested, training should be complete by the end of the month.” As the man spoke, Jackson glanced around the room, taking in the other, more docile girls. 

“No need.” He said surely, turning back to the man who hesitated. “I’ll take her.”

“I would strongly advise against that, Mr. Rippner… She’s far from obedient and the fertility treatment hasn’t started yet.” 

“I know. I’d like to break her in myself.” His eyes strayed to you again and his lips curled up into a small smile. “How long does the fertility treatment take?” He asked, not looking away from you. 

“We usually wait two weeks before putting them on the market.” 

“Can it be done in one?” 

The man paused for a moment. “I’m sure.. for the right price, we can make that happen for you, Mr. Rippner.” Jackson turned to face him, his expression relaxed but also a little amused at the man’s overt attempt to upsell him. In response, he held his hand out to shake on the deal. 

“May I?” He asked, pointing to you. The man just gestured to you, silently giving permission. Jackson walked over to you and you tried to back away, but the chain connecting your collar to the floor wasn’t long enough for you to be able to escape him. He crouched down in front of you and examined you closely with a small smirk. 

“You’re a pretty thing.” He murmured, hungrily dragging his gaze down your nude body. When he lifted his hand to grab your chin, you flinched away from him, making him chuckled softly. “And scared too… We’re going to have a lot of fun together.” 

A week later, Jackson returned to pick up his new slave and take you home. “What’s your name?” He asked, making you falter. After a moment, you gave him your name, your voice timid and full of fear. “Jackson.” He responded, guiding you through the house to a room. 

“You’ll sleep in the crate in my bedroom. However, for our play time, I set up the spare room just for you.” He smirked predatorily, watching you walk inside. You looked around, feeling your stomach churn as you took in all of the whips, toys, restraints, and furniture. 

“Fortunately for you, I’m not a cruel man.” He pulled you over to a breeding bench and bent you over it, strapping down your wrists, ankles, and torso. “So between most breeding sessions, you’ll spend your time right here.” You could hear movement, but you couldn’t turn your head enough to see what he was doing. Then he was suddenly walking in front of you, now holding a ball gag. You clenched your teeth, trying to keep him from putting it on, and he sighed. 

“Either I put this gag on and continue as planned, or I whip your ass until you bleed, and then put this gag on and continue as planned.” Your bottom lip quivered as your gaze shifted between his face and the gag. With tears in your eyes, you reluctantly opened your mouth. “Good girl.” He secured it, then brushed away a tear that escaped your waterline. 

You flinched when he suddenly stood up, but he just moved behind you again, out of your field of vision. As soon as you felt something press against your clit, you stiffened, then cried out when he turned the vibrator on. He seemed to be debating what speed to set it at, but eventually he settled on the highest setting. 

“There we go.” He smiled, stepping back to admire his work. Your legs were already quivering from the intense pleasure and he could tell you were trying to hold back your sounds. Walking back in front of you, he grabbed your cheeks and lifted your face as he bent down. 

“That feel good?” He cooed mockingly. You sobbed out a moan and squeezed your eyes shut, your brows knitting together in an adorable display of agony. “I bet it does.” He chuckled. “Like I said, I’m not completely cruel. I know you won’t ever be turned on enough for our breeding sessions to not hurt you— at least, not yet.” When you whimpered around the gag, he released you and stood back up. “You’re welcome.” He said dryly. 

You could hear his footsteps as he walked and you were already dreading whatever he was going to do next. Instead, all he said before slamming the door shut was, “Enjoy your night.” 

The next morning, he woke up and took his time making himself breakfast and getting ready for the day. Eventually he decided to check on you.

Your sounds were audible before he even opened the door and once he stepped inside, his cock twitched at the sight. “Oh wow.” He chuckled, stepping closer. At the sound of his voice, your crying intensified and you started pleading through the gag. The vibrator was still going strong, but it was covered in your come, and there was a puddle beneath you, so you either squirted, or pissed yourself. 

“Maybe I should’ve let them train you a little longer.” He smirked, slowly making his way to the front of your body. “Do I need to get you some pee pads?” He cooed, making you cry harder. Once he was in front of you, he grabbed your hair and yanked your head up, relishing in the image of your flushed, tear stained cheeks and the saliva that was steadily drooling out of your mouth around the gag. 

“How was your night?” He asked, only making you more distressed. You were sobbing so hard that he could even see the snot leaking from your nose. With a sigh, he released you and walked behind you to turn off the vibrator. Your whole body sagged in relief, your muscles still twitching weakly. 

Leaning closer, he used one hand to grab your ass and pull it open a little, while the other dragged through your slick folds. You let out a choked sound when he pushed two fingers inside you without warning. 

“Perfect.” He murmured, slowly fucking them in and out of your drooling hole. You were still so tight, but he would at least be able to fit his cock in there. You whimpered and squirmed a little, barely able to move in the restraints, and he let out a low groan, unable to wait any longer. 

