#i want to banish the word spicy

[angel-maybe-alive]

The funniest part of white girls on booktok calling the blandest missionary vanilla with maybe a ass slap or (gasps) men performing oral "Spicy" it's the fact that it proves that just like with food white women don't understand what the word spicy means

[entishramblings]

Haunting Me

[Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I have been struggling to write (like usual), so I figured I would whip out a no pressure Legolas fic. ANYWAYS, I strangely loved writing this!!! Thanks for the request XOXO

Request: @goose-gremlin — “Could you maybe do a Legolas x Reader on their period?”

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is struggling with menstrual/period pain. Legolas takes care of her.

Disclaimer: I don't know elvish. I use the gracious elvish dictionary. Sue me lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: blood, menstruation/period, pain, PMS, slight nakedness (not anything spicy you filthy fools), fluff, sweet precious elf boy

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, the pungent, musty scent of the incoming vile beasts invaded the fresh earthy tones of the Greenwood forest. Her keen ears picked up on subtle scurrying, the sound carried by the drift of the soft wind. Her jaw clenched and her fingers adjusted the grasp of her sword as she felt the aura of the trees shift—a surge of adrenaline fueling her anxiety, worsening the pain in her abdomen. Briefly locking eyes with the other elves in her sector, spread among the trees alert and ready, she knew their moment of action was imminent.

(Y/N) summoned the little energy she had through a deep inhale, praying to the Valar that these spiders wouldn't be in such a frenzied state. Because, if so, fuck that. For at the present moment in time, she really didn't have the capacity to deal with that absolute, motherfucking horseshit.

Because, truly, getting killed due to slowness from fatigue and cramps from one’s bloodmoon cycle would be rather unfortunate and deeply regrettable. However, facing expulsion from the guard and losing her reputation as one of the hand-picked defenders of the royal line because of it would be even worse.

(Y/N)’s gaze narrowed as Prince Legolas, leader of the Greenwood Guard, raised a closed fist.

Nêl (Three).

Tâd (Two).

Mîn (One).

He opened his palm, signaling the command: Kill them. Kill them all.

With a firm thud, (Y/N)'s boots landed on the soft soil as she sprung from the trees. She was quick with her blade, hunting the spiders as if they were meaningless prey. Her weapon was an extension of her form. Every movement was fluid and graceful, a testament to her mastery of combat. Despite her pain, she spun and twisted with ease, severing the arachnids' limbs effortlessly.

As she fought, she made sure to keep an eye on the Prince, knowing that if anything were to happen to Legolas under her watch, the king would surely banish her. Besides, she harbored no desire for him to meet his demise. She found him rather…admirable. Nothing more than that—of course not.

As (Y/N) advanced upon one of the vile beasts, her senses tingled with warning. Abruptly, she halted in her tracks, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her head to see just who fired that arrow. A scoff escaped her lips as she locked eyes with him: Rekón.

When the battle came to an end, (Y/N) strutted towards Rekón, who was wiping the edge of his blade upon his thigh.

“What the hell was that out there?!” She snapped at him.

“What is it you speak of?”

“You nearly put an arrow in me!”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, you should have been faster, Shadowfoot.”

She scoffed at Greenwood’s nickname for her. “You're lucky I am fast. I can assume you don’t want elven blood on your hands—especially my blood.

He sheathed his blade and crossed his arms. “Don’t exaggerate, (Y/N). It’s unbecoming. Besides,” he leaned in and his voice lowered, taking on a snarky tone, “I don't care if you're handpicked by the King to be the Prince’s shadow, you're a pain in the ass.”

“Really, Otuuk Fe`Saign (warg kisser)?! I could have you and your ass in the mud faster than you could say—”

The rather tense interaction was interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat beside the pair. “What is going on over here?” he demanded.

(Y/N) huffed, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Rekón here nearly redecorated my abdomen with a fucking arrow!”

The Prince sighed. “You know we can’t always calculate every motion on the battlefield, (Y/N). I am sure Rekón meant no harm.” He paused, turning his attention to the ellon. “Rekón, in the future, mind your arrows.”

“That’s the reprimand he gets?! Are you fu—“

Legolas looked at the elleth. “Watch your language, Shadowfoot. I expect this attitude to be gone by the time we enter my father’s halls.”

With that, Legolas walked away, calling out orders to burn the spider carcasses and move out.

As he disappeared into the mess of elves, (Y/N)’s brows pulled downward in a grumpy frown. “Princeling Ass,” she murmured to herself.

Unbeknownst to her, as she turned away, Legolas' gaze followed her, seeking out her form and lingering as she walked away.

….

The sun had not yet risen when the Prince’s sector of the Greenwood Guard arrived back in the Palace. The warriors dispersed into the armory, diligently stowing their weapons and armor in their designated places. (Y/N), however, did no such thing. Instead, with a persistent scowl etched on her face, she marched through the room and passed through the arched exit of the armory—presumably heading towards her chambers. Legolas's gaze tracked her suspiciously as she departed.

As the day progressed, the members of the Prince’s sector resumed their usual routines. Because it was their first day back from patrol, they were exempt from basic guard duties and standard positions. Instead, they utilized the early hours of the morning to bathe and rejuvenate themselves before gathering in the dining hall for breakfast. The remainder of the day was theirs to unwind and compile their patrol reports—the King sought to stay informed about all occurrences and perspectives during patrols, for a darkness seemed to be spreading among his trees.

At supper, Legolas moved among the tables in the dining hall, gathering last-minute reports from the warriors in his sector. As he did so, he scanned the long wooden benches, searching for the scowling gaze that had accompanied the last couple of days of patrol; however, there was no such gaze and no such person that it belonged to. Simply put, there was no sign of (Y/N).

She had missed all three meals and had failed to submit her patrol report.

Legolas cleared his throat before he addressed the elves from whom he was collecting papers. “Have you seen Shadowfoot? I need her report,” he inquired.

They shook their heads, more interested in their food than one missing shadow.

Legolas sighed, but refrained from pressing further. If anyone knew her whereabouts, they would have mentioned it.

Therefore, he made his way to her quarters.

When he arrived, he knocked softly on the door, but was met with silence.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier.

Still, there was no response.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas reached for the door knob and twisted it slowly. The wood swung open quietly under his touch, exposing the darkness of the room beyond. Moonlight filtered in through the opened window, casting shadows that danced across the floor, the curtains billowing gently in the cold night air.

Legolas carefully stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. As he took in his surroundings further, surprise crossed his features. He didn't know what he had been expecting since he hadn't been in (Y/N)’s quarters, but it most certainly was not this.

The room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about, along with various trinkets—small hand-carved boxes, beautiful natural rocks, and melted candles absent of flame. Several stacks of books were piled beside the bed, a few of them open and their pages still. Her weapons were scattered haphazardly, some resting on the floor, others on the table or atop the dresser. Legolas even noticed a few knives embedded into the wooden door—a sight that would surely displease Ada.

It was chaotic but calm in a sort of strange way. Typical for (Y/N), he supposed.

The Prince moved to walk further into the room, but was quickly halted against his will. His foot had gotten caught and, if it wasn't for his swift reflexes, he would have face-planted upon the stone flooring.

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stabilized his form. Glancing down, he discovered the culprit—a crumpled tunic tangled around his boot, its fabric caught between the lacings.

He immediately sighed in dismay.

The blond-haired Prince reached down to untangle the stubborn garment. It proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated, requiring a few moments of quiet curses and annoyed grunts before he managed to free himself. Carefully, he folded the fabric and placed it upon a nearby chair.

Cautiously, he advanced to the large bed. At first, he could not spot the warrior within, given that the fluffy comforter and mountain of pillows were blocking his view. However, when he pulled back the blankets slightly, sure enough, she was buried deep within. The pillows were arranged around her like a protective nest and she was laying on her side. Her hair was splattered across the cushioned fabric and her expression was…one of pain. Her brows were pulled tight, her nose crinkled, and lips slightly parted.

At this, Legolas frowned, for he was now troubled deeply.

Diligently, the Prince reached out to brush some hair from her face, but just as his fingers made contact with her cheek, his action was interrupted.

(Y/N) suddenly sat up, a knife in hand. With wild eyes, she tried to slam it into his carotid artery.

He reacted quickly, Legolas intercepted her arm, preventing the blade from reaching its target. For a moment, they both froze in that tense position, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed what was happening.

(Y/N) was breathing quickly and she appeared very disheveled and confused. It seemed to take her a moment longer to grasp the situation fully.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath before snapping at him. "Legolas, I almost killed you!"

The Prince still held her wrist. “(Y/N),” he began, “Are you alright?”

She huffed. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, Princeling!" With a sharp twist, she pulled away from his grasp and settled back into the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Princeling?” he questioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

(Y/N) only grunted in response.

He sighed. “No one has seen you all day and—“ his sentence abruptly halted as he noticed a red stain upon the comforter. “(Y/N), you are bleeding!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he grasped at the blankets, in an attempt to detangle her form from them, as he continued his babbling of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured on patrol?!”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Is it from Rekón’s arrow?! I thought you said he ‘nearly’ hit you?”

“Legolas,” she tried again.

He yanked the blanket further.” Because I swear to the Valar if it was from him, I will—“

“Legolas! Stop!” She snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I’m not injured.”

His jaw clenched in frustration. “(Y/N), I have been a warrior for all my life, I know the site of blood. That is blood. You cannot lie to me. I am your sector leader, your Prince—“

“Legolas! It’s my bloodmoon cycle!” she interrupted, sitting up to glare at him once more.

An awkward silence settled into the dark room.

“You are in pain,” he stated.

“I’m fine.”

His brows raised again. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you're a princeling ass,” she retorted.

“No. Because for the last three days of patrol, your demeanor has been notably irritable, as you are now. You've been favoring your left side, your jaw has remained tightly clenched, and your skin a shade too pale. Not to mention, you've consistently had your hand on your hip, I'm assuming in an attempt to try and alleviate discomfort, and you even vomited behind a tree on two occasions. And, here you are, Shadowfoot, in bed, sleeping the day away in dirty clothes and not caring that you lay in blood.” He paused before finalizing his evidence. “You are in pain.”

“You have been spying on me?! I am supposed to be your shadow.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you,” he clarified.

“Why?!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because you are a member of my sector. You are my responsibility.”

“You are my responsibility,” she corrected.

He released hot air from his nose. “I am required to keep an eye on all of my warriors, whether they were hand-picked to guard me or not.”

(Y/N) huffed, shaking her head. “Did you know Sethna took a pretty nasty hit to her leg?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he gruffed.

“Legolas, did you know about it or not?”

A rather long moment of silence extended into the night before the Prince reluctantly responded in a low tone. “No.”

“Then you don't watch every warrior like you watch me.”

He inhaled slowly, trying to steer the conversation away from what (Y/N) was insinuating. “Is Sethna alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

Legolas nodded slowly, before returning to the main topic. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain while on patrol?”

She rolled her eyes before muttering his name. “Legolas.”

“Why haven't you seen a healer?” he persisted.

She exhaled slowly, knowing Legolas wasn't going to let this go. “Because the healers document everything, and those records get attached to evaluations.”

“So?”

“So, I would be dismissed from the guard and relieved of my position!” she snapped.

He snorted lightly. “You would not be dismissed from the guard nor relieved of your position.”

“Others have gotten so for far less!”

Surprising her, his normally collected tone turned into a rough reply. “That doesn't mean that you would have!”

She frowned, her once loud voice now subdued. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He sent her a warning look, his eyes cautioning her against probing further.

Silence reigned for a third time that night before Legolas spoke softly. “Rest. I will draw you a bath.”

“Princeling, I do not need you to draw me a bath. I do not need a bath at all. Like I said, I am fine.”

He shook his head. “You are in pain. Let me help you.”

“Legolas–”

He cut her off. “(Y/N), do not try to argue with me on this. That is an order. Shadow or not, I am your superior and you will listen.”

With that, he stood and made his way into the bathing chambers, leaving the elleth alone with her thoughts.

She let out a slow, contemplative exhale before sinking back into the embrace of the bed once more. Lost in a haze of exhaustion, she must have drifted into a brief slumber, for it was only moments later that Legolas returned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, reached her ears. “(Y/N),” he urged softly. “Come. The water is hot. It will alleviate your pain.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Come,” he repeated.

Gradually, she sat upwards, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, praying to the Valar for the pain to settle.

“If the pain is too much, I can carry you,” Legolas offered in a gentle tone.

She scoffed, her eyes opening to glare at him. “I can manage on my own.”

With that declaration, (Y/N) stood up and took a few cautious steps forward. But before she could proceed further, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the agony surged through her body, causing her to double over.

A comforting warmth enveloped her lower back as Legolas placed a reassuring hand there. He remained silent, respecting her pace and refraining from pressing his earlier offer.

A small whimper escaped her lips, tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

Legolas’ hand began to move in soft circles. “It will pass, Shadowfoot. I am here,” he whispered.

Slowly, she resumed her movement, inching her way towards the bathroom. Upon reaching the basin's edge, she gripped onto the sides tightly. She squeezed her lids shut once more, focusing on her breath.

Standing only inches behind her, Legolas spoke softly. “(Y/N), please, will you let me assist you? I hate to see you suffer.”

She exhaled through her nose, seemingly debating his offer. After a moment of contemplation, she relented. “Fine,” she stated, “but if you breathe a word of this—”

“I will not say a thing. I swear it,” he assured.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

“Let's get you undressed and in the bath then.”

With caution, his nimble fingers found the hem of her tunic and began to lift it over her head. Ensuring her stability by placing one hand gently on her hip, he then carefully guided her trousers downward, assisting her as she stepped out of them. Shaking slightly, she lifted each foot into the tub, one at a time, as the Prince's firm hand remained securely on her waist. Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, his touch barely trailing up her back as she descended. Her eyes closed and a sigh of relief escaped her lips, settling into the soothing heat of the water.

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will just be in the other room. Call out if you need me.”

She simply hummed in response.

The Prince swiftly left the bathing room, making his way to the door leading to the hallway. Peering out, he caught sight of a maid. He called out to her and motioned for her to approach.

“Yes, my lord?” she inquired politely.

“I need you to fetch a new set of bedding and obtain the following herbs: valerian, boswellia, and athelas,” he instructed.

She nodded in understanding.

“And please, keep it discreet. I have an injured warrior in here who wishes for the injury to remain quiet.”

The maid nodded once more before hurrying off to fulfill his requests.

Legolas returned to the room, feeling the cool breeze from the open window once more. With determined strides, he crossed the space and closed it firmly, halting the chill from entering any longer. He then took to light some of the candles, casting a warm glow within the room before moving to the empty fireplace. He quickly grabbed kindling and wood from the basket beside the silent hearth, setting to task. Before long, the flames crackled loudly among the stone, radiating a comforting warmth that dispelled the lingering chill.

It was then when the maid entered, a large basket brimming with fluffy fabric in her arms. Placing it beside the bed, she then retrieved a pouch from the top. Approaching the Prince, she bowed her head. “The herbs you asked for, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting them graciously.

The maid took to changing the sheets, making no mention of the blood. Legolas cleared a space upon the table in (Y/N)’s room. Placing a cast iron pot—one of which was kept in each room—over the now vibrant flames, he filled it with water from a pitcher. As the water began to boil, he used a small bowl to grind the fresh herbs into a paste with a pestle. Once sufficiently smashed, he ladled some of the boiling water over it and allowed the mixture of herbs to steep, filling the air with its earthy aroma.

The maid, having finished her task of making the bed and straightening up, bid an awkward farewell to the Prince before exiting the room.

Legolas sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the table, his ears attuned to any sounds from (Y/N)'s direction—just in case.

Nearly 45 minutes passed before she emerged from the bathroom. She was clothed in soft trousers and a loose top that hung off her shoulder, her hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, breaking the quietness of the night.

She turned her head towards him. “You are still here?” Her gaze swept across the room, trailing off as she took in the sight of the lit candles, crackling fire, and fresh bedding.

Abandoning the chair, he approached her and gently put his hand upon her bicep. “How is the pain, (Y/N)?”

As if suddenly drawn from her thoughts, she registered that he was indeed beside her. “I, uh, it has lessened a bit.”

He nodded, guiding her to the bed. Pulling back the clean sheets, he motioned for her to get in. Surprisingly, she complied, settling into the comfort of the fresh lavender scent emanating from the blankets and pillows.

Legolas briefly left her side before returning with a cup of tea, mixed from the healing herbs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he lifted the cup to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. “Drink this. It will help.”

The steam kissed her face as she took the cup from him. As she drank, the warm liquid flowed down her throat and into her stomach, providing instant comfort. When she finished, she passed the cup back to him. “How do you know how to make such a tonic?”

The Prince placed the cup upon the side table. “My father used to care for my mother during her bloodmoon cycle, before she passed from this world. She too had excruciating pain. He taught me the right herbs to mix, the benefits of heat, and—” he paused, his hand moving to her lower back, where he began to massage lightly. “—what points to press to alleviate pain.”

She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“He had said, ‘One day, you will have a wife who too suffers such pain. This you must learn for her.’ And I listened.”

(Y/N) did not open her eyes. “I am not your wife.”

Before he could stop himself, his lips betrayed his secrets. “You could be.”

At this, she opened one eye, as if she was trying to subtly evaluate what his words meant based on his body language. Sensing the sincerity upon his expression, her other eye opened too. She put her full attention on him. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, the tips of his elvish ears reddening, though the warm glow of the fire hid his embarrassment. He turned his head away. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I—I didn't mean to be so…so forward.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, seeing her flabbergasted expression. “I–I suppose there is no hiding it now. The reason I keep such close watch over you is because my heart won't let me do otherwise. I fear, well, I fear that you are not just a shadow following my path.” He exhaled softly. “(Y/N), you haunt me in the most beautiful way.”

She shifted from the pillows, drawing closer until her face was mere inches from Legolas’. “You–you care for me?” she whispered.

His hand tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb moving in a soft motion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

“Legolas,” she whispered. “Your father did not assign me to your sector. I was supposed to be appointed to protect him. I—I requested to be assigned to you.”

The Prince’s gaze met hers. “Why, (Y/N)?”

“Because you too have been haunting me.”

Legolas wasted no time. He pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s in a gentle kiss and she responded eagerly. She tasted of herbal tea and hope, while he tasted of honey and peace. His hands gently cradled her face, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, fingers entwining in his hair. The scent of fresh lavender surrounded her, mingling with the aroma of pine that clung to him. In their embrace, their minds intertwined, both haunted by the other's presence—in the most beautiful way.