Your body went completely rigid at the sound of his belt buckle, but he ignored it, opening his pants frantically and taking out his length. He moved the vibrator away for now and lined up, then immediately pushed in, forcing a strangled cry out of you from the sudden stretch. 

He bottomed out with a grunt, taking a moment to admire the sight of your pussy wrapped tightly around his cock. When he pulled back, it was already glistening with your arousal. It didn’t take long for him to get desperate enough to speed up, starting a punishing pace that forced little breaths and sounds out of you with each thrust. 

Once you started moaning, a smug smirk took over his face. “See? You would’ve been screaming and crying if not for my compassion.” He said, feigning concern. He reached up to unbuckle the gag and let it drop to the floor before adding, “What do you say?” 

“T-Thank you.” You choked out, voice hoarse from moaning and crying all night. 

“Try again.” He ordered with a sharp smack on your ass, forcing a strangled sob from you. 

“Thank you.. master…” The way you trailed off made it sound like a question, but he decided to let it slide this time and focus on fucking you. 

“Good girl.” He groaned, speeding up. “You’re exactly what I wanted, bitch. You still have some fight left in you, but it doesn’t take much to beat you into submission.” He chuckled, imagining all the ways he could force you to submit if you were ever disobedient. He was so excited to see your pretty skin covered in bruises, welts, scratches, bite marks, cuts— everything. He also made a mental note to brand you soon since he was now completely certain that you were the perfect slave he’s been searching for.  

The wet sounds of your pussy were obscene as he fucked you hard and fast, trying to savor his first time fucking you, but unable to hold back because of how good you felt squeezing his cock. 

“God- I’m already close.” He groaned, already deciding to do another breeding session in a couple hours, instead of waiting until tomorrow. “Your cunt feels fucking incredible.” You whined, but the way you clamped down on his cock was unmistakable. 

“Mark the day, pet. You’re going to officially be my breeding slave in a few minutes.” He smiled, making you stiffen, then start thrashing. 

“No!” You yelled, trying uselessly to escape the restraints. 

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know what you were being sold for.” He scoffed. “You underwent the fertility treatment, didn’t you?” 

“Please— please don’t..” You sobbed, still trying to break free. 

“This is happening, cunt.” He growled bitterly. “I paid for a slave that would give me an heir and that’s exactly what you are.” 

“Please pull out!” You cried, becoming hysterical. Jackson groaned, feeling his orgasm rapidly approaching as you continued begging and sobbing. 

“Keep fucking crying, bitch. It only turns me on more.” He said with a dark chuckle. This was exactly what he wanted; some fight. He didn’t want a broken, docile slave who took his abuse willingly. He wanted a slave who still had hope that this wasn’t her new reality, and you were still clinging to that desperately. 

His hips stuttered for a moment, then he slammed in with a grunt, fully sheathing his cock inside you. Your pussy fluttered around his twitching length, greedily taking his come despite yourself. You were crying almost violently now, babbling out senseless pleas for him to stop, but it was too late. 

When his orgasm finally faded, he panted for a few seconds, then slowly withdrew his cock. It slipped free with a wet squelch and he quickly walked over to grab the internal vibrator he bought for you. He pushed it in, keeping you plugged up, then took off all the restraints and lifted you upright. You stumbled when he dragged you over to the bed, then whimpered when he threw you down onto it. 

He started with your wrists, tying them to each corner of the bed. Then he pushed your legs up and bent you in half, letting him tie your ankles to the headboard, keeping your cunt angled up a little bit so that his come could have a chance to take. 

He stood back to admire you for a moment before remembering the last detail. You watched him walk over to grab a cloth of some kind, then you tried to turn your head away when he moved to tie it around you as a gag, but it was no use. 

“There we go.” He smiled proudly. “Now, I have some work that needs to get done before our next breeding session so you’re going to be a good little slave and stay right here.” He chuckled at his choice of words. When he turned on the internal vibrator, you screamed around the cloth and squeezed your eyes shut, feeling far too sensitive after the rough fucking. “See you in a few hours for round two, pet.” 

[azsazz]

Brr-eakdown

Hockey Player!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I love love LOVE your Hockey!Azriel x Ice skater reader series! So good! 😍 I just read the one where Azriel gets in a fight on the ice and the reader is worried about him getting hurt and I can just imagine how upset Azriel would be if it was the opposite and you didn’t hit the landing or something during practice on the ice and you end up in the ER and everyone’s talking about how there was so much blood so Az is worried and trying to get to you and he wants to punch something so bad while he’s waiting to hear about your condition but there’s no one to fight. He’s so soft and takes care of you while you get better though ❤️🥹 (I need a hockey player Azriel in real life asap… seriously thank you for bringing him to life ❤️)

Warnings: Mentions of an accident (reader falls and cracks her head open) and blood.

Word Count: 1,475

Notes: Okay, I didn't quite hit everything, but hopefully I did it justice with what I was able to add 💙

_________________________________________

“Again,” your coach demands, and you want to melt into a puddle of tears.

Your limbs are aching, legs quivering from practicing the same jump over and over and over again, but you still haven’t mastered it and the championship is only three weeks away. If you don’t land this trick during your routine, you’re never going to nationals.

“I can’t, Coach,” you pant, graciously accepting the water bottle she passes you. Coach Weaver is the most decorated figure skating trainer in the country, and not only is it a privilege for her to be an employee at your university, but to be working on your solo routine with her is an opportunity not many receive. “My legs are shot for the day.”

The water is crisp and fresh on your tongue, wetting your parched throat. If you focus on that, you’re almost able to forget about the quivering muscles of your legs from so many attempted—and failed—jumps today. You’ve been running your routine for the past hour and for once, you’re saddened by the lack of presence from the university’s hockey team, who are usually bombarding your ice time by now, you notice as you peek at the clock on the timeboard pinned to the side of the stadium.

“If you want to make it to nationals this year, you need to spend all of your free time practicing, not chasing around those hockey players,” Coach Weaver says. She doesn’t look up from her phone, eyes glued to the most recent video of one of your many unsuccessful runs. Her eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing, and all you want right now is for her phone to run out of battery. “Are you doing enough core work on your time out of practice?” She finally lifts that inspecting gaze to your stomach and it makes you want to squirm. “Your edge work could use some practice, too. Your control isn’t nearly as strong as it should be.” 

Again, because my legs feel like fucking jello, you think sourly, clenching your teeth. You don’t respond. It’s futile, anyway. All Coach Weaver would do is come back at you with another demand, wondering why you seem to have so many excuses, and you can do without today. 

“Yes, Coach,” you agree, because it’ll be the quickest way to get you out of here. All you want to do is collapse on your couch with some much needed dinner and kick your feet up into Azriel’s lap, praying for a massage. You’ll beg if you have to, but there’s no way you can get down on your knees for him tonight. No, it’s pillow princess night for you, if you don’t fall asleep on the couch first.

“Run it again,” Coach Weaver says, straying away from nitpicking you. “And make sure that air position is tight this time, I don’t want a hair out of place.” 

Spoke too soon.

There’s no point in arguing, even if you know there’s no possible way you’re going to be able to land this jump today. Coach won’t quit until you’re unable to move, until she sees that you’ve had enough. 

Other skaters whiz by and you envy them. A girl and her partner glide past looking like two graceful gazelles, and in an intricate jumble of limbs, he throws her into the air, catching her, and they spin in tight circles, quicker than your eye can follow. 

Maybe you should’ve done partnered skating instead.

“Let’s go,” Coach barks. She’s looking at her watch like she has some place to be, which you know is untrue because of the rumors you’ve heard the other skaters whispering about her. How she drove off her second husband the same way she did the first, how all she has at home is a bottle of rum and a karaoke machine. 

You quickly take position, and then you’re off. You try to clear your mind of all of your earlier attempts but your legs are screaming in protest. You press your lips together, gaining speed, making sure your edges are set and your core is tight.

You don’t even notice Azriel sneaking into the rink. Well, he’s not sneaking, because he’s been in here more times in the past few years at college than you have. He catches you as you glide past, a determined look to your eye that makes his chest tight with pride.

You lift, spin once, twice, and it’s euphoric. Surely, you must almost have it this time. Something blooms warm in your chest, but halfway through your third rotation everything comes crashing down. You nearly would have had it that time, if your lethargic leg didn’t give out as soon as your blade makes contact with the ice again. 

You don’t have time to scream, to brace as you come smashing into the ice with the force of a bull.

The sound of your skull cracking against the ice rings through the arena, silencing everyone except for the distressed shout of your name that follows you into the blackness.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Oh my Gods,” Azriel sighs in relief. His brows are furrowed deeply, the same frown you’ve come to know and love deeper, more sad as he stares at you in relief. His fingers tighten around yours and you squeeze back gently, blinking groggily. “Thank fuck you’re awake, sweetheart.” 

“What happened?” You ask, but you don’t know why. You remember everything clearly, up until you slipped into the ice. You remember Coach Weaver demanding you try your trick again, despite your protests not to. You remember feeling confident in the air, even though your legs were an aching pile of muscle that gave out with your landing. From then, it’s all fuzzy. All you know is that Azriel was there. He still is.