Slowly, they parted. Legolas pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead before speaking softly. "Lay down. Rest. I will watch over you."

She looked up at him. “Won't you lay with me? I am cold.”

He snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the stem of a flower being plucked from a spring meadow. “You only want me to alleviate your pain, don't you?”

She grinned back at him. “Perhaps, Princeling. Though, I did not lie, I am cold.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Legolas kicked off his boots and drew back the covers. He allowed his body to melt against (Y/N)’s, providing warmth as he gently began to massage away her tension.

A content sigh escaped the woman’s lips as she snuggled further into him, eagerly stealing his warmth and accepting the pain relief he offered.

“Princeling,” she murmured, “You better not breathe a word of this either.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will not say a thing, Shadowfoot. I swear it.”

…

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Everything But Spice Tag: @goldfearless @Brethil13 @insert-random-blog @cauliflowertree @heranintomyknife23times @mxmia @unethicallypleistocene @amessofmultifandom @caffinated-and-sleepy

Legolas Tag: in the comments

[chvoswxtch]

like a prayer

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: you want matt for dessert.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: I haven't written for our favorite dumbass in awhile, and after finishing another rewatch of dd, he was heavy on the brain (pun intended). this song came on the other day and I immediately thought of matty, so here we are.

word count: 1k

i’m down on my knees / i can take you there

Matt hadn’t even had a chance to shut the front door to his apartment behind himself before you were pushing him up against the wall, claiming his mouth in a deeply sensual kiss, blindly fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His cane slipped from his right hand, falling to the floor with a loud clatter that echoed in his silent apartment, and the dessert you’d gotten to go was also long forgotten, haphazardly tossed onto the side table in the entryway so Matt’s hands could find their home on your waist instead.

Before Matt’s brain could even catch up to what was happening, you’d pushed his pants and briefs halfway down his muscular thighs and sank down to your knees below him. The second the warmth of your mouth enveloped the sensitive head of his cock, Matt’s jaw went slack, and his head fell back against the wall behind him with a soft thud.

Instantly, every single one of his senses was completely overwhelmed. Your soft hands grasped onto his thighs and he shivered feeling a chilled raindrop that had been lingering on your knuckle slip down onto his heated skin. The bold scent of espresso in the tiramisu that had been abandoned on the side table was overpowered by the fragrance of arousal seeping through the thin cotton material of your panties. That combined with the aroma of your warm spicy perfume intermingled with remnants of fresh rain, and the natural scent of your skin that was just uniquely you, was knocking Matt out of equilibrium.

Matt’s fingers slipped into your roots, tangling into your tresses to give them a gentle tug while a soft grunt tore from his throat. Your tongue felt like velvet gliding along the underside of his cock, flicking over a pulsating vein, swirling around the tip in a slow and seductive manner. Matt was a giver, but God, so were you. The way you took your time and savored the taste of him and the feeling of his heavy cock against your eager tongue was torturous in the most tantalizing way. Your mouth was just as warm and wet as your cunt, and sometimes Matt struggled to decide which one he preferred being inside of.

He couldn’t stop himself from tenuously shifting his hips forward, slipping a few more inches of himself past your welcoming lips. The way you moaned around him had him shuddering, and he whimpered at the way the vibrations of your own pleasure traveled throughout his entire nervous system, causing his toes to curl in his shoes. He gripped harder at your roots, earning another erotic moan from deep within your chest, and even though Catholic guilt was practically embedded in his DNA, the raw hedonistic desire he felt was far more powerful, and you didn’t seem to mind that he was taking over to subtly fuck your mouth. 

God, your mouth felt like pure heaven. Matt knew he didn’t deserve to be let through the pearly gates of your soft lips. He was a sinner, and he didn’t deserve to be blessed and absolved by the saliva coating his cock and dribbling down your chin. Only an angel as sweet as you would welcome the Devil somewhere he had been banished from. Matt’s moans were growing in volume the closer he got to gratification. He was being selfish, God he was being so fucking selfish right now, taking complete advantage of your selflessness, but your pussy was practically dripping onto the floorboards beneath you, and he could taste just how much you enjoyed having his cock in your mouth on his own tongue. 

You wanted this. You wanted him. And Matt couldn’t deny you if he tried. If you wanted the moon and Saturn, and every single star in the sky, he’d find a way to get them for you. 

Matt’s mind was blank. He couldn’t hear anything but the sound of his own labored breathing and racing heartbeat, your soft moans of raw enjoyment, and the way the material of your soaked panties rubbed along your wet folds when you shuffled closer on your knees. Feeling his tip reach the back of your throat and your nose flush against his pubic bone, he began to recite a prayer of your name, loud enough for the entire building to hear. The muscles in his lower abdomen tightened and contracted, and if the wall behind him hadn’t been supporting the burden of his body weight, he would’ve collapsed and joined you on his own knees right then.

His hips stuttered as wave after wave of his gratitude coated the back of your throat, which you were all too eager to welcome, swallowing every drop of his generous offering. Matt let go of your hair, opting to hold the back of your head gently instead, using you as an anchor to tether himself to avoid getting lost in sensory overload. He let out a desperate whimper when your warm mouth escaped him, exposing his softened cock to the drastic change in temperature in his apartment that had goosebumps spreading along his bare flesh. He was panting heavily, like he’d been trapped under a current and had finally breached the surface in search of oxygen.

With his senses so overwhelmed, he didn’t notice that you’d risen from your knees, and his body jolted in surprise when he felt your soft hands caressing his scruffy cheeks. He immediately encircled his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, burying his face into your neck to inhale your scent deeply. He needed to ground himself. He needed you. A soft noise of appreciation sounded in the back of his throat when your fingers slipped into his hair, your nails faintly scratching at his scalp in a way that had him faintly moaning into the juncture of your neck where your throat met your collarbone. Your breath was warm against the shell of his ear, and despite how heated his skin was at the moment, your sultry whisper sent a shiver down his spine.

“Ready for dessert now, baby?”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover  @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejloveb0t @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts @starsm00n @mentallyunstablebish @spiritofthewriter @merleisapartygod @powellssaturn @geeksareunique @urlocalgeek

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

Welcome everyone! I'm excited to announce my very first writing collab, featuring everyone's favourite ash-blond, Bakugo!

This masterlist was a simple idea that I pitched to my Tumblr community, @@groundzerogroupies and some of them decided to go along with me.

To join, just send me an ask with the type of Bakugo character you'd like to write for! For example, you could choose a fan favourite like Prince! Bakugo or maybe Bestfriend! Bakugo. I'm on hiatus as of the moment but my asks are going to be open for this event only~

Please include a title and summary for your piece so I can add it to the masterlist. It's okay if you don't have a title yet, we'll put "untitled" until you figure one out <3

Rules:

Writing pieces must only be for Katsuki Bakugo aka Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite!

You don't have to follow me or be mutuals to join.

You gotta be over 13 to join. Nothing less.

No word limit, but please have your piece be at least 500 words minimum.

Keep it SFW! A little suggestiveness is fine but nothing explicit, please.

Submissions can be posted anytime <3

Tag your submission with the tag #dynamite-gzg.

Don't forget to tag me too :) @pretty-sparkle-bomb

X reader only

Please update me with changes or if you don't want to participate in the collab any longer!

Event masterlist:

Bestfriend!Bakugo by @pretty-sparkle-bomb

Title: Undecided When your best friend in the whole damn world finally musters the guts to confess to you, things go sideways. He's got everything planned, every specific detail of it and just as he's about to lay it all out, a transfer student from America shows up and throws a wrench in everything. This guy can't speak a lick of Japanese, but somehow he's got your full attention. "He's just my type, Kats!" you gush, eyes sparkling. Katsuki groans and rolls his eyes. He doesn't get it. The guy is basic, plain and simple. Violet eyes, raven hair—big deal. And his quirk? Air manipulation. Seriously? Could it be any more cliché? Yet there you are, giggling and blushing every time he's around. What the hell do you see in this guy? How can you be so fascinated by someone who can't even hold a proper conversation with you? He's not about to let this slide. He set a goal for himself right then and there: Bakugo Katsuki is going to confess his feelings before the school year is up, no matter what.

2. College!Bakugou by @milastufff

Title: Better than me? With all the hardwork and difficulties he had to endure while pursuing his dream, one would think Katsuki Bakugou would be more tolerant towards people with the same qualities, but truth be told, he's just the same arrogant guy with a God complex. But, what would happen if he meets a girl with the same mindset? A bloodbath for sure. And God forbid that girl is just as dangerous as he seems to be. Because no one is better than him...right?

3. CEO!Bakugou by @queenpiranhadon

Linked Here

Title: Americano You work at a local family-owned cafe, as you’ve always been very close with the family that owns it. The cafe happens to be directly next to one of the biggest food brand companies in the world, Dynamight, which is known for its spicy snacks and foods. Their CEO, Bakugou Katsuki, has always stopped by for his morning coffee, accompanied by a lovely woman you assumed was his girlfriend. However, one day, Bakugou comes alone, sitting at his normal booth with a hollow look in his eyes. He’s told himself he’s given up on love - but he can’t get himself when he finally notices the pretty barista who places his favourite coffee order on the table with a gentle smile.

4. Fantasy Prince!Bakugo by @kovu-bunnbunn

Tiitle: Time (Subjected to change) Time was moving faster. Or that's what it seemed for Katsuki Bakugo. He had to choose a spouse by the next gold moon, but that was in only a couple weeks! But after stumbling upon [____], a royal fae who was banished until they could find a suitor, all hope was no longer lost. There was just one little problem... how could he get [____] to fall for him in a couple weeks?

[firelordsfirelady]

XX. Hot Springs

Author: @firelordsfirelady

Imagine: When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fianc��e, how will life change for the princess? 

Pairing: Zuko x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, feelings of fear, banishment, mentions of burns/abuse, frustration, violence, betrayal, language

Word Count: 525

Destined to be Yin and Yang 

I own no rights to Avatar the Last Airbender or any of the characters/story. 

Author’s Notes

The characters as all aged up so Zuko’s banishment happens when he’s 16 

Keep in mind I am bringing a unique world with inspiration from ATLA in their characters, some of the events that happen, bending, etc. Not many things may align or occur with what happened in the show. It’s intended that way, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

See Y/N’s inspiration here. 

Destined to be Yin and Yang Soundtrack (YouTube)

Zuko and I made dinner and training our routine for the next week as we awaited any news or unusual reports that could lead us to the Avatar. Lieutenant Jee had mentioned that there was reports of children in the Earth Kingdom were playing with ice, so that’s how the three of us--Zuko, Iroh and myself--ended up in the temperate forest of the Earth Kingdom. We had split up to cover more ground, and I was pushing my way through some bamboo when I stumbled upon a clearing where there were three pools of steaming water.

I had been to some hot springs when I visited the Northern Water Tribe, but I wasn’t expecting to find any in the Earth Kingdom. My eyes widened as I walked over and tested the water. It was the perfect temperature, and I wanted to melt into the water. I looked back to the wall of bamboo stalks blocking the view of the springs, and I looked back to the hot spring.

Deciding that I could still embrace this journey and experience the world around me, I stripped down to my undergarments and hung my blue robes on a nearby tree limb. I figured that I could do the walk back any undergarments as long as no fight broke out. My body sunk heavily into the perfectly warm water as I sat down in the spring. I leaned back so that my head rested lightly against the ridge of the hotspring. I had just closed my eyes to relish in the water when I heard a familiar voice calling for me.

“Y/N!” The color drained from my face as the voice grew closer. “Where are you?” 

We’re leaving already? I frowned as I heard the Firebender walk through the bamboo wall.

“Y/N!”

“I’m over here.” I calmly said loud enough for the Prince to hear me, but I didn’t bother to open my eyes to look at him as I heard him stop.

“We--” Zuko cleared his throat. “We’re closing in on the Avatar’s trail, and I don’t want to lose him.

“Alright. Just give me a moment--” I started to say, but Zuko interrupted me.

“Y/N, we don’t have time--” Zuko’s words stopped as I sat up in the pool of water. The air was slightly chilly on my exposed shoulders and almost exposed chest. I crawled over to the edge closest to Zuko, whose face was as red as spicy bulgogi sauce, and raised a surprisingly confident eyebrow at him.

“Shall I get up now?” I let out a laugh as Zuko quickly turned around.

“Please join us back at the ship in a few minutes.” I continued laughing as Zuko retreated back to the safety of the bamboo curtain. Chuckling to myself as I stood up in the hot spring, I quickly dressed and headed back to the boat. Zuko’s eyes avoided looking at me as I arrived with a smile on my face and wet clothes draped over my arm.

“Onto the next adventure!” I cheered with a laugh as Iroh smiled and laughed at me while Zuko walked away yelling orders at the crew.

Tag List @chevysstuffs @puttyly @ginger24880 @night-fall-moon @junieshohoho @0kauy @coolgirl458 @hypnoticbeing @angelruinz @preeyansha @playboygeniusphilanthropist @ssonniiu  @chi-ara @hagridshaircare @stell404  @kyo-kyo1 @herondale-lightworm @simonsbluee @nadlx33333 @nerdisthenewcool @jewelsrules @soggycrout0n @mymomsdisappointment @leeaintthere-blog @sanskritisays  @katie-tibo @stavitcutislamepodkrevet @niktwazny303 @fudogh

[fickleminder]

first time for everything

DWBD AU. A series of firsts during Kirana's time in the Devildom.

It's been a while since I wrote about my F!OC in this AU. Masterlist here.

The first time Lucifer called Kirana into his office, it was to lecture her on her poor grades.

"But I've never even heard about any of this before—"

"That's no excuse. You are an ambassador of the human realm, a representative of the exchange program, and you will perform or else." Lucifer glared at her threateningly.

Kirana snapped her mouth shut and nodded meekly. She kept her head down until the demon finally dismissed her, and scurried away without another word.

The first time Mammon rummaged through Kirana's room, he stole her monthly allowance from under her bed.

Mammon didn't seem to understand the meaning of a locked door, so Kirana figured it was only a matter of time before her belongings fell victim to his greed. Reporting the issue to Lucifer only earned her Mammon's ire, and she knew her room was no longer safe.

Good thing she just opened a bank account to dump all her cash in. She owed Dracius a coffee the next time they worked the same shift at the royal library.

The first time Leviathan interacted with Kirana was to leave a comment on her Devilgram account.

The post was harmless enough, featuring a screenshot of her spirit collection in Mononoke Land. An event had just concluded, and Kirana was proud of her final haul despite not finishing the quests. She had grades to keep up, after all.

Seeing a notification on her D.D.D. about a new Devilgram comment, she opened the app and her face fell as she read it.

L3V1: LOL why bother playing if you're not gonna hit 100% completion? Get lost, normie!

The first time Satan cooked for Kirana, he almost set her tongue on fire.

"Sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you liked spicy foods." Satan's smirk was anything but apologetic, and Kirana immediately knew he had done this on purpose. There wasn't a single dish on the table that wasn't loaded with spices.

No amount of water quelled the burning in her mouth; in fact, it only made the sensation worse. Kirana quickly excused herself and ran out of the dining room, leaving behind a napkin dotted with splotches of red.

The first time Beelzebub gave Kirana feedback on her cooking, it wasn't constructive in the slightest.

"It's not enough," Beel repeated for what seemed like the fifth time now. Kirana wasn't even surprised anymore; she only sighed and returned to the kitchen to prepare another round of food.

None of the other brothers bothered to lift a finger to help her, and by the time Beel was finally (finally!) sated, the only things left were her empty plate and a table full of dirty dishes.

The first time Belphegor cursed Kirana with nightmares, she knew she was never going to cook for him or his brothers again.

Belphie's smirk fell when Kirana came back lugging not baskets of fresh groceries, but a pile of takeout boxes. "What's all this?"

"Dinner." She gave him a firm look, a stark contrast from her usual downcast gaze. "That's what you wanted, right?"

She would need to pick up more shifts to avoid going completely broke, but it was worth not having to cook for those ungrateful, entitled brothers anymore.

The first time Asmodeus called Kirana by her name, it wasn't actually Asmo at all.

Kirana smiled sadly and stepped out of Asmo's warm hug, leaving him inside the magic circle. It was nice while it lasted. "These are the fakes, Lord Diavolo."

Things happened quickly after that. The clones were banished, the real brothers were released from their own magic circles, and Barbatos asked how she knew.

"They called me Kirana." She shrugged and turned away from seven guilty faces. "If we're done here, I have somewhere else to be. Please excuse me."

The first time Rache danced with Kirana was in the kitchen of Purgatory Hall.

The song blaring from the speakers of Rache's D.D.D. was in a foreign language, but it definitely wasn't demonic. Rache laughed at the look of surprise on Kirana's face. "I just discovered this the other day! How come you never told me humans had such interesting music?"

Before Kirana could even reply, the demoness started dancing to the beat, no doubt having memorized the choreography already.

"Come on, dance with me!" Rache held out her hand.

The dirty dishes in the sink were left forgotten as Kirana did her best to imitate Rache's moves, giggling when they both almost slipped on the tiles. She didn't know how Rache found out about K-pop, but in that moment it was the best damn thing ever invented.

The first time Igfuur successfully cursed an object, it was a gift for Kirana.

Igfuur never really liked curses. It was no fun to be afflicted with one, and they took too much effort to cast since they required a lot of intent to make their victims suffer. Personally, Igfuur would rather just leave justice up to karma.

But this time it was personal. Igfuur had but one goal: to make his sick friend feel better and leave her with something that could not be easily stolen. Kirana was not fooling any of them with the so-called 'ghost' in her room.

Several gloves later, the stuffed flame salamander was good to go. Kirana would be able to hold it with no issue, but the toy would burn anyone else who touched it.

Take that, Lord Mam— uh, 'ghost'!

The first time Vorgo cooked human world food was when Kirana was feeling homesick.

"I hope you don't mind, but I had to substitute a few ingredients," Vorgo explained apologetically, setting the steaming bowl of soup on the table. "The markets here don't really stock much from the human world."

"That's fine. Thank you for the meal."

"No, thank you for being my reliable taste tester!" The demon winked at her as she tried a spoonful. "So what do you think?"

"...Tastes just like chicken." Kirana's eyes were slightly watery, but there was no mistaking the warmth of gratitude in her eyes.