“You didn’t land your fall,” he explains wearily, like he’s not sure he should be the one explaining this. Fuck it, he doesn’t care. You’re here and you’re hurt, but you’re okay. You’re going to be. Azriel will see to it himself. “Your body  just crumpled, sweetheart, and you—” He takes a shuddering breath that has you reaching out to caress his cheek. He leans into your touch, kissing your palm before continuing the haunting story. “You hit your head. There was blood everywhere. Please, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

You groan in response, reluctantly removing your hand from the warm skin of your boyfriend, reaching up to finger at the bandages wrapped around your head. You grimace at the thought of what you must look like right now, worse for wear.

Azriel gently takes your hand, removing it from where you’re still poking at your head, trying to find the wound. You don’t feel anything, probably because of the numbing the doctors used when fixing you up. 

You suspect you’re not going to feel all that great later.

“You have five staples in your head,” Azriel answers your unspoken question. If it will keep you from dislodging your bandage, he’ll tell you what you want to know.

You hum softly. “What did Coach say?”

You don’t miss the way Azriel clenches his teeth. “She called the ambulance. She actually insisted that she be the one to ride with you but I shut that down right fucking quick,” he spits, and he’s getting all worked up again. It was hard seeing you fall, his stomach dropping to the floor, but once he saw the blood weeping from your skull, he’d only seen red.

Your shoulders sag. It’s a relief that she isn’t here right now, though a part of you wants to shove this in her face. Hopefully, it will be the last time she ignores her student’s limits.

Leaning your head back against the pillow propped behind you, you ask the question you’re dreading. Swallowing harshly, you inquire, “How long am I going to be off ice?”

Your boyfriend is silent for a long moment, two. It makes your heart twist in your chest, bracing for the terrible news.

“Doc says you’re out for two weeks,” Azriel says, brushing his lips across your knuckles in an apologetic manner. He knows how much skating means to you, and hates to be the one to break the news to you, but he’d rather be the one doing it than you having to hear it from the doctor.

“Two weeks?” you exclaim, eyes nearly bugging out of your head. You wince at the sudden movement and when the roaring of your voice makes your headache. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea, but there’s only three weeks until the championship, and if you aren’t able to land your trick within one week returning to the ice, your entire season is fucked.

Azriel cringes, and the bad news isn’t over yet. “Minimum.” 

And your season is officially down the drain.

_________________________________________

Hockey!AU Tag (will be tagged for any hockey fic, no matter paring):

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @blackthorngirl @i-am-infinite @feerique @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (5) - Confrontation

Summary: Living under the same roof as Astarion was proving to me more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Nightmare. Hurt/Comfort. Innuendo. Heavy use of sarcasm hahaha.

Word count: 4.4k

Previous chapter. Ao3. Series Masterlist

If anyone had suggested a few days ago that you'd find yourself living under the same roof as Astarion, you would have called them delusional and point them to the nearest infirmary for a mental check.

But the wheels of fate turned in mysterious ways, and a mere glance at the man sitting across from you was proof enough of that.

The flames swirling and crisping in the nearby fireplace cast the most delicate yellow and orange tint on his pale complexion as he flipped the pages of a book you had lent him.

You had tried to focus on your own reading, but you just couldn't help but to occasionally shift your gaze to him.

Gods… it was nigh criminal how handsome this man was.

It was as if he had been hand-carved by someone intended on wreaking havoc in the name of beauty.

And, as far as you were concerned, they had thoroughly succeeded.

Suddenly, he lifted his head and he met your gaze dead-on, unblinkingly.

So handsome…

A cold shiver ran up the back of your neck, but you found herself unable to look away. It was as if, in that moment, you had managed to block out everything around you but him. The longer you stared at him, the more acutely you felt detached from reality.

“May I kiss you?”

You blinked a few times. “What?”

His eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised in sheer perplexity.

“No need to look so offended, darling,” he said with a scoff, rising from his seat and snatching the candle holder from the table to your right. “I was merely asking for this. I apologise if the request is out of the realm of your ‘one hundred good deeds I must perform before I perish’ list.”

You blinked again.

What?

You glanced around, but judging from the lack of reaction from both Gale and Shadowheart, you figured that maybe he hadn't actually asked to kiss you.

Great. Now I'm hallucinating…

He returned to his padded chair with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I've seen more light in the deepest corners of the Shadowlands.”

Maybe sleep deprivation was finally taking its toll on you, rendering you delirious.

Regardless, the illusion had been enough to flare your heart, and you hurriedly focused your attention on the book in your hands.

“I had quite forgotten how peacefully silent it can be without having you around, Astarion.” Shadowheart spoke as she tended to a few rolls of parchment and letters.

“Well, you can thank Wyll for that.”

She ignored him. “All you do is complain.”

You felt a storm brewing on the horizon as you lifted your eyes to glance at him.

Astarion let out a cynical laugh. “You're one to speak.”

Shadowheart was now scowling. Deeply.

“Besides, that is a rather disingenuous accusation. Want proof?” he asked, clearing his throat. “So, Gale - what are you reading that has you scribbling about like a mad man?”