"That's great to hear! I actually had to use—" Vorgo cut themself off abruptly, thinking better of it. "Never mind, let's not spoil the moment. I hope you're hungry, because this is just the appetizer!"

The first time Talon carried Kirana was after a long day at RAD.

"Get on."

Kirana paused when Talon knelt down in front of her and faced away. "Uhh, what are you doing?"

"Giving you a lift, obviously. You're practically dead on your feet."

The offer was tempting, but... "You don't have to do that! I can manage—"

Talon rolled her eyes and smiled. "I get a workout, and you get a free ride. It's a win-win situation, so what's the problem?"

Well, when she put it that way. "Are you calling me heavy?" Kirana teased as she climbed on, sighing in relief as weight was lifted off of her aching feet.

"You're never too heavy for me, doll." The demoness stood up with ease. "Now just relax and let me do all the work, okay?"

The first time Belyth asked Kirana for help, it was for a school project.

"The course material is outdated. I ought to file a complaint." Belyth grumbled, taking her seat next to Kirana. "Good thing we're in the same class again. You're the only one I trust to provide accurate information."

"Just because I'm human doesn't mean I'm an expert on human culture. There's a lot of diversity among us, you know." Kirana pointed out. "In fact, I'd say Solomon knows way more than I do, especially given how long he's been around."

"If I want his help, I'll ask for it." That was a blatant lie and they both knew it. "It's not everyday our roles are reversed so don't get used to this."

"Whatever you say. Okay, so feet binding was a thing in ancient China..."

The first time Erkid gave Kirana flowers was when she was hospitalized.

Sprawling with white, pink and yellow lilies, the bouquet was so haphazardly arranged that Kirana suspected Erkid had put it together himself. Nevertheless, it was a sweet gesture and she thanked him as he stuffed it into an empty vase next to her bed.

"I hope you get better soon! And don't worry, we'll make sure those bullies don't get away with hurting you!" He promised. "Also I didn't find out until today but did you know different flowers came with different meanings? You can even make a bouquet that says 'fuck you'!"

The demon was rambling again. It was an endearing habit, but Kirana knew Erkid was worried and needed a distraction. "Tell me more," she said, leaning back and making herself comfortable.

The first time Dracius kissed Kirana, it was after making a pact with her.

"Are you sure about this?" Kirana looked absolutely bewildered. "I don’t want to give up my soul or anything, and I don't think you should be signing away your life like that."

"You make it sound as though I won’t have any free will left." Dracius cracked a small smile. "Besides, I trust you."

"But..."

"And I don't expect anything in return," he added quietly. "I may not be as strong as Talon, or as smart as Belyth, but I promise to have your back no matter what."

One look into Dracius' eyes and Kirana knew he meant every word. It made her wonder if he still harbored guilt over not being able to protect her all those weeks ago, but it seemed like he really wanted this. "Okay, I trust you too."

Dracius took her hand and swore an oath. Something warm branded itself onto Kirana's right arm, and she knew the pact had been forged.

Before she could promise him never to abuse his power, the demon lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles in a reverent kiss. Kirana froze at the implication, but Dracius only smiled before releasing her.

(Somewhere around the corner, hidden just out of sight, Satan gritted his teeth and scowled. A bouquet of red lilies dropped to the ground as he stomped away silently.)

[farity]

After the Battle

Some smut, some funnies, because it be like that..

I didn’t choose the drablet life.

Aemond walked into his tent, the sounds of his men as they drank and checked in on each other fading as he closed the front, leaving the guards outside for the night. 

The battle had been hard won but it had been won, which is what mattered to him, and now he would write his reports and in the morrow, the ravens would fly home to his brother and grandfather.

In the morrow, he thought.

In the morrow he would go home, find his beloved wife, sink his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs and bury his face in the fragrant valley of her breasts, he would-

“Aemond.”

He whirled, sword in hand, and then let out a long breath.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?”

Despite his surprise, she was a welcome sight.  Unlike him, she was fresh and clean and her clothes were tidy.

She took a few steps toward him.  “Are you hurt?”

His eye never moved from her face, and, ignoring her question, he reached out and pulled her in.

If the filth and sweat on his skin bothered her, she never said.  If the blood in his hair repulsed her, he would not know it from the whimpers and moans that fell from her lips.  If his men heard, he did not care.

She laid on his cot and spread her long legs for him, and when he pushed her thighs open and began to feast, she fell back, her fingers grabbing at the rough bedding.  She tasted like glory itself, and when she pulled on his hair, her frantic cries growing in volume, he began to suck harder, pulling her sensitive flesh against the edge of his teeth until she screamed.  He did not stop, one large, bloodied hand on her pale belly to keep her still, the other tugging at ties and fastenings until he could remove most of the armor and feel her legs shaking against his skin.

“Aemond, I-” she began, but the words were choked off as he began working her faster, mouth and tongue driving her to madness, her stomach quivering under his hand and he knew she was so close.  The taste of her consumed him and he groaned, sending her into a second brutal release.  He stood back up, the sight of her spread out for him making him smile.  There were tears in her eyes and she barely opened them in time for him to knee her legs further apart.

“Here,” he indicated, and she immediately put her arms at her side when he took out his dagger.  One quick slice and her gown was split down the front.  He tossed the dagger aside, drove inside her, and the sight of her breasts bouncing had him reaching out to cup one full, pale mound.

He kissed her lips, murmured, “home” as he deepened the kiss, tongue tasting the spicy warmth of her mouth.  His hips slammed, hard and fast, swallowing her little gasps and cries.  She reached down, fingernails digging into his ass, urging him on.  When he came, strangled cry buried in her hair, she wrapped herself around him, her mouth on his filthy temple.

* * * * * 

“You broke the cot,” you finally said softly.  You’d felt the thin blanket underneath you drop on one corner, but it was only afterwards, with Aemond in your arms, when you reached out and touched the floor, that you realized what had happened.

Aemond lifted his head, his beautiful hair matted with blood and other things you did not wish to know, and glanced around.  “Hmm.”

“They might banish you,” you added, trying to suppress a laugh, and he looked at you, eyebrow raised.

“You were the one screaming like a wild spirit,” he replied, nonplussed, “guess which they will remember.”

You laughed out loud.  “Either way, it’s your fault, Aemond.  But I shall be a dutiful wife and take all the penance if it comes my way.  And you need a wash.”

“You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

“Oh, I very much didn’t.  I was otherwise occupied.”

He smiled at you, fingertips gently stroking your cheek.  “Coming home to you is all I ever want.”  He suddenly looked at you.  “How did you get here?”

You pursed your lips, “mmm, I was here since you left this morning.  In one of the back carriages.”

“Gods help us all.”

He stood up slowly, helping you up, and you went straight to the ewer and basin set at the far corner.  “It is cold, but I would like to see if you have any wounds.”

He let you fuss over him, brush out his hair and rinse it, clean his skin as you darted out of his reach when he tried to grab you.  He had some spare tunics and breeches and gave you a set.

The tunic was tight over your breasts but the breeches worked once you tied them twice around your waist.

“I know what we will call the next Targaryen ship,” Aemond said, tying his hair back.  He looked at you and smiled.  “The twin moons.”

* * * * * 

TAG LISTS

@arryn-nyx​   @  girlwith-thepearlearring    @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle   @melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion    @watercolorskyy

@hb8301   @kaemond-zafiro    @arcielee   @castellomargot   @m-indkiller   @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lunamoonbby

Thank you for reading, for your likes and reblogs, they all mean so much to me!!!

My Ko-fi

[vodika-vibes]

Hello there Vod'ika

Just a quick warning I am dyslexia so I hope I type this right.

So just imagine Alpha 17 or Jango (or any of the hot clones that you can choose) "Take it off or I'll make you sweetheart". just if you're taking ask right now. If not I love your work.

Only Girl In his World

Summary: Life on Kamino is horrifically dull. Oh sure, you’re more than happy to share an apartment with Jango, but right now you don’t have anything to do since his son hasn’t been born yet. So you have to make your own fun.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 1245

Warnings: Spicy ish. Reader is a brat, intentionally

Prompt: "Take it off or I'll make you, sweetheart."

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: You gave me the choice of writing Jango and I couldn't not do it, lol. I love him so much. Anyway, I hope you like it! Also, I have a fever of 102, so I'm so sorry if it doesn't make sense in some places.

Bored.

You are so very bored.

You twist on your bed and kick your bare feet up against the window. It’s cool to the touch, which tracks with the rain pouring from the sky on the other side.

Kamino sucks.

It does.

There’s no nightlife, which means you can’t go dancing unless you want to dance on your own, and it means no drinking because you are incapable of drinking the bitter swill that Jango calls alcohol.

There’s no entertainment at all in Tipoca City. No movie theaters. No cafes. No libraries. 

You heave out a heavy sigh and allow your head to fall off the bed, your hair brushing the floor and you look out the bedroom door and into the main part of the apartment that you share with Jango.

He’s not here now.

Oh. He’s on Kamino, but he’s not home now.

He has to go and get some testing done before the Kaminoans start gathering his genetic material to start the cloning process. A fact that he bitched about while you made breakfast for the pair of you this morning.

He hadn’t been very impressed when you pointed out that he was the one who agreed to a ten-year contract. Still, aside from a scowl and a tug of your hair, he wasn’t overly upset with you.

You still don’t have any regrets about agreeing to come with him.

Jango is Jango, after all. And you’d follow him into hell without question.

You try not to think about how you probably are before this whole thing is over.

You stay on your bed for a moment longer, before you heave out an explosive sigh and roll so that you topple on the floor. There has to be something here for you to do.

Some video games, some movies, something.

You poke around the living room for half an hour, and, upon finding nothing that will help you banish your boredom, you sit on the floor with an unhappy huff. 

“I should make Jango order me a game system.” You grouse to the empty room as you hit the button that will open the closet door, hoping against all hope that there might be something in there for you to do.

The only thing inside the closet, aside from towels and other linens, is Jango’s armor. 

He couldn’t wear it to the testing, after all.

“Honestly, would it kill him to put his armor in his room? What if I needed a towel?” You stand and lightly grab his helmet, absently turning it in your hands. 

It’s heavier than it looks. Jango always acts like it weighs almost nothing.

You lightly trail your fingers over the paint around the visor, easily finding scoring on the metal that wasn’t noticeable from a distance. You knew, logically, that Bounty Hunting was a dangerous profession.

And Jango is one of the best bounty hunters.

Somehow those two facts didn’t connect until just now, when you’re looking at the old damage to his armor.

Is that why Jango hired you for this role? So that his son will still have a guardian even if something happens to him?

How…depressing.

You jump when the apartment door slides open, and turn to look at Jango as he steps into the apartment.

Somehow he looks more annoyed now than he did when he left.

“I’m back.” Jango greets you and then pauses when he sees you holding his helmet, “What are you doing?”

You glance at his helmet and then at him, “I was looking for something to do.”

“And you grabbed my armor?” He asks amused.

You huff, and turn to place the helmet back on the stand, “I was hoping there would be something to keep me entertained in the closet, your armor nearly gave me a heart attack.” You say as you round back on him.

“That right?”

You set your hands on your hips, acid on the tip of your tongue, but you let the vitriol die when you see the look on his face, “How was the testing?” You ask instead, “You look exhausted.”

He makes a face, “I feel like a prized bull.”

“Well—”

“Do not.” Jango warns.

You shrug, “Look, we both know you’re here as their stud, Jango.”

He groans, “You went there. Of course you did.” He walks over to you and drops his forehead on your shoulder.

Absently, you card your fingers through his curls, “They can’t want that many more tests before they start gathering specimens for the cloning,” You offer in a, hopefully, soothing voice.

“At least two more months of testing.” He corrects as he shifts slightly so you can feel his warm breath against your neck.

“You poor thing.”

He pulls away and flashes a small smirk at you, “Distract me.”

“What? You want, like, stand-up comedy or something?”

You start when you feel his warm hands against the bare skin of your waist, one of his hands sliding up under your thin shirt. “I had something a little more entertaining in mind.”

“You know, at this point I might as well just move into your bedroom,” Your breath hitches as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.

“Mm, sounds like a plan, we can get you moved after.”

You squeak as he crowds you back to the couch, bumping you against the back, “You’re going to be too exhausted to move me after,”

He growls against your neck, actually growls, and you release a shaky, and highly aroused, breath. Jango tugs on the hem of your shirt, “Take this off or I’ll make you, sweetheart.”

You should obey him. Jango likes it when you obey him. He gets all hot and bothered and gives you exactly what you want. Which is generally his mouth pressed against your pussy…but you don’t want to obey him today.

Today you’re feeling a little contrary.

You giggle and press your lips against a spot just under his ear, and you suck a mark onto his skin. Jango groans at your actions and pulls his face back away from your neck.

You lean in so your lips are just over his and a broad smile crosses your face, “Make me.” You whisper.

His gaze snaps to yours, and something predatory slides through his eyes, “If we weren’t on Kamino, ad’ika,” He almost purrs, “I would put you outside and tell you to run while I hunt you down.”

You feel a thrill of desire at the thought and are disappointed, once again, that you’re on Kamino.

“Don’t be so disappointed, brat,” Jango warns as he smoothly pulls your shirt off and tosses it to the side. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a startled yelp from you, “You’re still going to be punished for being so disobedient.”

You giggle, “Oh no~”

There’s a spark of amusement on his handsome face, and his hand lands, heavily, on your ass, making you squeak. “Bedroom, ad’ika. I need to find my binders so I can punish you properly.” He roughly grabs your chin, “And you’d better be naked when I get in there.”

“Or what?” You ask cheekily.

He chuckles, a low noise that makes you shiver, “Well if you want to find out, continue disobeying me.”

He really isn’t making you want to obey him today. But a broad grin crosses your face as you turn and flounce into Jango’s bedroom, this is definitely a cure for your boredom.

[ghostchems]

Sweet 16. having your actions controlled by a shadow figure that's moving right outside your room

May I request a trip to spicy town with either Terzo or Dracopia? Your pick!

the phantom touch - papa emeritus iii x f!reader/cardinal copia x f!reader

this takes place after upiór (ao3 linky). i have wanted to return to this world so badly and this prompt absolutely kicked off the inspiration. 2k words of FILTH. FILTH. 18+! mdni! highly recommend reading upiór first :) ao3 link for this one!

Cardinal Copia has been gone on clergy business for the last week, leaving you alone in the abbey for the first time since you had been moved into his quarter. Except you aren’t really alone. There is a ghoul posted outside of your door, rotating every few hours to ensure that someone is always there, watching you. When you leave, they follow you and even after pleading with them that you just want time alone they tell you they are under strict orders to keep you safe. Copia is convinced that you are always in danger, especially when he is away.

But hasn’t the danger been dealt with already? Terzo is gone;  Copia banished him back to hell after he had turned on her (no thanks to the Cardinal laying out why it had been her fault all along, even if it was a lie). Nothing stands between him and the power he so desperately craves anymore but you still feel like a prisoner to him. Meanwhile, Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil are having him be their little errand boy but he is too under their thumb to see that they are merely using him. You keep your mouth shut, though, because most of this is only from what you’ve observed. It’s not like Copia has opened up to you about this, anyway. You feel like a pretty, little trophy of his. A reminder that he gets what he wants, no matter the cost.

It’s late and you’re snuggled up in bed beneath the softest, most luxurious covers you’ve ever felt. Being Copia’s pet has its perks, not that you would ever admit that to anyone. And even with him gone and with you having the bed all to yourself… some sick part of yourself misses him. Your mind starts to wander away from him, the yearning for the time before overtaking the perks of the now. You miss Terzo, even after everything. You hope that he’s found peace in hell, that he’s finally at rest with his brothers. You think about him so often, no matter how much you try to push him from your mind. 

Loving him was easy. The two of you got along and you had the most fun with him out of anyone you’ve ever dated. There seemed to be no consequences at the time and you were just enjoying him and his company. You feel you saw the real him more than anybody else — he was a goof but his emotions ran deep. 

You find yourself starting to doze off as you think of him and his delicate touch you feel a sudden gust of wind from nowhere. The room is lit up, no windows are open and the air is turned off. Your mind buzzes, almost as if someone is poking around it, and you sit up in bed to cast your gaze around the empty room. There’s nothing there but you feel it, something pulsing inside you.

And then you hear it.

I am here to ask for forgiveness, amore. 

The voice is unmistakably his. Even in death, Terzo knows how to find you. 

I am here to ask you for forgiveness and to give you a gift.

He starts to somehow take control of you and guides your hand over your body, groping and pinching your breasts through your black satin pajama top. You have no idea how he’s doing it but you know that it’s him. Terzo’s thoughts mix with yours — you see visions of Hell, visions of torture, but also visions of Primo, Secondo and him taking their rightful place. You’re distracted by these images while your hands work deftly to unbutton your top and then cup and knead your tender breasts. You give a soft groan, the touch undeniably his even though he is using your hands.

A gift for il amore mio.

Your breath starts to quicken as arousal spreads through you, your fingers rubbing at the peaked flesh of your nipples.Heat pools between your legs and you give a soft groan as you pinch at your nipple. One hand slips slowly down your stomach and pushes at your pajama bottoms and underwear. You feel insane… but stranger things have happened. You choose to lean into it, to believe it’s him and that he’s here possessing you to give you this gift. It feels like closure to you.

You wiggle out of your pajama pants and underwear, your palm pressing against your already swollen clit. His name falls from your lips in a needy moan. 

That’s it, amore.

Your other hand moves from your breast down to your dripping cunt, circling your lips tantalizingly slow. You lean your head back against your pillow, lips parted and eyes shut as one of your fingers slips inside. Words of encouragement fill your mind, loving words and sweet coos, and you find yourself getting lost in the feeling. You curl your finger inside of you just right, just as he would, finding that spot deep inside you that makes you tremble. You feel so free, more free than you have in months, and its building inside of you. He hasn’t even touched you for long and you’re already hurtling towards release — because it’s him. 

You’re so close; it’s dangling right in front of you, ready for you to dive for it when — 

“What have we here?”

You freeze, eyes darting to the voice, immediately feeling Terzo’s presence slip away. Copia leans in the doorway to their bedroom, in his usual black tailcoat, and crosses his arms. His lips curl into a slimy smirk as his eyes wander your body. You don’t even know how to react, still hazy from how you had touched yourself, eyes wide as your gaze meets Copia’s. You slowly slip your fingers out from inside of you, all too aware of the sound it makes. Your heart thunders in your chest, already so wound up from your release being cut off. 

“You couldn’t wait until I got home, yes? So needy for your Cardinal, aren’t you?” Copia slinks closer to you, his words going straight to your slick cunt. He’s always had this way about him, ever since he moved you into his quarters. You hate the way it makes you want him. The feeling of betrayal lingers in the back of your mind each time but that doesn’t stop you, it never does. “Give me your hand, amore.” He purrs, reaching out for it. You know exactly what he wants. You lift your hand, fingers still slick from touching yourself.

Copia grabs your hand by the wrist and brings your fingers to his lips, slipping them inside his mouth with a groan. His tongue swirls around your fingers, licking and sucking the slick off of them as his eyes squeeze shut from your delicious taste. Your lips part in a soft gasp, your cheeks flushing and the ache between your legs burning more than before. He pulls your fingers from his lips, still gripping your wrist tightly and presses a tender kiss to your palm. This is your reality: Terzo is gone and Copia is all that you have.

He lets your hand go and leans in, his nose just brushing against yours as you feel his hot breath on your lips. You can’t help it — your fingers card through his hair and pull him down to you, your mouth crashing against his. Copia hums into the kiss, his tongue pushing inside and you can taste yourself on it. He gets onto the bed, hands pushing apart your legs so that he can settle between them and he starts to slowly grind himself against, his cock already throbbing through his tight black pants. You groan into his mouth, your own hips jerking to meet his, desperate for some kind of friction.

“Fuck, amore.” Copia huffs as he pulls away from the kiss only to press his forehead against yours. He reaches down to work at his pants, tugging at the zipper while you take it upon yourself to unbutton his tailcoat. You’re almost frantic as you undo each button before pushing it over his shoulders just as Copia gets his cock free. He feels how urgent you are, how much you need him so he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock applying pressure to it and giving you a smug grin. “How badly do you need me, my sweet?” 

“Copia.” You whine and run your fingers up his chest, nails scratching lightly at his chest hair. You try to move, squirming below him for any kind of friction but he holds you in place and keeps his cock pressed almost into you. “P-please, I need you. I… I’ve been fantasizing about this ever since you left.” A lie. A little white lie but you see how Copia’s face lights up, encouraged by your response. He pushes in slowly, his eyes focused on your reaction as his own breath catches in his throat from how you stretch around him. A deep, shameless moan tumbles from your lips, your arms curling around his shoulders while he fills you.

His thrusts are slow and sensual, truly taking his time with enjoying your body. His lips trail along your neck and collarbone while his free hand strokes and pinches at your sensitive skin, roaming your body. You melt into his touch, your body moving along with his, pleasure and relief washing over you. Copia groans into your neck as his hands reach your ass, squeezing it harshly while his thrusts grow more needy. You arch your back which allows him to drive himself even deeper into you, massaging along all of your sensitive spots. He slips one of his hands up your neck to the back of your head, fingers knotting in your hair and giving your head a sharp tug just as his hips piston into you at a reckless pace.

You scream out, your nails clawing across his back, legs trembling. His breath is hot on your ear, mixed with growls that rumble against you while he maintains this new, unrelenting tempo. Your walls start to spasm and contract around him, feeling your release building at an intense rate. Copia lifts his head, eyes half-lidded and lips smeared with black paint and you catch his mismatched gaze. He looks hungry, starving for you, a low snarl ripping from his lips before he kisses you again. You sigh against his lips, eyes squeezing shut as your body writhes beneath him. Copia is devouring you, his tongue tasting every inch of your mouth as he keeps a tight grip on your hair. 

“I’m -ah- close!” You choke into his mouth, your body trembling and your hold on him tightening. He groans in response, his lips hovering just above yours and he snaps his hips even harder into you. A whine leaves your lips, your legs trembling around him, your nails scratching along his back again. You start to come undone as your muscles tense and shockwaves grip your body. Copia fucks you through it, his hips stuttering as his own orgasm builds. It washes over you, a sob falling from your lips as your vision blurs and you cling to him, unable to think about anything other than how good he makes you feel. 

He comes inside you, filling you with his seed to assert his possession of you. You know deep down that’s why he does it but something about it turns you on. Copia hovers over you, panting lightly as he brushes the hair from your face. Your eyes meet and he offers a sweet smile before slipping off of you and pulling you into his embrace. Silence falls between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up to his face and finds his eyes closed, a content look on his face. Coherent thoughts start to creep into your brain and you find yourself staring off into space.

You feel that Terzo is gone, perhaps for good this time. When your eyes focus on Copia again, his eyes are open and he is looking at you almost lovingly. He leans in and presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I missed you too, amore.”

[outro-jo]

new moon, new vibes

pairing: bang chan x gn reader

type: one shot

warnings: practicing witchcraft, mentions of deities, use of florida water, kinda spicy alluded at the end but nothing at all in detail… i can’t think of anything else 😂

notes: this is how i would practice but this is not a tutorial nor am i teaching you how to do things. if you want to practice witchcraft, please do your own research! this is just a self indulgent piece of writing and it is fiction 🫰🏻don’t come to me for questions lmao i’m sorry but i’m not a teacher. i just study for myself and incorporate things as i see fit. there are practitioners who teach, i am not one of them for my own idk… safety isn’t the right word bc like i’m protected but like mental health… i’m in and out of my practice sm it feels hypocritical to teach so just don’t ask 😂 i can give resources tho and google is ✨free✨ 🤍 also, i wouldn’t really request another one of these. the new moon in virgo said, “bitch, do something” 😂 sorry for the long disclaimer

please read info before requesting!

masterlist | info

—————————————————

chris tracks the moon better than you do sometimes. never for any reason in particular other than sheer curiosity but this time it all just worked out. yes, he’s like three albums ahead in recording with bonus 3racha songs that will never see the light of day, but he was feeling the need to start working on a new album too. the boys creativity was spiking as well and they were getting restless. in other words, it was time to get to work, but chris needed a refreshing in his work space. normally he loved his studio, it was all you could do some days to get him out of it. sucked into his kaleidoscope hole of creativity until it finally set him free once the album was done. but the vibes were stale. he felt trapped lately, like his mind was racing with ideas of lyrics and melodies but none of them were clicking.

that’s where you come in.

nothing felt better to christopher after he just helped clean the house and then you banish the negative energy and cleanse the space. he knew it was time for some of that in his studio or he was gonna go insane.

your spirituality was nothing you hid especially from him. he grew up in the church so he kept his distance but was quietly observing. he still remembers the first night he watched you work.

the living room was dimly lit, windows open with the moon cascading light into the living room on your makeshift work station on the coffee table. the air swirled with smells of incense, oils, and herbs and you sit quietly as you worked. your playlist of music softly played in the background. chris didn’t say a word but he was enthralled with everything you did, almost attempting to ask what each thing was and how it worked but you seemed to be in a zone.

“ask, christopher.” you spoke up, not bothering to glance his way.

he awkwardly shifted in his seat on the floor as he cleared his throat, “what’s that do?”

he cringed at himself a little for sounding like a child but you couldn’t help but smirk at how adorable and clueless he was.

“well, this is a pretty basic banishing spell.” you continued into detail of your work and the reasoning, which worked out well for you because then you could further set your intentions into the spell. eventually that’s just how you would do your spell work, explaining things to him in detail and why you were doing things.

also, it always blew his mind how you always seemed to know things before they happened but you were never super obvious about it. one time you had warned him about a presence at work. his questions at the time went unanswered but then he came home in shock.

“how the hell did you know about Beomseok?” he was in utter disbelief.

you simply shrugged, “you have family on the other side wanting to protect you.”

ever since he thought there might be something to what you do and after some time of thought he came to you and said that however you wanted to use him in your practice, he was willing. you started out slow and decided that apollo would be a good fit to work with for him and his music. it started with regular cleansing and a sun charm you enchanted for him, but now chris was feeling the pull for more to be done.

“i need your help.”

you glanced up at him from your spot on the couch to give him your full attention as he moved to take a seat next to you. he seemed nervous as he shifted a bit.

“so, the moon is moving into pisces tonight and the guys and i are feeling a shift in our creativity and it’s a new moon but the energy in my studio is awful. so i was wondering…” chris stopped looking for you to finish the sentence as he wasn’t quite sure what he was even asking for.

you mimicked his head motions, trying to pick up what he was putting down. “you want me to cleanse your space?”

“i think so…” he breathed out a chuckle. “something, i dunno. whatever you do in here when we clean the house.”

you let out a laugh, finally understanding what he was trying to ask. “ok, yeah, so some incense, crystals?”

“yes! i like crystals.”

fuck, he was cute.

“yeah! let me get some stuff. oh! and by the window over there, grab a water bottle.” you pointed as you walked down the hall.

“one of these?”

“yep! it’s moon water. it’ll cleanse you too.” quickly you rushed out, stopping in front of him as he drank and showed the spray bottle in your hand. “florida water. gets rid of bad vibes. if we’re gonna do this we should cleanse ourselves.”

“oh! uh-ok.” he stood up straighter and squared off his shoulders in preparation.

“close your eyes and take a deep breath in…” you paused as he complied. “and out. good! now imagine a bright, warm, golden light surrounding you.”

after a minute, he nodded, “ok.”

“keep your eyes closed, and i’ll spray this now, ok?”

he nodded.

“perfect. keep drinking your water. do you remember what incense you liked best?” you rushed off again to gather supplies.

“ummm… oh! the dragon one!”

you giggled to yourself, “dragon’s blood?”

“yeah! it sounds cool.”

god, his intuition is insane.

you finished packing up your essentials and as the sun was setting you were able to head down to his studio. immediately when you walked in, you could tell exactly what he meant by the energy being off. the room, while not having any physical changes, felt stagnant and almost moldy without having the physical smell, but nothing you couldn’t fix.

“ok, top to bottom clean. dusting, clearing out trash, everything.” you told him.

chris nodded and immediately got to work. he was thankful to start with something he understood. while jype had regular cleaners, chris usually told them not to bother cleaning in here since he has things a certain way and he always intended to clean himself… he never did. the room already started to feel better with just a deep cleaning.

“what next?” chris asked eagerly.

“cleanse with some florida water and incense.” you explained, pulling it out of your bag.

this time when you used the florida water, you explained the history of the perfume to him and explained the use of herbs and ingredients, since you usually made it yourself. next was the incense and the properties of dragon’s blood, saying that it’s good for courage in pursuing creative projects that might be out of his comfort zone and that how there’s even science to back how the essential oils have increased activity in the left hemisphere of the brain.

“next, crystals. we charge them in the moon or sunlight.” you told him, raising the first one too him. “citrine, it’s heat treated amethyst that changes the color. it banishes negative energy and keeps you focused. also brings in abundance.” you finished him with a wink. each crystal you pulled out of your bag you gave an explanation and finally set everything up. finally you pulled out a golden stick candle with some herbs. “final thing, we’re gonna ask apollo for some help.”

“oh! the music guy! that’s a good idea!” chris exclaimed as he took the seat next to you at the desk.

everything felt different from the first time he saw you practicing your craft. before he was quiet and timid, afraid to ask questions and even participate. now, he was getting fully involved by helping make sigils with his intentions, carving them into the candle then applying herbs and oils. the two of you watched the candle burn down and chris already felt the energy in the room shift dramatically with new ideas for music pouring into his head. he couldn’t wait to get started but it was still a new moon and you two had other rituals to attend to.

[cellarspider]

Qunlat 10/12: Profession Names

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

Alright! Get your Qunlat name info here! It took me nine posts worth of setup to get here, and hopefully that’ll help folks to make their own names, rather than feel limited to words that are already in the dictionary.

We’ll start with Qunari names, or rather, professions. 

First, I want to start with a bit of IRL history, because frankly, the use of these titles has been treated as alien, when English does this all the time, ours are just fossilized into surnames. Abbot, Baker, Carpenter, Draper, Earl, Fletcher–I can go through the entire alphabet except for Z, and that’s just from English names! If you have a surname that’s a name for a current or former occupation, it means one of your ancestors did this job. Probably multiple generations thereof, because social mobility was not much of a thing. Also makes “Abbot” a pretty spicy name to inherit, come to think of it. Maybe they were the Abbot of Cockaigne.

Now, let’s be clear–we only know profession-names that have made it outside of Qunari territory. That limits us mostly to professions in the Antaam, Ben-Hassrath, and support staff. Our names, hell, all of our vocabulary is going to be skewed toward them. But we can make some general observations that can be broadly applicable.

The compounding and derivational rules we talked about last time also apply to names, so we can split them into a few major patterns:

Adjective-noun compounds: This is most obviously seen in Saarebas, “dangerous thing”. Note that saar and bas are the root words, with an -e- inserted between them. Unlike the other use of this infix, it seems to purely act as a spacer vowel, which makes the name flow a little better. This is not consistently applied to “r-b” consonant clusters, and it doesn’t seem to have a grammatical use. We’re in “do it by vibes” territory here.

Noun-agentive or verb-agentive derivations: Profession-names often take -ad or -aad as an ending: Ashaad, Arvaarad, Karasaad, etc. The wiki claims this is an Antaam thing, but that’s not true–Hissrad is part of the Ben-Hassrath, and that’s technically an Asala role. We don’t know what -aad might then mean, because even some Antaam roles use -ari instead. It’s worth remembering that, like the rest of Qunlat, -aad and -ari can be either plural or singular: Beresaad, obviously, is usually used to refer to those that collectively fall under a particular branch of the Antaam, while Ashkaari can refer to a single person.

Verb-noun compounds: These are quite common, and we’ll come back to these in Vashoth names as well. For profession-names, we have Taarbas, Viddasala, Karashok etc. These can be translated as “one who [verb]s [noun]”: One who keeps things, one who converts purpose, one who… somethings struggle, we don’t actually have a canonical translation for kara. We only know it appears in a lot of Antaam names for warriors, groups of warriors (karataam), and one untranslated word spoken by Arvaarad in DA2 (karasaam). I won’t speculate on its meaning here.

There are some that don’t fit these patterns: The salasari triumvirate use a special agentive prefix Ari-. Given its use as “people” in other contexts, this may mean “the people’s [x]”, or simply emphasize their role in reflecting the collective’s needs under the Qun. 

Others are of ambiguous definition or structure that we don’t understand: Arvaarad,⁽²⁾ Salit,⁽³⁾ Tamassran,⁽⁴⁾ Vidathiss,⁽⁵⁾ etc. I’ve got lots of speculations about these, which I’ve banished to the footnotes, but nothing concrete about them.

Other names, however, break the rules, and I want to explain why these may not sound right in translation.

Let’s use Bas-taar as the example. It’s supposed to mean “keeper of bas”, an equivalent to a warden or overseer for prisoners of war.

Anyone who has taken a peek at the dictionary spreadsheet may possibly have seen my annoyance about this name: Tevinter Nights actually explains the joke of the name to you. It sounds like “bastard”, you see. Very funny. Ha. I am amused.

But looking at how we’ve broken down the names here, one may see the problem: bas is a noun, and taar is a verb, making this a noun-verb compound. …Which we haven’t been doing, only verb-noun compounds. You could, theoretically, do it the other way, but it has grammatical implications. 

Let’s compare the name to a suspiciously similar one I already introduced: Taarbas. “(One who) keeps things”. This follows Qunlat’s overall word order of Subject, Verb, Object. Bas is the object that’s kept, so it comes second. Bas-taar implies bas is the subject, the one who keeps. Hence also Bas-Saarebas, a foreign mage. So, Bas-taar implies a meaning of “foreigner (who) keeps”. 

Because I am long-suffering but fair in my wrath, I will say there is a way to make Bas-taar work,⁽⁶⁾ but for the sake of general naming schemes, just know that you need to be careful with word order when creating compound words and names.

There’s one last thing to cover in this segment: given names, including nicknames. Because Qunari do have those, logistically you need those. Unless you’re the Valo-Kas and numbering your Ashaads, you need some way to tell people apart! And we know this starts early in life: Tamassrans working as teachers and carers for Imekaari may give them names–Bull was Ashkaari due to his inquisitiveness as a kid. 

These names may not stay with them as their official title, but it indicates that even when someone has a role–in this case “child”–they still can receive other names on a semi-formal basis. This ends up pretty similar to how people can accumulate multiple names throughout their lifetime in many cultures, such as courtesy names across East Asia.

And then there’s nicknames, given to someone by a non-official source. The only one we know of is Gatt, from gaatlok: nicknamed thus for his volatile temper resulting form the whole was-almost-a-magister’s-child-sacrifice situation. I’ll note that “gatt” as a word breaks our previously established phonotactics with that double T, but let’s let the guy have this one. He deserves it.

We’ll look at Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth names next time.

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

Footnotes

(1) https://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html

(2) Arvaarad has a canon translation: “One who holds back evil”, but I’ve never been able to make that fit. Ar should mean “hold back”, but the way vaar gets compounded into other words is… it’s rebracketing, like with asala-taar last time. If vaar means “evil”, Basvaarad would mean “one who is an evil foreigner”, and darvaarad would mean “one who is a place that’s evil”. Darvaarad has an easy fix: The suffix -dar is used in placenames. A place that holds back evil would be Arvaardar.

Basvaarad is especially weird though, because it first appears in Shepherding Wolves, a quest that uses the term Bas-Saarebas for a foreign mage. Bas-Arvaarad would be perfectly possible, but was not used. 

(3) I have almost no idea with Salit. Sala means “purpose”, so sal might be a root word of that. That would theoretically leave -it, which has been seen as a variant third person singular pronoun in astaarit, something that still annoys me for its Englishness. But no other name uses it or asit to refer to the person doing the job, so I can’t say for certain what it means in this context, or if I’m even breaking the name down correctly. Might be Sa-lit, might be Sal-it. I actually prefer the former, though it would make it even harder to parse.

(4) Tamassran is translated as “those who speak”, which gives us an odd new suffix -ran. It might be a synonym for “person”, or an unknown hyponym: a word that covers a smaller scope (ex. “child” is a hyponym of “person”). We don’t know anything about the rest of the word. Tamass would presumably mean “speak”, but it may, again, be a hyponym that specifically covers teaching and instruction. 