The wizard snapped out of his nose-deep dive and brought his quill to a halt with a beaming smile. “Glad you ask, my friend. ‘A Visual Guide to Baldur's Gate's Exquisite Cuisine’. First edition. Hand-signed by the finest chefs in the city. What a marvel, indeed.”

As expected, Astarion looked as unimpressed as ever, but you interjected before he could mouth anything obtuse.

“That sounds rather exciting, Gale.”

He nodded eagerly. “A small guilty pleasure of mine, I must say. I'm taking down some notes, so that I can - hopefully - prepare some delectable dishes for us.”

Shadowheart's eyes remained fixed on Astarion as if awaiting for him to burst at any moment.

He exchanged a quick glance with you before muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“I think it's to be commended that he cares enough to try,” you said sweetly, earning a scornful glare from him. “I can't wait for you to showcase your abilities, Gale.”

“My sentiments exactly, dear friend.”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “‘Abilities’ as in setting the kitchen ablaze, or…”

You shot him a death glare.

He shrugged. “You two are a match made in the hells.”

This had you snap your book closed with a loud thud, eyeing him defiantly. “So what constitutes an engaging reading to you, Astarion? Murderous ploys?”

His lips curled into a devious smile. “Something along those lines. Although I do enjoy indulging in some debauchery from time to time.”

You weren't sure Gale would set the kitchen ablaze with his cooking skills, but Astarion's blunt and crass words sure did that to your cheeks.

Shadowheart scoffed.

“There are some interesting books in my collection,” he continued, clearly enjoying your loss of composure. “I will gladly lend you some… or maybe offer a guided tour through my favourite pieces?”

You needed to change the subject.

Fast.

You were most definitely fighting a losing battle.

This was Astarion's playground, and he would always come out victorious.

“Must you always resort to such vulgarity?” Shadowheart sneered, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I'm afraid the city is fresh out of those who know how to properly enjoy themselves, and we can't all be dullards, darling.”

You cleared your throat. “So, Gale… you're leaving for Waterdeep soon enough.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. If all goes well, we shall have access to the Wish spell soon enough, my vampling friend.”

Astarion crossed his arms. “Finally some progress.”

“Maybe you should be more thankful.” You said with a frown.

“As should you,” he shot back. “No more need to offer your blood to me.”

Fair enough.

“Much to your disappointment, I imagine.” Shadowheart chimed in.

But before he could retort, you heard a rising commotion outside that only came to a halt as the front door burst open.

Lae'zel came through, carrying what appeared to be a very much deceased wild boar across her shoulders as if it was nothing more than a sack of feathers.

She kicked the door shut at once, nostrils flaring. “Tsk'va! What are those two doing outside?”

“House arrest.” Astarion informed.

Bringing the carcass to the kitchen table, Lae'zel locked eyes with you, visibly annoyed.

“I had plans to rescue you from that prison. And I would have had it my way had it not been for Gale and his… morals.”

Gale bolted from his seat, suddenly looking rather distressed. “Lae'zel, we've spoken about this before and agreed not to bring bleeding carcasses into our home.”

She glared at him. “You alone agreed to it - I had no part in it.”

He gave her an exasperated look, picking up a piece of cloth to wipe away the strands of blood that had begun to run along the wooden surface.

“If this falls on the carpet, it will be a nightmare to remove the stains.”

Astarion tutted. “Darling, that carpet is so hideous that being splattered with carrion blood would be a vast improvement.”

You rose to your feet, rushing to join Lae's zel, who quickly placed her hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your lips tugged into a genuine smile.

To her, this was the equivalent of ‘I am glad you're safe and I care for you’ and it warmed your heart beyond measure.

Naturally, Astarion quickly joined your side, earning Lae'zel's disdainful gaze.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, it was a two-for-one type of deal, wasn't it?” Astarion mocked, turning to you. “Free one criminal and get two on house arrest.”

Unfortunately for Astarion, Lae'zel had little patience to entertain his sarcastic remarks and merely scoffed.

“I would have easily rescued from that prison, you know?” She gave your shoulder another squeeze and you nodded. “Those frail guards are no match for a githyanki.”

“On that much we can agree.” He mused.

She gave him a stern look. “I would have left you there.”

“We fought a giant brain, a scheming squid, and a whole parade of lunatics side by side, in case you've forgotten, my dear nest of vipers friend,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe you ought to show more gratitude.”

You expected her to snap at him, but she merely pressed her lips and gave him a nod.

That would be as far as she'd go, though.

“Well, as much as I enjoy this ‘family’ reunion, I'm off to my room,” Shadowheart said from a distance, already heading towards the staircase. “Please do not maim each other in my absence - there's only so much healing I can provide.”

You chuckled and she smiled warmly at you.

“Say, Lae'zel…” Astarion started, circling the boar with utmost interest. “I would hate for perfectly adequate blood to go to waste.”