(5) This name spells Viddath wrong, which is a bit of a problem to begin with. Seen in Viddathari (“converted-people”), -ath appears to be a passive derivational marker equivalent to English -ed. Iss is translated as “experienced” in the context of weapons in DA2. So… Converted by experience?? But Vidathiss is described as a Ben-Hassrath reeducator, so “converts by experience”, “experienced converter”, or “converter of experience(d people)” was probably intended. That’d be Vidda-iss, Viddiss, Iss-vidda, or maybe even Iss-viddaad, depending on how you translate it. 

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

(6) Okay. So remember that whole thing about possessed-possessor compound words, and how they can sometimes be unmarked? Bas-taar could be one of those. But that requires taar to mean “keeper”, though we already have it being widely used to mean “armor” or “materiel” more broadly. If you wanted to make it a person and improve the brain-rotting joke, Bas-taarad is literally right there. 

See? Said I was fair. I’ll judge the writers for explaining a bad joke, but I’ll do my best to make the bad joke work better.

[mrcleanheichou]

Wolves Are (Not) Scary Chapter 13

Pairing: Werewolf!BTS X Female human reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: There’s smut in this chapter :) some brief pussy eating and doggy style (wolfie style?) also Jimin is a bit of a jerk.

Word count: 3,028

Summary: All Y/N wants to do is find her creativity and motivation but she finds 7 werewolves instead.

Author note: Everyone please get your tomatoes ready to throw and boo at me because I’m a liar and I deserve it. Remember when I said this chapter was gonna be 5k? Welp that didn’t happen. BUT this is my longest chapter. The dang smut scene tripped me up so if it seems rushed please know I threw in the towel for my own sanity and said fuck it Joonie is a 2 pump chump today.

Taglist: @dustyinkpages @thickemadame @moonlitehunter @thedarkwinterrose @momoriki @iistrangers @openup-yourmind @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @lovelyseokjinnie @scuzmunkie @bjoriis @maddypool31 @tfkp0p @blubearxy @stealth-liberal @potaetopic @zae007live @totallynoalien @dvoz-writes @purplelady85 @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @blushyrawrz @skyys-universe @harmonie-writes @gamer-mask @savagemickey03

Chapter 12 //  Chapter 13 // Chapter 14

1 year ago

If you had to pick a favorite room in the spacious house your pack resides in it would be the library. Before you came along it was mainly Namjoon’s refuge away from the rest of the members. After many years together the younger wolves have learned that if Namjoon is reading to only bother him when its an emergency. Reading and gaining knowledge on many different subjects is one of life’s many pleasures for Namjoon. Getting lost in a good book lets him escape his many responsibilities even if it’s for a short while.

That all changed when you showed up. Namjoon saw you fall in love with his sacred dwelling and he let you carve your own little space within it. He reluctantly let some of his philosophy books be replaced with your beloved romance novels. With you spending a large portion of your time within the space eventually led to the three younger wolves coming in too. That lasted a week until the alpha’s patience wore thin and once again banished them from the room. It may or may not have been partly due to Jimin’s constant pestering to read the smut scenes in your novels with you. You offered to lend him your Kindle so he could read the ‘Ice planet Barbarians’ series on his own but he said it wasn’t the same without you.

In the relative darkness the only light emanating in the room is from a tall floor lamp next to the comfortable red suede sofa you’re sharing with Hoseok. Who was currently softly snoring, splayed out on his back in wolf form, paws in the air and head your lap. You ran a hand through the thick tan fur on his chest and held a thick vampire romance book in the other. You were finally getting to the ‘spicy’ scene after 500 pages of slow burn enemies to lovers when a hand on your shoulder made you jump slightly.

“Hey, it’s late lets get you to bed.”

“What time is it?” You ask stretching your arms and groaning. Time always seems to fly when you read.

“Midnight” He answered while helping you carefully maneuver out from under Hoseok. Learning from experience that the older wolf does not like being woken up and will curse out anyone indiscriminately for doing it.

Once your other mate was situated you followed Namjoon up towards your room.

The house you lived in was huge so every original member had their own bedroom. The royal pack allocates housing funds based on amount of pack members. The bigger the pack the bigger the housing fund was. They often build houses for packs before they’re even finished being formed. For as inclusive the moon goddess is, it seemed the court hasn’t upheld that value when it comes to making space for potential children. Adoption is definitely a thing in the werewolf world, and many packs that are all the same sex do still have parental desires. Unfortunately room isn’t often accounted for them. The sale of original pack houses is permitted it’s just a long process but many packs seeking extra space will jump through hoops to buy and trade housing to get what they desire. Often child free packs are willing to move or packs that decide to relocate to other cities or countries all together. It’s like the human world with more (annoying) rules.

All of that meant there was no room for you in the beginning. Instead of packing up and buying a new place that no one including you wanted to do, Jimin ended up giving up his room and voluntarily moving in with Taehyung. The pair sleep together the majority of the time anyway.

Although often the members preferred to sleep with a varying number of other members together rather than alone, but having a personal space to themselves where they can be alone is also important. Since you were human and not used to pack living they all definitely wanted you to be able to have your space as to not overwhelm you.

You always wondered how the higher ups got a hold of so much money. Yoongi said that they do lots of dealings with Governments around the world and some officials were actually werewolves. They operate behind the scenes and take steps to make sure human and werewolf relations remain civil.

The public may not know of their existence but the international elites and the chaebols of Korea know of their existence. Back in the age of royal dynasties many kings used werewolves as close body guards. Even when not shifted a werewolf is more powerful than a normal human. Enhanced hearing and sense of smell were huge advantages which made their existence beneficial and solidified the safety of the werewolf species as a whole.

Opening your covers and helping you into bed Namjoon gave you a quick kiss before turning to head out.

“Can you sleep here tonight?” you ask grabbing his wrist before he could leave, giving your best attempt at ‘puppy dog eyes’ you could muster.

He let out a fake exasperated sigh and an exaggerated eye roll before flashing a dimpled smile, “I guess.”

You let out a noise of triumph before scooting over to make room for the large man. He got comfortable wrapping himself around you from behind and relaxed his seemingly always tense muscles. After thirty minutes you could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t asleep. Knowing he was awake was keeping you awake so you deciding to do what you know could have any man sleeping afterwards.

Starting to slowly push your hips back into his you smirked when his hold on you tightened.  A few well practiced circles had resulted in his unmistakable hardness poking into your butt.

“What are you doing?” Namjoon asked in a voice that implied he knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’m helping you sleep.”

“You’re doing the exact opposite,” He teased while moving to give you room to lay on your back. He snorts as he sees you rush to pull down your pajama shorts and underwear. “Someone’s eager.”

“It’s not everyday I get to have my alpha like this.” You say as you open your legs for him to slot between them. This causes Namjoon to frown and lean down to look in your eyes and gently stroke your cheek.

“Do you feel like I neglect you?”

“No, no it’s not like that,” You stammered trying unsuccessfully to get Namjoon to back up so you could sit up. Giving up when he wouldn’t budge you sighed, “It’s just that… I know I've already been here for a while so I should be used to it by now but I’m still trying to get used to the whole pack thing.   Living with seven men with different personalities it sometimes feels like someone gets lost in the fray. I feel guilty for spending so much time with the maknaes and not enough with everyone else. When you came home and I went upstairs with Hobi I did feel bad for going with him.”

Namjoon frowns a little before moving back and grabbing a pillow to place under your hips to elevate them to his liking.

“Let me see you.” He says rubbing your outer thighs as you rush to pull down your shorts and panties. The articles of clothing were unceremoniously tossed behind him landing near your dresser. He uses his fingers to spread open your lower lips and stares at your warm inviting hole as if he wanted to eat you whole like the big bad wolf he is. “Pretty girl.”

You sigh happily as he scoots down the bed to lay on his stomach and then licks a slow swipe up your pussy ending at your clit. The feeling had your spine arching up off the bed as Namjoon’s lips create a delicious toe curling suction. “Oh shit!”

As an alpha Namjoon liked to be in control at all times, that included during sex. You found that out the first time you tried to straddle him. It’s in his nature to take that as a dominance challenge. That action resulted in one of the roughest fucking in your life. You finally found out what Ariana Grande was talking about in the ‘Side to Side’ song. You also learned that Jimin loved doing that to him because he was a little glutton for punishment.

Unfortunately alphas can be exhausting to deal with as a whole and practice a bit of toxic masculinity pushed by their inner wolves. So keeping that in mind you were actively trying to not tangle your hand in his hair and grind onto his face. You were gonna get what he gave you, the way he wanted to give it and you were going to like it.

That was the complete opposite of Yoongi who loves for you to use use him to get off. If asked you’d say the best orgasm you’d ever had was the time he had you sit on his face while Jin sucked him off. All of his needy whines and groans against your pussy while he forced your hips down in a vice like grip. In the beginning you hesitated when asked to ‘suffocate’ him with your thighs. That wasn’t something you had ever done with your human exes but you grew to love it and crave it. He was the best out of your mates at eating you out and according to Taehyung he was the best cock sucker too. Yoongi called it his ‘Tongue technology’.

Namjoon working two fingers into you and immediately finding your G spot, brought you out of your thoughts. “Focus on me. Or I’ll leave you here.” He growls lowly.

A shiver runs through you in not a wholly unpleasant way. His attempts at using his alpha voice always got on your nerves except when in bed. This is the only time you willingly submit to the werewolf.

“No, please fuck me alpha.” You whine as he removes his fingers only to add a third in an attempt to prepare you for what was to come. It’s always futile, no matter how many times you have sex with any of the pack members you always have to psych yourself up in preparation of taking their knots. Over the past few years it’s definitely gotten easier but when it comes to you they all know to try to ease it in slow unlike the animalistic way they shove their knots into each other. The human body just wasn’t built to take a toll like that, much to your annoyance.  

Namjoon gets off the foot of the bed to remove his pajama pants revealing the fact he was going commando. Giving his large leaking erection a few strokes as he waited for you to turn over onto your hands and knees. Another alpha quirk you’ve learned is his favoritism of this submissive position.

“Back up,” he commanded gesturing to the edge of the foot of the bed. “Good girl.”

Aligning himself with your entrance Namjoon pushes in his girth all the way in with a groan. Rubbing circles on the sides of your waist where he was holding onto you he stayed still giving you time to adjust. You turned your head back after a minute and nodded to him to give the okay to start moving but he didn’t.

“Move, please!” you whined desperately.

“No, I’m tired.” Namjoon says with a smirk. “If you want it you do the work.”

He lets go of you and proceeds to fold his arms at his chest waiting for your compliance. With a pout you start moving your hips starting off slow before picking up rhythm. You give one good slam back which causes the headboard of your bed to smack the wall loudly.

“It’s late, don’t wake anyone up.” Namjoon chastises with a light smack to your ass.

You roll your eyes but decide not to argue. Your obedience was rewarded as you felt your alpha lean over you with one hand on the bed and the other slipping between your thighs.

“Oh fuck!” you gasp and lose the strength to hold yourself as he expertly plays with your clit. Namjoon enjoys the way your velvety walls clamp down on him as you orgasm. He takes this opportunity to ease his knot in and spill his hot cum with a loud drawn out groan of your name.

You were both flying high on an endorphin rush, it was over quickly but you didn’t care. Namjoon stayed holding himself up trying not to crush under his weight.  He very much didn’t want to move because every movement pulled on his sensitive knot. Knowing you would be stuck like this for twenty minutes he wanted to be comfortable. Wincing, he pulls you up to awkwardly carry you back to the top of the bed.

You settled in under the blankets with him spooning you from behind. Even though you were tired you still couldn’t sleep. The feeling of his knot throbbing was distracting so you decided to ask a question you’ve been thinking for a long time.

“Hey Joonie? Can I ask you a question?”

The man just hummed a noise that you took to mean yes.

“How did you become the alpha?”

“Every last full moon of the year there’s a large festival where all of the packs in the country that have young wolves who have turned eighteen converge. It lasts the full three days of mandatory shifting. Pack members are added to each forming pack every time the festival comes around and the minute the future alpha is found for each pack they are immediately put in charge. I wasn’t the original alpha it was actually Hoseok hyung who was chosen. Since he’s older than me he was added to the pack before me.”

Your eyebrows went up, It takes a special type of werewolf to run a pack and you couldn’t envision Hobi doing that. Although the older wolf definitely kept the younger three wolves in check he was really sweet the majority of the time.

“When my pack was chosen for me after five other wolves I met Jin hyung and Yoongi hyung and him. We were making plans with our respective families when all of a sudden the moon witches made an announcement that there was to be an alpha switch. It was actually a bit of a controversy at the time. It’s rare for the moon goddess to change her mind. The witches thought it might be because of my lineage. I come from a family line with three alphas. My great grandfather, grandfather and father were all alphas of their packs.”

“Was Hobi mad about it?”

“He was definitely resentful, he rarely spoke to me the first couple months I lived in the pack house but he eventually got over it. He has since told me multiple times he is so relieved it’s not him because he feels like he wouldn’t be as patient and might have strangled the maknaes by now.”

You laugh at that, Namjoon’s breath hitched as your core squeezed him rhythmically.  Satisfied with his answer you tried again and succeeded in falling asleep. You didn’t feel when Namjoon’s knot released or when he got up and cleaned you up with his discarded shirt before settling back behind you and drifting off as well.

Present Day

“None of you can look me in the eyes and tell me you’re okay with this! You know what’s gonna happen to them!” Taehyung yells exasperatedly at the rest of the wolves who were sitting in silence in the spacious hotel room. The tension so thick all it took was this outburst to make it boil over.

“It’s what Namjoon wants so drop it.” Hoseok says lowly as he lays on one of the two king sized beds, stroking Yoongi’s fur. The older wolf was still transformed and unconscious after Yoona fixed his arm. The witch gave him a potion to stay in that state to aide in healing.

“Drop it? You expect me to drop it?! How can you be so fucking heartless?” Taehyung’s voice shakes as he’s fighting to stop from breaking into a sobbing mess. “You’re the one who could talk the most sense into him.”

Hoseok drops his gaze and turns his head away.

“Please just try!” Taehyung grabs onto the older wolf’s shoulders shaking him and finally letting the tears escape.

“Taehyung,” Jimin grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him away. “You’re thinking with your heart and not your brain. Jungkook is dangerous, it may have been an ‘accident’” he emphasizes with air quotes, “ but this has been a running theme with him. He is not a pup anymore, he’s had years to start acting like an adult and he can’t manage to do that so now we’re all suffering for it. It was only a matter of time before he fucked up enough to get unmated.”

Taehyung looked at him incredulously not believing his ears that Jimin could just say those things about their other mate. Jimin pushes him back into the wall and looking into his eyes with their foreheads almost touching.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Face.” Taehyung snarls.

“I’m right and you know it. You just can’t handle the truth. Both Jungkook and Y/N are detrimental to the health of this pack. She continuously babies him and feeds into his behavior. Our alpha knows what’s best for us, it’s about time you realize that, fall in line or get out.”

“Jimin! Knock it off.” Jin growls walking out of the bathroom. “You’re not helping.”

“You know what?” Taehyung snaps, “I’m leaving.”

Pushing away from Jimin and bumping into the smaller wolf’s shoulder he practically runs out of the room completely ignoring Jin calling out for him to wait. He knew the minute the door slammed behind him he might have made a mistake but he just couldn’t live with Namjoon’s decision. Even if it means going through the unmating process too.

[valiantstarlights]

[ShowXComic Swap AU] The Truth Can't Hurt You, It's Just Like The Dark

It's Comic!Dream who appears in the Show!universe, and Show!Dream whisks Show!Hob away to the Dreaming for his own safety while he works to banish his other self.

Now, task accomplished, Dream knows he has to return Hob back to the Waking World.

But not yet.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @hoblingtyrant. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ I hope this level of darkness is to your liking. 👀

The title is from the song, "I Want You" by Fiona Apple. You can also read this story on AO3 here. 😊

CW: Spicy spice, but also dark themes! I'm talking Dark!Dream and his unhinged behavior, dubious consent, codependency, unreliable narrator, and even (offscreen) minor character death 👀

Note: This from the same AU as The Burning House, The Gilded Cage, and Fidelity. Except this is a new universe within that multiverse? 😂

Dream did not mean to take it this far.

But when he managed to banish his other self back into his own universe and it was time to return Hob into the Waking World, he found himself hesitant.

Just another week, he told himself. Just one more week and then he's going to return Hob back to his life.

But the weeks turned to months, and the months turned to years, and it's very easy to lose track of time in the Dreaming, even for dreams and nightmares.

Only Dream knows how much time has truly passed, and none would dare to speak against him. Not after he unmade his own raven for trying to get Hob to leave him. For trying to turn Hob against him.

It's unfortunate, but Matthew had to be unmade. Dream could forgive many things, but betrayal is not one of them.

Hob had asked where Matthew had gone, of course. And Dream had said, "He chose to retire."

It was not a lie.

Before Matthew became Dream's raven, he was a grown man. He knew exactly what he was doing when he did it. And so Dream allowed him to reap the consequences of his own actions and retired him.

Lucienne, he knows, has a lot of words saved up for him behind her teeth. But she does not speak against him. Nowadays, she barely speaks at all, keeping her replies limited to, "Yes, sir," and, "Right away, sir."

He appreciates her loyalty, and the fact that she knows her place.

The other dreams and nightmares follow her lead. Dream acknowledges that this is a cause for concern. A large number of his subjects might ask Lucienne to one day lead a mutiny against him, but he knows she will decline.

She knows all of them can be easily replaced with newer, more obedient versions of themselves. She will name the second Corinthian as an example, and they will all shut their mouths.

As they should.

They should know that there is only one being who is irreplaceable to Dream, and that Dream will unmake his own raven, move heaven and earth, and indeed, murder another Dream of the Endless--if it means having his love by his side for all eternity.

--

Truly, Dream did not mean to take it this far. But the thought of Hob leaving, the thought of Hob having a life away from him, or worse, being in danger or having another Eleanor--

Dream grits his teeth at the thought. He will not see it happen. Not again. Especially not now, after he has tasted Hob's soft lips, and swallowed down his moans of Dream's name, his frame shaking in Dream's arms, and his eyes so full of love as he looks at Dream after their lovemaking, when they're both lying in bed, sweating and sated.

If anyone dares to take Hob away from him, even one of his own siblings, he will tear the fabric of reality apart just to get him back.

--

"Hello love," Hob greets cheerfully as Dream enters the kitchen area of Hob's house in the Dreaming. He always perks up when Dream gets home, and it never fails to make Dream feel loved. He never understood the concept of 'home' until recently, when he comes back from his duties and arrives where Hob is.