The implication in his words wasn't subtle at all, and she groaned. “I thought you feeding on our friend was enough.”

Your stomach lurched violently.

He scoffed. “There is no such thing as ‘enough’ blood for a vampire. Besides, she's the main course… this would be more of an aperitif, if you will.”

Now, you felt positively sick to your core.

A wave of nausea and repulsion gripped you tight.

“It would be a mutually beneficial situation - I save Gale from a mental breakdown, sparing you tue ordeal, and I also get to quench my hunger.”

Gale grumbled something in agreement.

But you felt the sudden wish to be swallowed whole by some magical hole in the ground.

The way he referred to you as nothing more than food prompted a visceral reaction from you, and you feared you might empty the contents of your stomach from it alone.

“Um… I'll go get some sleep… I'm too tired,” you said dismissively, already pacing towards the corridor that led to your room. “Have a good night.”

Astarion called after you, but you didn't bother looking back.

But before you could turn the doorknob, you heard light steps approaching and firm fingers gripping your forearm.

Astarion.

His face was void of any amusement. “You're upset.��

You pulled free from his grasp. “A neat observation. No wonder you're such a skilled rogue.”

His brows furrowed lightly. “What's the matter?”

“It seems that I'm only worthy of your attention when it comes to you treating me as nothing but a meal, to hurl your sarcastic remarks at. Oh - and unless I'm on the verge of death,” you said, counting on each finger.

He seemed quite taken aback, his features twisting into a scowl. “You really adore selling yourself short, don't you?”

“You won't even deny it.”

“Then what sort of attention do you want from me?” He asked, taking a step closer, the sudden proximity catching you off-guard. “Do enlighten me.”

You glared at him in silence for a moment, vaguely wondering how the two of you had gotten to this point in your relationship, where everything seemed so… off.

Astarion was standing in front of you, but it wasn't truly him.

He was there, but not really.

He seemed so detached from the Astarion you had fallen for, and a part of you loathed that you had allowed yourself to get so attached to him in the first place.

Eventually, you heaved a deep sigh as he awaited your reply. “The sort of attention I don't have to beg for.”

His face softened briefly and he parted his lips only to press them close together again as if he had decided against speaking.

Right.

You swallowed hard. “Have a good night.”

The hopeful part of you half-expected him to stop you from walking away as you closed the door behind you, but he did no such thing.

You pressed your back against it, taking a deep breath, feeling as if you had just lost something.

Had you been too dramatic?

Did it even matter at this point?

Maybe it was better off this way.

You moved to scrub your face clean in the washbasin, preparing yourself to get some rest before the morning came.

Whatever was of your relationship with Astarion would have to wait for you to be able to think more clearer.

Slipping into your nightdress, you allowed yourself to fall on your bed and onto your stomach with a muffled thud, wanting to do nothing more than to scream into the covers, but remained still instead.

After what felt like hours of restlessly rolling beneath the sheets, you felt your mind lighten and were able to find solace in the peace and quiet.

That was until you heard a distant voice.

A woman's voice.

Her voice.

“Go on. Bleed her dry for me…”

You felt the mattress dip slightly and your eyes snapped open only to find Astarion baring his fangs.

And then he was on you, pinning you frozen with both hands.

“No - stop! Get off!”

He didn't hold back and you felt a familiar sting tear through your neck, his cold lips sprawling across your skin.

“She's so pathetic. Just kill her. Put her out of her misery.”

“Get off!” You cried out, feeling his weight pinning you down.

He didn't waver and you felt your blood being drained from you alarmingly fast as you tried your best to yank free from his vicious grip.

You were going to die.

He was going to kill you.

“Stop! Please - Astarion!”

Something was squeezing your shoulder and you tried to squirm away from the increasing pressure.

You felt him chuckle in amusement against your skin and that was what killed you first.

“ASTARION!”

The grip on you kept on increasing and you realised someone was shaking you.

“Wake up.”

How was he speaking whilst fiercely feeding on you?

Were you already dead?

Your cries turned into uncontrollable sobs and you felt like breathing was no longer an option.

“Wake up!”

The shove against your shoulder was too fierce this time, and you jolted violently, feeling the pressure on top of you only faintly ease.

“Get the fuck off me!”

You tried to conjure a spell - any spell - that might help you set yourself free.

He called out your name and your eyes snapped open at once, only to see Astarion hovering over you, hand now pressed firmly against your lips, muffling your sobs.

Bergamot.

Rosemary.

Aged brandy.

It was him.

He was there.

The nightmare faded with each passing second, and, for the longest time, all you could hear were your laboured breaths as you struggled to step into reality.

Your eyes were blurred from the tears welling up, and you watched his lips part to utter something, but the pounding in your ears prevented you from understanding a single word.

He eventually dropped the hand from your mouth, staring at you with an understanding look on his face.

“You're safe."