This corner of the Dreaming, hidden from sight from everyone else and guarded by Corinthian himself, is always summer bright, though Dream allows the seasons to change whenever Hob requests it. Today is a sunny winter's day, and the skies are a robin's egg blue.

Dream will do anything for Hob, as long as Hob doesn't talk about wanting to leave.

"Hello, Hob," he says, and walks the short distance towards his love, wrapping his arms around Hob's middle while his chin rests on Hob's shoulder.

Hob is cooking something that looks like seafood stew on the stove, and he is currently stirring and testing the stew's viscosity. "How was work today?"

"Tedious," Dream replies, and places feather-soft kisses on the exposed skin of Hob's neck. Hob shivers deliciously and leans more against him, and Dream tightens his arms around him, pressing their bodies even closer together. "I would rather be here with you."

Hob chuckles, ladling a spoonful of the stew and blowing on it. "Then you should take more days off," he says, then holds the spoonful towards Dream. "Here, taste."

Hob does small, sweet, and seemingly insignificant things like that--blowing on a spoonful of hot stew to cool it down, even when he knows full well that Dream can't burn his tongue.

Dream loves him so much.

He opens his mouth and lets Hob feed him. The broth tastes gingery, and there are clams and cuttlefish and fishcake in the spoonful that Hob offered him. Dream has no doubt that, were Hob to make this same dish in the Waking World, it would taste just as good. But here in the Dreaming, it tastes absolutely sublime.

Like all the food that Hob made ever since he started living in Dream's realm, the stew tastes like devotion. Like a love that has simmered for more than 600 years, with a well-developed, deep, rich flavor, and a sweetness that makes Dream crave for Hob more.

It's delicious, and his hunger grows the more he eats. He angles his hips away so as to not bring attention to his rapidly hardening cock. There will be time for that later.

"Good?" Hob asks, when Dream gives a pleased hum as he chews. "It's a seafood stew I first tasted in a little seaside restaurant in the 1970s. Unfortunately, they closed before I could return the following summer. And I couldn't find the owners, so I had to spend a considerable amount of time trying to recreate it."

Dream swallows the stew and licks his lips, devouring Hob's story as well. He turns his face to the side to kiss Hob on the lips. It's an awkward angle, but Dream stretches his neck a little longer, more than what a human is capable of, and he makes it work without inconveniencing Hob.

Hob, for his part, sighs happily into the kiss and blindly reaches towards the stove to turn off the flames. His hand misses by a couple of inches, but this is the Dreaming, and Dream is its lord, and he turns the flames off for Hob with a single thought.

Hob will never be in danger here.

When they part for breath, Hob is panting, and he turns around fully so Dream could crowd him against the kitchen counter, his legs bracketed by Dream's on either side. "The stew is delicious," Dream praises, leaning in to kiss and lick Hob's lips again. He will never get enough of him. "And so was your story."

"I'm glad you like it," Hob says, cheeks pinkening in pleasure that Dream likes his cooking. Like Dream would ever find any of his dishes wanting. "It took me years to get it right, and by the time I did, the fishmongers in the market had taken to calling me 'seafood stew guy.' It's fine since it was about the time I changed identities anyway, but it still makes me cringe that somewhere out there, a bunch of old people would fondly recount the story of the seafood stew guy to their grandchildren."

Dream chuckles at Hob's accompanying silly daydream--a hunched old lady walking with a child down a beachfront, telling them about the years she interacted with a strange fellow who ate nothing but seafood stew.

"I think it's admirable that you always work so hard to achieve your goals," Dream says fondly. Where most humans would give up, Hob Gadling would persist. It's one of many reasons why Dream fell in love with him.

Hob smiles sweetly up at him and stands slightly on his tiptoes to give Dream a chaste peck on the lips. "Thank you for saying so," he says. "But really, it's your influence. You always make me want to do my best."

Dream growls at his words and deepens their kiss. Trust Hob to know just the right words to make Dream feel even more insane about him.

He lifts Hob up so he could sit him on the counter to make it easier for his neck. Hob wastes no time and pulls Dream towards him with his legs, and locks his ankles against his waist so Dream would not go far.

As if Dream ever would, when Hob is right here.

"Are we going to eat sometime soon, or will I have to reheat the food later?" Hob asks. "Because I feel like it's going to be a few hours before we start eating, and I would like you to know that I made pot stickers as well."

Dream starts unbuttoning Hob's trousers. "Sounds delicious."

Hob laughs and helps Dream take off his clothes, raising his hips when Dream starts sliding his trousers off, and pulling his shirt over his head. "'Sounds delicious,' he says. But is he talking about pot stickers or something else?"

"I'm talking about you, of course," Dream says, and leans down to swirl his tongue around Hob's nipple. "Your dishes always taste good, but you taste even better."

Hob moans at that, and pulls Dream's head more towards his chest. "Fuck, Dream--"

"I'm right here, my love," Dream says, and nips at the soft skin of Hob's hairy tits. He looks so beautiful. Dream waves his hand impatiently so the clothing melts off both their bodies.

"That's...oh! That's cheating."

Dream shrugs and gently lays Hob down on the counter, the space accommodating them and reshaping itself so Hob's head doesn't hit the wall, and he can fully lie down on his back with his legs still around Dream's waist. "I never once claim to play fair."

Hob pouts at him. "I had to make the pot stickers from scratch, you know," he says. "No cheating about it. Do you know how long it takes to make them? Because the recipe said one hour, but obviously it didn't take into account all the wrapping--"

Dream kisses Hob to prevent him from talking about the time, biting at his lips gently, one hand massaging his pec, while the other strokes his cock. Hob moans and arches his back, all talk of food forgotten.

"Dream--"

"We will eat your wonderful creations later, my love," Dream promises. "But now, I must have my fill of you so I can sate the hunger that has been driving me mad all day."

--

Hob moans as Dream eats him out right there on the kitchen counter. Normally, he wouldn't allow such a thing, arguing that they need to retreat to the bedroom because the kitchen is a sacred space meant only for preparing food. But this is the Dreaming, and the rules of the Waking World do not apply here. The counter will remain spotless and sanitized if Dream wills it, and so Hob allows himself to be taken every which way in his dream kitchen.

The kitchen in his flat in the Waking World is small, with barely enough space to do food prep, but here in the Dreaming, Dream has spoiled him and allowed him to design his own kitchen, with no thought given to how much it would cost or, indeed, if some of the things he wanted were even possible in the Waking World.

Dream told him that his imagination is the limit, and so Hob had gone nuts. His dream kitchen is bright and airy, allowing plenty of sunlight in, with light-colored wooden cabinets and marble countertops. But it never gets too warm when he's cooking, and his pantry is always full. He also never runs out of ingredients or have ingredients spoil because he forgot all about them.

And it doesn't stop there. Because Dream let Hob go nuts with the entire house as well. The bedroom is always pleasantly cool and the sheets are always clean, and the bathroom is spacious enough to have a large bathtub that would fit both of them, even when Dream feels like being bigger than human-sized.

Hob won't even have to clean or water the plants or do laundry again if he doesn't want to. (He sometimes wants to, but only for roleplay purposes.)

Dream has literally made for him the perfect house, and all he had asked is for Hob to stay. For just a little while. Just while he works on banishing another Dream of the Endless who just appeared one day in the Waking World.

And in Hob's time in the Dreaming, it must have been...oh, a few weeks by now, Dream has had him practically on every surface in the house. Even, memorably, on the observatory's smooth glass dome, with all the stars twinkling below them, and made Hob feel like they were fucking in a space station.

Responding to his very detailed daydream, Dream temporarily turns the observatory to a futuristic spaceship that affords a 360 degree view of space, and Hob gets rimmed and railed above the rings of Saturn.

It's like Dream can't ever get enough of Hob, and Hob...

He loves it.

Having Dream's entire attention focused only on him, having his lips on him, his arms around him, his cock in him...

"Dream," Hob moans, as Dream shapes his tongue so it could reach even deeper within his hole. "Dream, please, I'm so close--"

"Is that a warning to get me to stop, or a plea to let you cum?"

Dream has not let up from fucking him with his tongue, and so his voice is being projected by the walls instead.

Hob shivers at the casual display of power and tightens his hold on Dream's hair. "I want to cum, please." He squirms when Dream's tongue grows even larger and reaches even deeper. "Fuck-- Your tongue is so deep, I can almost feel it in my stomach."

In reply, Dream's tongue pushes upward, and Hob whines when he sees the outline of Dream's monstrous tongue on his lower belly. "Shit, Dream--"

"Cum for me, Hob," the walls said in Dream's voice, while Dream's dark starlight eyes look up at him from between his legs. "Cum on my tongue with my name on your lips. Scream out who you belong to."

Hob pants and whimpers as Dream starts thrusting his tongue faster, his sharp, dark lacquered nails digging into Hob's thighs, leaving red marks. "Dream," Hob gasps out as Dream's tongue presses him in all the right places, making his muscles flutter and squeeze involuntarily in pleasure. "Mmmn, right there--gonna come--" The tongue twists inside him, hitting his prostate dead on, and Hob yelps as his thighs start to seize. "Fuck! Dream!"

Dream hums as Hob starts cumming, and Hob's orgasm intensifies at the vibration. "Dream," he moans, voice cracking a little and feeling delirious with pleasure. He just came untouched but he needs more. He needs Dream inside him. Marking him. Filling him. He is Dream's, body and soul, forever. "Fuck me again," he begs, and shifts to make himself look more alluring. He pushes his tits together and cups them from underneath, presenting them to Dream like a feast. "Fuck me with your cock this time."

He keens in delight when Dream reaches with both hands and gropes at the cups of his breasts, thumbing and twisting at his nipples. His tongue starts to shrink inside Hob, and Hob whines and clenches his muscles, futilely trying to keep the prehensile organ inside him.

He feels like crying. No. Not yet. Not yet, please. "No, please. I still need you. Hurry, I feel so empty--"

"Patience, Hob," Dream murmurs as he stands, hands still on Hob's hairy tits, palming and squeezing. His tongue is shrinking, but it's still longer than normal, and Dream is utilizing its current length to lick Hob's slick from his chin and around his mouth. Hob moans at the sight and pulls Dream's body closer to him with his legs. "I will give you everything you need."

--

Hours later, Dream is still fucking Hob, though they have relocated to the bedroom.

Hob is holding his legs open, his nipples swollen from the amount of time Dream spent sucking and biting at them, and his stomach is streaked in white from his many orgasms. He looks radiant.

Dream thrusts harder, angling Hob's legs higher and wider, and enjoys the beautiful fucked out sounds and helpless gasps that spill from Hob's lips. His moans are interspersed with Dream's name and pleas for more, and Dream obeys and gives him exactly what he wants.

Can Hob really make it back in the Waking World? After Dream has spoiled him rotten here?

He would hate it, Dream thinks. The unavailability of certain ingredients, the fucked up climate and unpredictability of the weather, the mundane chores he has to accomplish daily...

It would be like dropping a 21st century man back in the 14th century. And for how well Dream knows Hob, he knows he would not want it. He would miss all the conveniences that the 21st century has provided him: electricity and wifi and take-out, not to mention that he'll have to get a job again. Not because he needs to work for a living--Hob has too much money for that now, but to pretend like he's just another normal human and not arouse suspicion.

Hob would hate it. If Dream were to return him to the Waking World now, he would absolutely despise it. He would think that Dream is purposefully being cruel to him. Abandoning him like he did before.

If Dream sent him back to the Waking World, wouldn't that only spell disaster for them both? Dream left Hob in 1589 for some unimportant poet and came back to Hob tortured and dirty and starved. Uncared for. And Dream left Hob once more due to his stupid pride in 1889 and got himself imprisoned for more than a hundred years.

Clearly, the lesson to be learned here is he should never leave Hob's side ever again.

And the last thing he wants is for Hob to hate him. For him to look at Dream with heartbreak in his eyes, his pure, gentle heart once more crushed into fine powder at his feet.

He will never make Hob sad again. And bringing him back to the Waking World...

No. Out of the question.

It's better if Hob stays here, where Dream can provide anything his heart desires. Where Dream could always love and protect him. He will give Hob a world--a universe--where everything he wishes for will be his.

His perfect darling.

"Dream," Hob moans, as Dream starts thrusting deeper, losing his rhythm as Hob squeezes his cock deliciously. "More. Fill me more. I want to look round and pregnant and yours."

Dream groans at that, and imagines little children with their features running around the house. How many would they have? A dozen? A hundred? They have the rest of eternity.

But no. Not yet. Maybe someday, when Hob is more settled.

Dream will ask Hob again when he is less out of his mind with lust. And if Hob really wants to bear his children, then who is Dream to say no to him?

--

Much, much later, as they lie on the bed, Dream on his back with an arm around Hob, Hob on his side with his hand placed on Dream's chest, their legs tangled together and Hob's round stomach filled with Dream's cum pressed against Dream's side, Hob nuzzles against Dream's chest and says, "How goes trying to banish the other Dream?"

Dream stops running his fingers through Hob's hair, but resumes after only a moment's pause. "He has proved to be cunning," he says. "But you should not worry. I am more than a match for him, and I will never let him hurt you."

Hob hums and kisses the patch of skin in front of his face, which is just a little above Dream's heart. "Okay," he mumbles, already half-asleep. "Take your time. I don't want you getting injured."

Dream pulls Hob closer and presses soft kisses on his forehead. "I will be careful," he says. "I will always come home to you."

Hob yawns and snuggles closer. Like this, it's difficult to tell where he ends and when Dream begins. "Good," he says sleepily. "Love you."

Dream would do whatever it takes to keep Hob by his side. "And I you, my love."

--

Epilogue

In another universe, a defeated Dream of the Endless gasps awake with a rattling cough. He sits up, clutching at what's left of his stomach, and starts to vomit shadows that turn into spiders that hiss like snakes as they hit the ground and scuttle away from him.

There is a literal hole in the middle of his stomach, going right through his spine. And his body, Endless as it is, struggles to stitch itself together again. He heaves, retches, and spits thick, yellow acid that makes the ground sizzle.

He wipes the sweat off his forehead and surveys the damage done to him.

From what he can see of his limbs, his left leg had been blown clear off, leaving him with a charred stump that ends a hand's span away from his pelvic region. The flesh of his left arm is partially melted, showing irritated bits of skin and bleach-white bones. His entire right side is mostly unscathed, with only a few deep slashes here and there from where the other Dream had raked his claws.

His back is littered with shrapnel and lightning vines that shock him occasionally, but they are a minor inconvenience at the moment.

Distantly, he is grateful that there is no one to see him in such a wretched state. The Dreaming here has long been reduced to an empty, desolate wasteland filled only with treacherous mists and islands of stone ruins.

His black clothing hangs off him like the sails of a shipwrecked galley, also courtesy of the other Dream's ruthless attacks, but the thing that he came for, offered to him freely upon a hidden altar, lies safe within his hollow chest.

He winces as he cracks open his ribs and withdraws from the empty safe that used to be his heart, a battered, leather bound notebook.

It's plain brown and cracked in places, stained golden and glittering by some sort of eldritch blood in others. It's the kind that can be bought in stationery shops, but it looks more than a quarter of a century old, and it certainly smells like it.

He inspects it thoroughly now.

He would have looked at its contents earlier, but he was busy fending off his other self. That other Dream is stronger than he is, and he fought like a rabid animal, almost frothing at the mouth in hatred.

Dream wonders what the other him is protecting so ferociously. A small part of him wants to know so he could take it away from the other him and use it to cast him down. The larger part of him mourns that he has forgotten what it feels like to feel that strongly about something.

It has been centuries since he felt anything, and his realm is a reflection of that.

A Dreaming as empty as its master, with dreamers running scared as Dream's shadows chase them for sustenance.

He opens the notebook carefully, mindful of its age. A card falls out and lands on the patch of ground by his remaining knee. It's a simple white cardstock.

Dream picks it up and notices that there is something written on the back. He turns the paper around and reads the words.

Once he finishes reading, he reads the words again.

And again, for the third time.

The corners of his mouth start twitching, and, unable to contain the mirth overwhelming his body, he starts to laugh.

It starts out as a menacing chuckle, before it grows louder and louder, until it shakes the earth and becomes more deafening than a thunderclap.

It's been a while since he laughed.

It feels good.

In the ruins around him, the shadows dance in their nests, and blood-red vines slither on the ground like veins. In the far-off distance, a couple of pterodactyls screech in the sky.

The Dreaming has been dead for years, but here it is, showing signs of life again.

On the ground where the card had landed for but a moment, green grass had started to push up from the earth, and they fill the air with the scent of summer.

Dream presses the white cardstock against his nose and breathes the scent of it greedily. He could not believe he has almost forgotten the sweet, lovely, faithful scent of Hob Gadling.

He will read his darling's notes later. But for now, Dream rips his clothes further so he could wrap one hand around his cock while his other, healing, skeletal one holds the notebook, and its accompanying note against his face.

The notebook smells slightly stale, but it still smells of Hob's sweat. Dream groans and licks the paper, tasting the ghost of Hob's fingers.

Delicious.

He tastes so fucking good.

The card is newer, bought recently, and Hob had kissed the bottom corner, like the temptation that he is, with bright red lipstick the color of Dream's ruby. Dream presses his lips upon the impression on the paper covetously and strokes his cock harder.

Dream has had ambrosia thousands of years ago in Olympus.

But Hob's lips, through the lipstick's impression, tastes even better than that.

It's been so long since he had felt such pleasure. And it won't be long until he has a Robert Gadling of his very own.

His eyes roll to the back of his head as he cums with Hob's name on his lips, while all around him, his realm heals along with his ruined body.

Life. Hob has granted him life with a single, ghostly kiss. What more if Dream kisses his own Hob? What more if Dream makes love to him, their curves and edges fitting together seamlessly, their shared sweat and cum blessing the earth under their bodies?

He kisses the note reverently, and smears his seed on the slightly smudged lipstick. Amazingly, his cock twitches again at the sight.

He smiles.

He has preparations to make.

--

To another beloved Dream, one who lost his Hob before the 21st century,

With this, I hope you'll find another Hob to love you for the rest of your days. I found that there are many, across all of time and space, who lost their Dreams. It is my wish that those who were left behind not be lonely for long, because life is so much more happier when you have the one you love by your side.

I wish you luck and happiness, and I apologize if you were injured in any way in the process of getting my offering. My Dream is a bit overzealous, but he loves me well.