For a split second, you wondered if this was truly your Astarion, and once you asserted that it was truly him sitting beside you, you pushed yourself from the mattress, looping your arms around his neck.

He took you in his arms, gently pressing his lips to your temple.

“You're safe. I'm here and I've got you."

You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down as you pressed your face to his shoulder, seeking any sliver of comfort he could spare you.

The door to your room burst open.

“What happened? What did you do?”

Shadowheart's accusatory tone ground on your already fragile nerves.

“She was having a nightmare.”

His cool hand came to the back of your head, further pressing you into him.

“Oh. Another one…”

You felt your heartbeat soothe and your breathing gradually even out.

But his embrace felt too much like coming home for you to part from him, so you didn't, allowing him to rock you gently in his arms.

“It's become more frequent as of late.” She said with a hint of sadness to her voice.

Astarion kept his lips pressed to your temple, grounding you.

You eventually pulled back from him with a loud sniffle. “I'm fine. I am sorry I worried you…”

Shadowheart approached you, kindness on her face. “Nonsense. I am here for you - we are here for you,” she added, glancing at Astarion. “Always.”

“I'll just try to get some rest… you two may go…” you stammered in between a few sobs.

Shadowheart didn't move and neither did Astarion.

You rubbed your puffy and wet eyes. “I mean it. It will be fine.”

“Very well,” Shadowheart drawled out reluctantly. “But please let me know if there is anything I can help with.”

You gave her a reassuring nod paired with a comforting smile.

She returned the gesture and excused herself, clicking the door shut behind her.

Your gaze shifted to him. “You can leave, too.”?

He scoffed. “No.”

“What?”

“You'll have to stake me.”

You were utterly confused by his perseverance.

“I am fine, Astarion. I am thankful for your help, but… you don't have to stay.”

He nodded. “I don't have to, but I want to.”

Your heart clenched tightly in your chest.

And then your eyes fell to his shoulder.

“Oh, my…” you winced at the sight of the soppy fabric of his shirt. “I'm sorry for that…”

He looked confused at first, but followed your line of sight and smiled. “Was this an excuse to get me out of my shirt?”

His playful jab immediately had you chuckle, rolling your eyes at him.

“Not to mention that I've been covered in all sorts of your bodily fluids,” he went on, earning a surprised glare from you. “This might be my…” he paused brielfy, as if evaluating his options. “Ah - my third favourite, yes.”

You should have known better than to take the evident glare, but you could really use the distraction.

“What are the first two, then?”

You hadn't even realised your nightdress had come undone at the front until he reached out to pull back the sleeve that had slid down your arm.

Glancing down, you couldn't help the rush of heat on your cheeks as your breasts were barely covered at all.

“Blood, naturally,” he said in a low voice, tying each set of strings with unmatched dexterity, keeping your modesty preserved. “And your-”

But before he could reply, you quickly pressed your forefinger to his lips, eyes widening as you felt him smile under your touch and pressing a soft kiss.

You felt as though you might implode.

His hands moved up your chest, tying up the last knots.

“There - all neatly wrapped up like a nice little gift.” He said, amusement coating his words.

He was too good at getting under your skin.

More than you were willing to admit, especially out loud.

“Thank you for making me laugh.” You said truthfully, pushing aside how he had so easily made you feel all heated up.

“I aim to please.”

His words hit you like a thousand knives.

“You're more than that…” You said, wanting to reassure him that he didn't need to resort to honeyed words and calculated moves to create a meaningful connection with someone.

But your statement had the opposite effect, and he frowned slightly.

“Don't. Do not start…”

You swallowed and nodded in understanding. “I didn't mean to offend.”

He shook his head, adjusting the fabric of your nightdress over your shoulders. “You didn't. I merely do not wish to make this about me.”

You were slightly taken aback.

“I know all too well the burden of nightmares,” he explained. “Even if elves don't indulge in conventional sleep, we are still prone to nightmares when we trance.”

Oh.

“And I would hate for you to be plagued like that.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling extremely exposed all of a sudden.

“So tell me, darling, when did these start?” He asked, shifting closer to you. “And why were you screaming my name?”

You felt a lump swell in your throat.

He placed his finger under your chin, and pressed upwards until your eyes met his.

“What haunts you?”

You.

“Can we just… not…” You asked, already feeling tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

Reason told you that a heartfelt conversation with Astarion was long overdue, but you didn't feel ready.

You still felt too startled and too vulnerable.

He had hurt you in more ways than one, even if unconsciously done at times.

“We don't have to talk about it.”

You nodded, a few tears rolling down. “Thank you.”

“We can push all of that aside, even if just for tonight.”

Your heart hammered fast inside you.

He then cradled your face in his hands, leaning in to press his lips to each cheek, kissing your tears away.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he trailed down, inching closer to your lips.

A shudder coursed throughout your entire body, barely able to contain the anticipation.