With love,

Hob Gadling 💋

--

Hob wakes up in Dream's arms and smiles when he sees that his love is still sleeping. Good. Hob leans up to kiss his chin and snuggles even closer. Still asleep, Dream hums and tightens his hold on Hob. Like Hob is trying to leave the bed and he's preventing him from doing so.

Hob huffs a laugh. His lovely boyfriend is so silly sometimes. Why would Hob want to leave? He doesn't have to go to the bathroom anymore upon waking up, like he did in the Waking World. And no need to brush his teeth either to get rid of his morning breath.

He traces random patterns on Dream's chest as he waits, content, for him to wake naturally. Hob would have to reheat the stew and the pot stickers from yesterday for breakfast, but he knows they'll still taste like he just took them off the stove.

(It's very convenient, and Hob always makes sure to thank Dream for the wonderful house he built for him.)

His hole throbs pleasantly as he clenches it, imagining sitting on Dream's cock during breakfast, warming him. Maybe they could fuck once more before Dream leaves to attend to his duties again.

He doesn't tell Hob the details of his current duties, but Hob knows he's lying about still not being able to banish the other Dream. He just doesn't know why Dream is trying to hide the truth from him. Does he think Hob would want to leave?

Because he doesn't. Why would he?

Dream needs someone to take care of him. He has so many duties, and even more people depending on him. When Hob is still living in the Waking World, he tried his best to help Dream unwind, but he can only do so much with the limited amount of time they have in the evening.

And so Dream remained tired and sleep-deprived, even under Hob's care.

But that changed when Hob started living in the Dreaming. Now, Dream is sleeping well, and eating well, and he can fuck Hob whenever and however long he wants! No need to wait for Hob's body to recover. They could just go at it again and again until they're both satisfied.

It's a bit irritating that Dream's duties take him away from Hob, but that's okay, because Hob has a plan for that as well.

Soon, Hob thinks happily as he caresses his cum-filled belly, Dream will have another excuse to stay at home more often.

Dream stirs, and Hob turns his face brightly towards him. "Good morning, Dream."

Dream smiles, unguarded, and it never fails to make Hob's heart all aflutter. He looks so handsome, and Hob can't believe he's the lucky person who gets to wake up next to him. "Good morning, Hob," he says, his voice sleep rough but happy. Content. "My darling. My love."

Yes, Hob thinks, as Dream pulls him closer for their first kiss of the day. It's definitely better now that he's here.

--

"I think it's admirable that you always work so hard to achieve your goals," Dream says with a soft look in his eyes, looking at Hob like he's something precious.

Dream does not know the things Hob did to be here with him, and sometimes Hob wonders if Dream would still love him if he knew. He hopes he does. He cannot bear the thought of Dream hating him and casting him aside, leaving him like he did before. He would rather die.

Hob smiles sweetly at the only love of his long, immortal life, and stands slightly on his tiptoes to kiss the lips that he has been dreaming about since that day in 1389. "Thank you for saying so," he says. "But really, it's your influence. You always make me want to do my best."

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time

Day 6: Asphyxia (Choking)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Back to the Medic content with something quite spicy.

Tags: Choking, edgeplay, medical kink (kinda?), fearplay

Word Count: 2k

The Masterlist

“Have you done this before?”

It seemed a bit late for you to ask a question like that. You were already halfway undressed in Medic’s quarters. Apparently, right after you tossed your shirt and bra eagerly to the floor was when reality decided to catch up with you. And per usual, it had come bearing it’s fair share of doubt and insecurity to inflict on you.

“Oh yes, several times.” Medic’s response reflected confidence and self assurance, basically the exact opposite of everything you were currently feeling.

“Okay, let me rephrase that,” you said, realizing the multiple ways Medic could have taken your question, given his line of work. “Have you done this before outside of the battlefield? You know, outside of killing people?”

The grin you got in response did nothing to calm your inhibitions. “Darling, I’m a professional. I promise, I won’t let any harm come to you,” he said. “Besides, you were the one who wanted to try this.”

“I know,” you said. “I’m just nervous. I can’t help it.”

“A perfectly normal reaction,” Medic assured you, brushing a hand against your cheek gently. “But I’m sure you’ll do just fine, liebling. You remember what to do if you want me to stop, right?”

“Yes.” You tapped the edge of the bed three times to demonstrate. Both of you knew that speaking may not come easily during some parts of this little experiment. That particular action would function in place of a safe word.

“Good,” Medic said, his hands already traveling down your body. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, pulling them down easily along with your underwear. They were quickly discarded onto the floor as well, leaving you completely bare.

He made eye contact briefly, and you quickly nodded, giving him permission to go on. He immediately focused on your clit, rubbing delightful circles around it. His lips were on yours before you could moan, kissing you quickly before moving down your neck, nibbling and sucking there as he pleasured you below.

When you were wet enough you felt him slide a finger into your entrance, curling in just the right way. You moaned, bucking against his hand. It wasn’t long before he was able to work a second finger into you, thrusting them into you while rolling his thumb over your clit.

While it was enjoyable, it wasn’t long before you began to grow impatient. Medic always knew how to banish your inhibitions with good foreplay, and the moment he saw that hunger for more in your eyes he knew you were ready. In a flash, he moved from ravishing you with his hand alone to removing his pants. His erection showing that he too was eager for the main event.

“In my experience, thirty seconds is the maximum amount of time someone can be safely choked for,” Medic calmly explained, even as he lined himself up. “Perhaps we can try to work our way up to that, if you so desire?”

The amount of questions those few sentences brought up was mind boggling. There was also the matter of ‘safely choking’ someone, which was an oxymoron if you had ever heard one. Did Medic actually have experience doing this with other people?

Of course, all those questions were quickly forgotten when he thrust into you, stilling the moment he was inside. His hands traveled up your body until both of them were stroking the sides of your neck.

“These are the carotid arteries. Most of the pressure will go here, to restrict blood flow,” he explained. You nodded, comforted and grateful that he was patient enough to explain this to you so thoroughly. “We’ll begin with five seconds, if you’re ready.”

You nodded, trying your best not to tense up when you felt the pressure on your neck. He didn’t start thrusting just yet, letting you get used to the feeling of his hands around your throat first. The restriction of blood flow made you feel somewhat dizzy, but in a good way. The feeling subsided when Medic released his grip, carefully gauging your reaction.

“That actually felt really nice,” you said, breathing deeply to keep your voice steady.

“That would be the endorphins. They’re triggered by the restriction of air flow, and hopefully, if timed right, they’ll greatly enhance your climax,” Medic’s voice dropped suggestively during that last sentence, and it only spurred you on.

“Do it again.”

Medic complied, his hands returning to your throat, but not yet applying pressure. “I take it you would like to go for longer this time?” He asked. You nodded.

“As you wish, liebling. Ten seconds,” Medic said. You felt his fingers press into the sides of your neck once again. This time it was coupled with him finally moving, thrusting hard as you felt that dizzy, pleasurable rush again. Every jolt of pleasure seemed especially strong, but all too soon the feeling ebbed away again as Medic released your throat, his thrusts slowing as he checked in on you again.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned. “You said we could do this for thirty seconds, right?”

Medic responded with a soft laugh. He leaned down to kiss your neck, noticing that the skin there was beginning to flush from both arousal and the pressure being exerted on it.

“Patience, darling. This is one thing we don’t want to rush,” he said between soft kisses. You couldn’t help but pout, especially since you knew he was right.

“Oh, don’t frown now,” Medic said, taking your face in his hands and pressing a quick peck on your lips. “I am flattered that you trust me so much, liebchen. After all, you are putting your life in my hands.”

A devious grin spread across his face as he spoke, and those strong hands returned to your neck once again. Before you could even respond, Medic was beginning to apply pressure.

“Fifteen seconds this time,” he said, making sure to keep you informed.

The pattern was the same as before. That heady feeling, the rush of endorphins, the enhanced sensations as Medic began to thrust into you again. Then, something else; a hint of a new emotion that made itself known when you tried to inhale and found difficulty in doing so. It was a feeling you quickly recognized as panic. However, it was gone as soon as it had appeared when you were once again allowed to breathe.

You were surprised to find that you actually felt a bit of disappointment. Panic wasn’t exactly an emotion that would normally be associated with good sex, and yet you wanted more, far more than the mere taste you had just received.

“Ah, I saw that little twinge of fear,” Medic observed you, chuckling darkly. “But judging from that euphoric expression, I take it you’re enjoying yourself anyway?”

You reached out shakily, taking Medic’s hand and bringing it back up to your throat. A soft “please,” was all you managed to say in response. Medic allowed you to bring his hand to your neck, but he didn’t choke you yet. Instead, he simply ran his fingers over your tender skin.

“And that would be the psychological component,” he said, continuing to muse over your reactions in a near clinical manner. “The risk, the thrill, isn’t it intoxicating?”

He seemed to grow more frenzied as he spoke, his thrusts growing quicker yet again, and his hand tightening around your throat. You barely heard him, already bracing for the next high.

“Twenty seconds.” That was all you could register before the dizziness, the pleasure, and the panic, which endured for much longer this time. Yet you felt no desire to tap out. Rather, you embraced the fear, letting it wash over you, simply allowing yourself to feel it with an intensity that you had never felt before.

When Medic stopped you were practically gasping for breath. He ran his hands over your chest for a few moments as it heaved with the effort of drawing fresh air into your lungs.

“Those choking little gasps,” he moaned. He continued to thrust into you without slowing his pace as he had before. “They sound so sweet, liebling. Twenty five now, ja?”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, eager to begin the next set. Again you went through the cycle. The pressure, the high, the thrill, and the logical side of your brain screaming that you may die. It all mingled with the ever present pleasure in a way that some might find overwhelming or even sickening. It seemed that you, on the other hand, were quickly developing a craving for it.

“Gott, I love that look. The pleasure and fear contrast so beautifully on you, meine liebe. You’re doing so well,” Medic praised you as his hands squeezed your throat, even though he knew you were probably too blissed out to notice.

The twenty five seconds ended and you became coherent again, allowing yourself to catch your breath in earnest before the grand finale. One of Medic’s hands was still wrapped firmly around your neck, and you felt his fingers twitch as you drew air into your lungs, eager to press into your throat again. The other hand trailed down your body, over your breasts and stomach. You sighed at the soft touch until the hand eventually came to rest on your hip.

“Very good, mein schatz. Do you want to come? Do you want me to give you that release while I hold your life in my hands?” He asked, leaning down to whisper in your ear. Again, you felt his fingers twitch, as if he was barely holding back the urge to press down.

“Yes, please Medic!” You begged, nodding eagerly. You were so desperate for relief. “Please!”

“Thirty seconds.” It was the only warning you got before you were being choked again. You relished each part of the now familiar pattern, intending to make the most out of this final high. Just as the panic began to set in, Medic moved his free hand, using it to rub over your clit.

The lack of oxygen made everything feel more intense than anything you had ever felt before. Any fear you felt was completely drowned out by pleasure as you came, shaking as your climax finally overtook you all at once. Moans came out in choked gasps, and it remained that way until you were able to draw breath freely again.

Medic thrust into you frantically even as you continued to quiver beneath him. You wrapped your legs lazily around his hips when he finally finished, keeping him within you, the two of you entwined with each other as you relaxed and let your bodies cool. You sighed as you felt him press kisses along your neck, whispering praise in your ear.

“You did so very well for your first time, liebchen. So responsive, and so trusting,” he said.

“Well, you weren’t lying when you said you knew what you were doing,” you said, trying to respond with some of your own praise through the breathless, heady euphoria that still permeated your whole body.

“Even so, I’m glad you trusted me to do this to you.” He was still grinning, but speaking with a genuineness that was rare to hear from him.

“You'll have to teach me how to do that to you someday,” you said jokingly. However, you definitely noticed how Medic’s expression shifted when you said that. He suddenly looked very eager.

“Oh ja, I definitely could!” He said, making it obvious that he was taking your suggestion more seriously than you had meant it.

“Well, I guess I could try,” you stammered nervously. “But I wouldn’t even know where to start, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, it will definitely take a while to master, but you’re a quick learner, aren’t you, meine liebe?” Medic crooned, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a soft chuckle. As nervous as you initially were about the idea, his eagerness was infectious, especially under the enduring afterglow that reigned over the pair of you. Eventually, you settled on a maybe , but make no mistake, it was a very hopeful maybe.

[mxngldmxdnsss]

The Hunt - series

Chap 2. Blue Magic - Recom Miles Quaritch

spicy parts will take a while because I like build up, but be patient, build up in the story builds tension and tension = good sex

Na’vi is going to be in blue

pairing - recom miles quaritch x omatikaya!fem! reader

cw! torture, the machine that was used on Spider basically, death, gore (?), very descriptive stuff sorry, sexually suggestive things hehe 🤭

mature content ahead : proceed with caution!

Give up the Sullys, your people, give up everything you’ve ever known for these demons. That’s what they wanted from you. The whirring of the machine was worse enough, but to give up your entire life? You couldn’t think of any other hell. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listened as the tiny woman called General, demanded you think of something, anything. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t give up your clan.

You sobbed, the pain was unbearable. It felt like the torture went on for hours, days maybe. There were moments when you almost gave in, almost just fessed up. You knew you’d be banished if you made it back to your clan. That’s if they kill you once they got what they needed. You knew at some point they’d figure out where Sully went whether the information was from you, Spider or simple clues.

Mustering some strength you prayed to Eywa, words jumbled as you fought against the pain. This only pissed the General off even more as Spider reluctantly translated for her. “We can do this all day. Either you fess up now or we find more painful ways to get the information out of you!” The General was too confident you thought, too confident in her stupid sky army and inventions. You just needed to resist a bit more, maybe they’d give up, or maybe you would. It was an internal battle you knew they figured out by now, after all they had your entire mind on display.

You figured you could use it to your advantage, think of something to combat them. Something to show them your strength and resistance. You’d think of crushing them, starting with the tiny woman in front of you. You pictured her in your mind, waiting for the observation of the little people in white coats. Once you heard them alert her, you moved on to the next phase in this scene.

Making sure the thought was clear in your head, you pictured yourself plunging your knife into her body. Hearing her scoff, you opened your eyes, making sure she saw your determination. Before she could walk away, you did your best to think of their fortress in flame, crushed under your peoples fist. “Very theatrical, you and your people, shame you’re all so stubborn, your clan would be great allies.” You hissed at her, watching as she moved to stop the machine, finding no more use in you.

You sighed in relief as the machine slowed, and the restraints loosened around your body. Looking down, you observed as she gestured for the soldier from before to take you away. You almost fought against him as he grabbed you, but the exhaustion was stronger. Going limp in his hold, you gave the woman one last glare before being pulled away from the machine.

Before you could get back to your room, you had to be checked by the ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’. Once the Colonel was given the green light, he pulled you up by your arms, and began making his way back to your holding cell. Spider followed behind, ducking under the Colonel’s tail as it flicked behind him.

“Y/n! Are you alright? I’m so sorry they had to do that to you.” You groaned in response, the boy’s frantic voice piercing your ears drums. “Go away.” Huffing, you attempted to lay down on the table in the room but were stopped by the buffoon that got you into this mess. “Uh uh sweetheart, doc says you gotta stay awake for the next hour or two to make sure your brain’s alright”

Smacking your teeth, you slapped the Colonel’s hands away and sat back up. Before you could argue with the man you were grabbed by Spider. Wrapping his arms around you, Spider squeezed you tight. “I’m sorry Y/n. I know you think I’ve betrayed your people, but please just listen to me.”

Hearing a pained grunt from you, Spider pulled away and stood back up to full height. You truly did not want to hear the excuses but he was just a boy you thought to yourself. “Go ahead.” You sighed and patted the place next to you for Spider to sit.

“Look, I know it looks bad and all, but I was captured just like you, and they used that machine on me too. And if I could go back in time and make sure I died before they caught me, or got away, I’d make sure of it.” The Colonel chuckled snidely to himself at this, drawing out a growl from you. Turning, you faced Spider and placed a hand on his shoulder. He let out a shuddered breath, that of a sob. “You have to see me Y/n, please. You have to understand that I’d never give up the clan.”

You were torn, within the first few minutes of seeing him in this cell when you woke up, you’d accused him of betrayal to the clan. Rightfully so, which Spider assured you. You had every right to lose faith and trust in him, after all he was without restraint in this place, and the man before you is his father. Well, was. Spider explained everything to you, with the protest of the Colonel, or ‘Miles Quaritch’. He even explained that no, they couldn’t let you go, not even if you begged, or were of no use to the General. They couldn’t risk it. So you’d be stuck here until they somehow captured and killed your former clan leader.

General ‘Ardmore’ would find a use for you, whether you liked it or not, was what ‘Miles’ told you. And within the hour, she did. You’d help the Recom Crew blend in, learn some of the ways of The People. Against your wishes of course. It was one thing to have a human boy raised amongst the Na’vi, but it was another to have a Na’vi, let alone an Omatikaya member.

You’d be fed and given a room to stay in. “We ain’t that cruel.” Is what you remembered ‘Miles’ saying, in a deep accent that made you giggle. Everything he said was hilarious when he sounded like that. Even his half assed threats.

By the end of the day you’d figure out the names of some of the soldiers you saw from Spider’s descriptions. You wondered just why, would these people who hated Na’vi, want to become one? You knew that back home, everyone would find it humorous. Imagining your friends asking about their funny hands and feet. Your clan accepted Jake Sully and his children for their differences, but these dreamwalkers? Never. They’d never become Na’vi.

You chuckled to yourself at this thought. They were signing themselves up for certain failure. Even Jake Sully himself said that the training was tough, and he gave it his all. These people were too clumsy, worse than children, and reluctant to even accept their new identities. But as ‘Miles’ explained, these people, were only meant to be clones. Given the memories of dead marines. It almost comforted you, thinking that these people may have chances to change, but you knew better than to expect more from less.

Laying down on your cot, you sighed and looked up at the ceiling, wishing for the forest noises and night sky to quell your anguish.

For now you’d go over what soldiers to look out for, advice from Spider. ‘Miles’ you knew, was your best shot, if you could get under his skin, or convince him go change, maybe you’d have a chance at escaping. The thought invaded your mind. Just how would you use ‘Miles’ to your advantage? The more you thought, the more your mind shifted to him entirely.

“‘Miles’..” You said his name aloud. Testing it out on your tongue. It was nice but also pitiful almost, to waste such a man on a task. How useful he’d be back home with those arms. That you were focused on most. And his voice, how powerful you sensed it was. As stupid as his accent was, it almost, ignited something inside. Hearing him speak. Watching him move. The way his muscles ripped beneath his skin.

You shuddered at the imagine forming inside your mind. This man had captured you, you couldn’t allow yourself to be deceived by him. You grunted to yourself and flopped onto your side, pacifying yourself with wishes for home, as turmoil filled the back of your mind. Colonel, Miles, demon, dreamwalker, whatever he was, you couldn’t allow yourself to become another piece in their game.

You dreamt of home that night, and the wonders it would become with Miles.

Chap 3. I Caught Myself

[steddio]

steddie vegas au part 4

part 1; part 2; part 3; ao3

(thank you all so much for your kind words! this part gets spicy 🔥 if you want to skip the smut, it starts with "Steve holds Eddie’s gaze as he slowly strips off his shirt." you can come back at "Steve jolts back into consciousness abruptly")

–

“I can’t wear this, Robs, I look ridiculous.” 

Robin rolls her eyes. “You look hot, dingus, please don’t make me say it again.” 

Steve stares at himself in the mirror. He has on his favorite pair of vintage stone-washed jeans, which not only make his ass look phenomenal but at least offer some comfort to contrast the outrageous shirt Robin has put him in. She’d taken her scissors and a perfectly good black t-shirt into her bedroom an hour ago and emerged with something that can hardly be called a shirt anymore with how many holes she’d created. Worse than the slash on his left pec that nearly shows his nipple is the fact that she’d cropped it so that there’s a solid two inches of skin between his waistband and the frayed bottom. His happy trail is on full display, and Steve wants to scream that he’s a father and he shouldn’t dress like this, except he’s going to see Eddie. Rockstar Eddie. Who literally oozes sex appeal. Maybe Robin is right and Steve needs to step up his game.

He adds one last touch of hairspray to his hair and then admires Robin, who has somehow doused her space buns in glitter and is wearing electric blue eyeshadow. She’d been so thrilled to be invited (“VIP tickets, Steven! V. I. P. That means Eddie thinks you’re very important.”) and her enthusiasm had washed away the nerves that had haunted him since yesterday. He’s still not sure he can do this. Let Eddie see him out of his professional comfort zone. But he’s determined to try. Something about Eddie keeps tugging at him, and he wants more. He wants in a way he hasn’t let himself want for a long time now. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Robin grabbing his jaw in one hand and turning him toward her. “Finishing touch! Close your eyes.” He halfheartedly splutters in protest but lets her smudge eyeliner near his lashes. “There we go, all done.” 

He looks at them both in the mirror, side by side. They look young again, and it’s ridiculous, but he feels young again. He wants to say something, to tell her how much it means to him that she’s coming with him, that she’s supported him for so many years and pushed him to do this, but he settles for a kiss to the top of her head. He knows she understands. She always does. 

“Let’s go, I’m driving.”

Steve makes a point of not coming into Caesars when he’s not working. But this evening as he and Robin join the crowd flowing into the venue, he feels like one of a million other tourists and he’s caught up in the excitement of it all. Vegas at its core, all flashy showmanship and delight.

They make their way to the VIP section, at the front and slightly to the left of the stage. Robin disappears to grab drinks and Steve soaks everything in. He can feel eyes on him, dressed as he is and elevated above the crowd, and lets himself relish the attention. He wonders if this is how Eddie feels all the time and then banishes the thought before his head can get any bigger. 

Robin comes back with a gin and tonic and a shot of tequila each, and he scolds her for mixing alcohols but takes the shot anyway, sips on his drink while the lights go down and the opener comes on.

The music is rougher than his taste, but he’s heard far worse. Robin is already dancing beside him, arms flailing, completely unembarrassed. He settles for just nodding his head to the beat, feeling the heavy drums flow through him. When the opener finishes, he heads to the bar to get their next round. By the time he finally gets back through the crowd, the lights are dimming and the audience is chanting “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

Robin turns to him, eyes huge with excitement. Steve hands her a tequila shot. “Bottom’s up,” he mouths and downs his own. As the lights start flashing and smoke billows off the stage, Steve feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest. He grabs Robin’s hand to anchor himself, and when she looks at him, grinning, he can’t help but grin back. 

Suddenly there’s an eruption of yelling and whistles and Steve looks up to see Eddie striding on to the stage. With how close their seats are, Eddie looks larger than life, his normally substantial presence magnified tenfold so that his energy fills not just the stage but the whole venue. He’s wearing tight black pants that flare over platform boots and a fringed leather vest that shows off his tattooed chest. His hair is wild and mussed, and Steve can’t help but imagine running his fingers through it, wondering if Eddie would like it if he pulled. 

Steve isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol or just Eddie, but he’s flying, blood buzzing in his veins. As Eddie strums the opening note on his guitar, Steve feels it in his bones, as if Eddie is stroking over his ribcage. When Eddie starts singing, Steve feels like Eddie is singing just to him. 

His hypnosis doesn’t break until the end of the first song, when Eddie yells into the microphone, “Hello, Vegas!” Steve, Robin, and the whole crowd yell back in unison, “Hello, Eddie!” Eddie is all charm, graciously introducing his bandmates before beginning the opening notes of the next song. Right before he starts singing, Eddie’s eyes sweep to where Steve and Robin are standing. He meets Steve’s gaze and shoots him a wink. Steve must be having an out of body experience because he blows a kiss, which Eddie catches smoothly, miming putting it in his back pocket. 

Steve belatedly realizes that Robin is staring at him like he grew a second head. He mock-glares at her and mouths “shut up.” She raises her hands in surrender but he still hears her say under her breath, “ok dingus, get in there.” 

The rest of Corroded Coffin’s set passes in a blur. Steve finds himself dancing, letting himself match Robin’s wild movements. He’s sweaty, and smiling, and between each song he and Eddie exchange heated glances that are setting him on fire. By the time Eddie and the band are wrapping up their last encore, walking off stage to the echoes of “good night, Las Vegas!” Steve’s ears are ringing and he’s so dazed it takes Robin three tries to get his attention.

He turns to face her and sees his own wild energy reflected back at him. Grinning, she grabs his hand and pulls him toward the wings, brandishing her backstage pass at security like it’s a police badge. 

They’re led into a small waiting room where a tiny red-haired woman is talking rapid-fire into a cell phone, staring down at a clipboard. She hangs up when she notices them, and stretches out her hand. “Hi, I’m Chrissy, Corroded Coffin’s manager. You must be Steve, and this is…?”

Steve nods and shakes her hand. He waits for Robin to introduce herself but she’s just standing there dumbfounded, like she’s been struck by lightning. Steve raises his eyebrows at her but she doesn’t even notice him, fixated on Chrissy. Steve suppresses a laugh and chimes in, “And this is my friend Robin.” 

Chrissy doesn’t miss the emphasis on friend, and her neutral expression softens to warmth. “Robin, it’s a pleasure.” Chrissy touches Robin’s elbow gently and Steve swears he hears Robin squeak but his attention is interrupted as Eddie barrels into the room. He stops short, just inside the doorway and stares, open-mouthed at Steve. Steve stares back, all the buildup while Eddie was on stage making electricity arc between them. 

Steve hesitantly takes a step forward, unconsciously reaching out, wanting to touch. Eddie comes to meet him and suddenly they’re face to face, so close Steve can see the sweat on Eddie’s brow and the stubble on his chin. He wants to lick both, and he’s not nearly clear headed enough to prevent himself from leaning in. Eddie stops him with a gentle hand to his jaw, tracing down his neck, shoulder, and arm, fingertips grazing lightly across Steve’s bare skin. Steve shivers under the scrutiny until Eddie takes his hand and pulls Steve down the hall and into his dressing room. 

As soon as they’re inside, Eddie has Steve pushed against the closed door, one thigh pressed between Steve’s. Their chests are touching, breathing hard, and Steve relishes how Eddie inhales his exhales, taking a piece of Steve inside himself. Eddie leans in and traces his nose along Steve’s cheek and jaw. His hands rise to grip Steve’s waist, pulling him closer even as he uses his body to pin Steve firmly against the door. 

“You came,” Eddie murmurs, lips against Steve’s ear. He bites Steve’s earlobe softly and Steve tries not to embarrass himself by whimpering. 

“Yes, yes of course I came, I wouldn’t miss–” Steve cuts himself off with a breathless whine as Eddie’s mouth moves lower, to Steve’s neck and collarbones. His hands pet lightly over Steve’s exposed stomach. 

“What are you wearing, sugar?” Eddie gives Steve no time to answer, instead moving his hands up Steve’s chest, gently touching where his skin peeks through each hole that Robin had cut into his shirt. Steve is burning, he can’t think, can’t do anything but feel, every place Eddie touches a live nerve. “Are you trying to kill me,” Eddie groans, bending to suck a hickey on Steve’s exposed chest. 

Steve finally allows himself to touch, tracing the smooth plane of Eddie’s lower back and then the rough leather of his vest before finally burying his hands in Eddie’s mane of tangled hair. A sense of belonging settles deep in his belly, and he forces his frazzled mind to respond. “It’s you who’s killing me, baby.” Eddie’s breath hitches at the pet name. “You have no idea how hot you look on stage, had me hard in my jeans for hours.” He punctuates this with a slight roll of his hips so that Eddie can feel Steve against his thigh, can know what he’s doing to him. Eddie presses him even harder against the door, until Steve can feel an answering bulge. 

Eddie pulls back slightly to look Steve in the eye. His lips are spit-slick and Steve needs to kiss him, to taste him. He crashes their mouths together and the kiss is inelegant but delicious with desperation. Steve takes the lead, licking deep into Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie lets him, pulls him even closer. Steve succumbs to his earlier fantasy and tugs slightly on Eddie’s hair, delighted when he moans in response. Steve is fully hard now, and as the kiss gets increasingly desperate he decides he’s not above begging.

He manages to extricate himself briefly to get out, “Eddie, please.” Eddie makes a low noise in the back of his throat and slides his hands down to grab at Steve’s ass. Steve is nearly riding Eddie’s thigh, the friction an exquisite torture. “Please, baby, Eddie, please,” he begs again. With one last squeeze to Steve’s ass, Eddie pulls back and licks a long stripe up Steve’s neck, tracing the tendon there. 

“Shh, I’ll give you what you need, sweetheart, don’t worry,” he whispers in Steve’s ear. “But not here. I want you in my bed.” He leans in for one more kiss before pulling away, and Steve whines at the loss. “Come on, sugar, let’s get you somewhere comfortable. I want to take my time with you.” Steve nods, dumbly, unsure how Eddie is able to get full sentences out. After a few minutes of hopelessly trying to get themselves under control, Eddie gives up and pushes Steve out the door they came in. 

They make their way back through the waiting area of the green room, where they almost fail to notice Chrissy and Robin curled up together on the couch, deep in conversation. Eddie, who somehow seems to have his wits about him, leans over to have a low conversation with Chrissy while Steve just stares wide-eyed at Robin. He’s immensely grateful in that moment that they’ve known each other so long as to be able to communicate without words, because his horned up brain manages to comprehend that Robin is fine, that she’s taking Chrissy back to her apartment, and that Steve should go have fun. 

Eddie joins him again, and pulls Steve out of the green room and into the main area of the venue. “We have my suite all to ourselves tonight, Stevie.” Steve just presses himself closer to Eddie, loathe to leave any room between them. 

“Steve, I…” Eddie trails off. “I’m sorry about this, but we have to be careful. Going through the lobby.” Steve tries to get his brain back online, to match the gravity of Eddie’s sudden tone change, but he’s fuzzy with anticipation and alcohol. Eddie tries again, “We have to separate for a bit, sugar. I’ll meet you by the elevators and then we’ll go up together. Do you understand me?” Steve tries to nod, to communicate that he’ll do anything Eddie says, but Eddie is insistent. “I need a verbal confirmation, okay?” 

“Yes,” Steve manages to get out. “I’ll meet you by the elevators.” 

Eddie kisses his forehead, and then lightly pushes him forward. “Go first, I’ll follow.” 

Steve makes his way through the lobby, already missing Eddie’s presence. He feels floaty, giddy with excitement, his lust taking a backseat to the pure joy of getting to spend more time with Eddie, to the anticipation and delight of learning a new partner, of finding a rhythm. He presses the “up” button at the elevator bank and has to wait only a moment before Eddie is beside him again and they’re stepping into the elevator. 

Eddie presses the button for 14, and the doors have barely closed before Steve is on him again, kissing him as if it had been five days and not five minutes. This time he has Eddie pressed against the wall, and he uses his leverage to grind unashamedly, reveling in the pleasurable ache and the way he can feel Eddie’s returning hardness. When the doors finally ding open, they’re both flushed and breathless. 

Steve follows Eddie down the hall and into the suite where he stops short. “Holy shit, this is where you live?”

Eddie shrugs and makes a casual gesture as if to say, what? this? before he captures Steve’s lips in another searing kiss. They get lost in it for a long moment, tangled in each other, before Eddie pulls back to demand, “Bed. Now.” He manhandles Steve into one of the bedrooms, chasing him forward until the back of Steve’s knees hit the bed. Steve waits for Eddie to push him down, but Eddie steps back. Looks Steve up and down. 

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. “You’re gorgeous, sugar. Make me want to ruin you.” 

Steve holds Eddie’s gaze as he slowly strips off his shirt. Traces one hand down his own stomach toward the fly of his jeans and watches as Eddie bites his lip. Undoes the button and pulls the zipper down. He starts to push his jeans down his hips when suddenly Eddie moves to kneel before him, covering Steve’s hands with his own. Eddie tugs off his jeans, and then mouths at Steve’s cloth-covered cock. 

“Shit, baby,” Steve groans. He runs one hand over Eddie’s cheek as Eddie soaks his boxers in spit. He’s fully hard now and throbbing and if Eddie doesn’t do something he’s going to come in his underwear like a teenager. “Eddie, please,” he begs. Eddie takes pity on him and pulls Steve out of his boxers and licks him from root to tip.

“Big boy, indeed” he says with a wink, before taking Steve in his mouth. The pleasure is overwhelming, and Steve tries and fails to keep himself from fucking forward into that wet heat. Eddie’s grip tightens on his hips, holding him in place while he moves his mouth up and down, swirling his tongue, drawing moan after moan from deep in Steve’s chest.

Steve feels himself barreling toward the edge, and it’s far too soon, he wants more. “Close, Eds, I’m close,” he bites out, and tries to pull back. Eddie holds him firm, taking him down to the root one more time before letting go with a pop. 

“Get on the bed,” he tells Steve, voice gravelly. Steve obeys, shimmying fully out of his boxers and jeans and all but throwing himself down on the duvet. Steve hears a drawer open and close and then Eddie is behind him, pulling Steve’s hips up and pushing his knees forward so that Steve is prone and exposed. He feels Eddie’s lubed fingers skim over his entrance before one gently pushes in. Eddie fingers him open carefully, smoothing one hand down Steve’s heaving ribs while adding a second and then a third finger. 

“Eddie,” Steve can’t help but whine. “I’m ready, please, I’m ready.” Eddie pulls his fingers out and then takes a moment to roll a condom on and add more lube before positioning himself.

“Tell me how much you want this,” Eddie goads, rubbing the tip of his cock against Steve’s entrance. 

“I want it so bad, Eddie,” Steve whines. “I want you, please, please fuck me.” 

Steve hears Eddie groan “fuck” under his breath before he’s pushing in, and Steve is lost in the pleasure-pain of being stretched. Eddie bottoms out and then stays there, letting Steve adjust. As he starts to slowly pull out again, Steve lets out a low whine. Eddie moves faster and faster, punching obscene noises out of Steve with each thrust. Steve feels his pleasure build, and he’s helpless to stop it as Eddie drags his cock against Steve’s sweet spot over and over. 

Steve belatedly realizes that Eddie is talking to him, murmuring filth under his breath. “You take me so well, Stevie, you feel so good. Yeah, baby, you like that cock in you, filling you up. You’re so good for me.” Steve just takes it, moaning in agreement. As he feels himself get closer and closer to the brink, Eddie suddenly pulls him up so that they’re both kneeling on the bed, Eddie’s chest pressed against Steve’s back. Steve leans his head on Eddie’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. Eddie wraps one arm around Steve’s chest and the other around his cock as he leans forward to slot his mouth against Steve’s. They kiss sloppily, Eddie pounding into Steve, pushing him to fuck his fist. 

Steve feels his orgasm approaching and manages to whisper, “Eddie, I’m going to come, please can I come.” He holds off only until he hears Eddie affirm, “come for me, sugar,” and then he whites out, overcome with pleasure.

When he comes to, he’s laying on his side, Eddie curled around him. He turns so they’re facing each other, and kisses Eddie on the nose. Eddie’s eyes are closed, and Steve briefly worries that he’d been too selfish. “Hi,” he murmurs. “Was that good? Did you come? ”

Eddie’s eyes open to meet Steve’s, and there’s so much warmth and joy in them that Steve is immediately put at ease. “Hi Stevie, welcome back” he says. “You were so good, love. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.” Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve sweetly, lazily, like they have all the time in the world. Steve falls asleep, safe and secure in Eddie’s arms, thinking that maybe they do.

—

Steve jolts back into consciousness abruptly, cringing as the morning light hits his eyes. For a brief moment he’s disoriented, confused as to where he is and why he’s sweltering hot, but he settles down as last night’s events come back. Eddie is a furnace behind him and Steve extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and sheets and goes to use the bathroom. On the way back, he grabs his phone, startled to see four missed calls and over a dozen text messages. Confused, Steve opens his message app to read a series of frantic texts from Robin.

Robin: Steve. Holy shit.

Robin: Steve, I need you to pick up the phone.

Robin: I’m sure you’re having the fuck of your life, dingus, but you really, really need to check your phone.

These are followed by a photograph of two men in an elevator. It’s backlit and somewhat blurry, but Eddie’s face is unmistakable, as is his look of naked want. With a jolt, Steve realizes that the other man in the photo is himself, from earlier that night. Robin had texted the photo with a link to a tabloid article titled, “MUNSON TAKES HOME MYSTERY MAN AFTER CONCERT.”

He quickly checks the rest of his messages, and realizes there are several from Nancy and, even worse, one from Max. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Unthinking, he grabs his clothes from the hotel room floor and bolts.

--

continue to part 5.

read on ao3.

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