Please kiss me…

His thumbs rubbed slow circles on your flushed cheeks and your lips parted as his ghosted yours.

Astarion…

Almost there.

You could almost taste him.

Your hands came to grip his wrists tightly, silently urging him to take you.

Please… please…

As your heart thudded faster and faster, you gasped when he quickly kissed the tip of your nose before pressing his lips to your forehead.

You couldn't deny the overwhelming wave of disappointment that washed over you, even if, deep down, you realised it was probably the best course of action, considering how vulnerable you still felt from the nightmare.

A few more tears spilled over, which he quickly brushed away before pulling back.

“I can stay until you fall asleep.”

Your heart dropped.

Everything was conditional with him.

It was always meant to come to an end, eventually.

He would stay with you… but only until you drifted off to another nightmare, perhaps.

It was as if he couldn't simply stay with you.

You shook your head with a sniffle, letting go of him. “No. You can go… but thank you for this.”

“I can stay.”

“... until I fall asleep.” You finished his sentence.

He nodded, eyes locking with yours. “Or for as long as you need me.”

You felt ridiculous from the way your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Will you hug me?”

He shifted back against the headboard and sprawled his arms out to you with a sly grin. “Come here, darling.”

For a brief moment, you saw your Astarion again.

Open and caring.

You scooted over to rest your body against his, smiling softly as he placed his arm around you, trailing absent-minded caresses along your arm.

His coldness felt comfortable even in the dead of night, and you wrapped your arm around his torso, enjoying the silence.

“Am I too cold?”

You're perfect.

You shook your head vehemently.

But he still reached out to grab the blanket at your feet, draping over your frame.

“You are shivering, you fool.” He whispered and you could hear the smile in his remark.

You snuggled up against him, wishing you could freeze this moment in time.

Slowly but surely, and lulled by his caresses, you felt exhaustion take over, your eyelids feeling progressively heavier.

Maybe this was all a dream.

Maybe you'd wake up only to find that this had never happened.

That you hadn't felt your Astarion once again.

His chin was resting atop your head and your heart skipped yet another beat.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to us…”

The hand on your arm stilled for a moment and he hushed you. “Just rest.”

Your eyelids did feel heavy, and you could recognise your own brain fighting away your sleep, but you still wanted to know.

You needed to know what had gone so terribly wrong.

Especially when the man holding you in his arms had just provided immeasurable comfort.

“I miss you… us…” You heard yourself mumble under your breath.

He did utter something unintelligible, but you were far too exhausted to ask for a repeat.

Your warm body slumped against his cold one as he lulled you into sleep with the rhythmic caresses on your back.

It seemed that this time, your nightmare had started and ended with him.

Morning came and he was gone.

Of course he was.

Even with your windows barred from the sun, he had still chosen to leave.

He had tucked you under the bedsheets and warm blankets.

You had nearly forgotten what a good night of sleep was ever since the nightmares had taken root in your mind.

His scent lingered all around you and it was impossible to escape it.

You eventually pushed yourself up to sit in silence, going over the events of a couple of hours ago.

Why did he always leave in the end?

Why couldn't you just bring yourself to move on from him?

You could have taken the time to open up to him about how you felt, but you were so afraid to push him away.

He had his own vulnerabilities and he didn't need yours weighing him down, too.

You lazily scrambled out of bed, slipping into your robe, ready for a new day.

As you made your way down the corridor, you began to hear heated voices coming from the kitchen.

“Must we all live in darkness because of you?”

You found Astarion sitting by the table, seemingly unbothered by Lae'zel's snarky remarks, the room plunged in darkness, keeping the scorching sun at bay.

“Oh please, feel free to address your complaints to the Grand Duke.”

Gale saw you first and offered a warm smile. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

You hugged yourself, forcing a smile. “I am well, thank you.”

Astarion turned his head to you, annoyance giving way to a sliver of concern. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

You nodded, your heart immediately reacting to his presence.

“Shall I brew some chamomile tea?” Gale offered eagerly, moving about the kitchen to gather the supplies.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing around. “Where is Shadowheart?”

“She headed out to the apothecary,” Gale said, placing the kettle by the fireplace. “She's keen on helping you out with these nightmares.”

Guilt hit you.

Of course she had.

Shadowheart had held your hand through so many perils, yet you couldn't help but to feel guilty that she was searching for help when the solution to your problem was right in front of you.

And he kept glaring at you, as if studying your every move.

A soft knock on the front door snapped you from your thoughts, and you went to push it open, revealing the visitor.

No.

No fucking way.

You immediately slammed the door shut, feeling rage swirl inside you.

“Who is it?” Gale asked.

“No one.”

Then your gaze met Astarion's whose eyebrow was arched in confusion.

“That is no way to treat a guest.” The woman outside chirped happily.

Ava.

Next chapter: Broken - November 26

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