#oh we were fed well tonight

[sweetladymoon]

241129 | dominATE Macau day1

© unico

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[writtenbymoonflower]

Could I request a poly!marauders comforting a close friend(possibly someone they have feelings for but she was dating someone else.) Just broke up with my boyfriend tonight; he wasn't honest about something vitally important and things just weren't work out out before he even came clean and I feel sick and just need comfort. Please and thank you.

hi baby! i'm so sorry about your breakup. i know there's nothing i can say to make it easier, but i hope this helps. please take it easy on yourself, and my dms are open if you need anything <3 poly!marauders x fem!reader (romantic if you squint)

cw: mentions of drinking, breakups, swearing

880 words

In your defense, when you had initially made the call you didn’t expect all this fuss. Your intention was to kindly let your friends know that you didn’t feel up to going out that night due to your unexpected heartbreak. If you had known that your call would result in two bottles of rose, a gallon of moose-tracks frozen custard, and three borderline sickeningly benevolent boys infiltrating your house, you probably would’ve gone with a vague text. Even so, you couldn’t deny that deep down, you were grateful. 

However, sobbing into the sleeves of your borrowed sweater, with a Disney movie playing in the background while you were periodically fed bites of ice cream and sips of wine was a level of vulnerability you did not expect to reach with your friends.

Every time you thought your sobs had subsided, another wave welled up inside you. You sniffled miserably, pinching your irritated nose clean. Your hands were batted away. 

“Gentle, sweetheart. Your poor face is already rubbed raw.” James kindly scolded you. You nodded, the movement making you feel more lightheaded than before. You were handed a glass of water, not the wine you were hoping for but you still took it. After taking a few sips you set it down, feeling the tears welling into your eyes again. Remus tugged you into his side, letting you nuzzle your face into his soft sweater. 

“Babe, I’m not sure that prick is worth this amount of tears.” Sirius’ tone was sweet, if not a little venomous. He was still cuffed on the back of the head by Remus. 

“Tact, pads. Have some tact.” Remus huffed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Cry as much as you need to, dove.” 

Strangely, now your tears had stopped. You sat up, though Remus still held onto you. 

“You wanna talk, now lovely girl? Or do you want to be distracted?” James held you from your other side, brushing your damp hair out of your face. 

“I don’t think I have coherent thoughts right now.” You tried to joke but your tone just came out pitiful.

“That’s okay.” Remus said, thoughtfully. “Just say what's going through your head. This is for you, dovey. It doesn’t have to make perfect sense to us, we just want to be here for you.” 

You nodded, more gently this time, and took a deep breath. “I’m just-” The lump was still in your throat, making it hard to get the words out. “I’m just so hurt, you know? Like I gave everything. I gave fucking everything to this. To him. And I guess I just thought that he would do the same. And I- I’m just so fucking stupid, because I never expected he would do something like this.” Your face screwed up like you were in pain and you fell back into Remus’ chest, silent sobs shaking your body. 

“Oh, baby.” Sirius placed a hand on your leg, rubbing his thumb back-and-forth. They let you cry for the nth time that night, never rushing or scolding you. When your cries slowed again, Sirius spoke up. “I know it hurts, dollface. I know. And I know there is nothing we can say to make it go away.” There was hurt in his voice as he said that. Sirius despised feeling helpless. And emotions were one of the things that made him feel that way the most. He always thought he was shit at comforting people, but in reality, he’s far better than he gives himself credit for. 

“Can you look at me, sweet girl?” James leaned over to catch your eyes. You let him. “Listen to me, what he chose to do says nothing, and I mean nothing about you, okay? You are not stupid, or anything of the sort. It says everything about him, that he knew he had your trust and chose to not be deserving of it. Just because he didn’t love you right, doesn’t mean that you were wrong for loving him anyway. So please, don’t ever for a moment, let his bad decisions affect how you see yourself, precious thing.” 

His words made you cry all over again, but it was different this time. James pulled you into his lap, cradling you like a baby in his arms. 

“Look at what you’ve done, prongs. You’ve broken her all over again.” Sirius said incredulously. For the first time that night, you laughed. It was wet and choked, but it still felt good. 

“There you go.” Remus squeezed your calf. “Didn’t quite like seeing you like that.” You nodded. 

“I don’t quite like being like that.” You half-laughed. James squeezed you again. 

“But if you need to be, we’re here for you, yeah?” Sirius poured you more wine. The other two boys let out loud affirmatives. 

“Thank you guys, really. I think I needed this.” You hoped the way you were looking at them showed how grateful you really were.

“Anytime, lovie.” James kissed your cheek. “Now, I think we need a movie yeah? Something silly. Like Sausage Party. Or one of those shitty horror movies that only scares Sirius.” He grinned cheekily. 

“Oi! Those are really fucking scary!” Sirius squawked. You rolled your eyes, filled to the brim with affection.

[thesecondhandwoman]

CHRISTMAS COOKIE CATASTROPHE

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: It was Christmas Eve, and you and Sevika were trying to make cookies. But, with your lack of not making a mess, even with Sevika���s help, your baking session turned into a floury mess.

The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon and sugar, though the full Christmas cookie experience was still a long way off. Sevika stood at the counter with a smirk playing at her lips, her sleeves rolled up to reveal her muscular arms as she expertly mixed a batch of cookie dough. Across from her, you were frowning at a measuring cup like it had personally insulted you.

“Okay, so if the recipe says ‘packed brown sugar,’ does that mean I just squish it into the cup, or is there, like, an official technique?” you asked, brow furrowed.

Sevika chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your heart flutter. “You squish it in, sweetheart. Like this.” She reached over, taking the sugar and pressing it firmly into the cup with her fingers. “There. Not rocket science.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but some of us didn’t grow up knowing how to bake cookies like an expert.” You stuck your tongue out at her, but she just shrugged, smirking.

“Not my fault I had to keep Jinx and Isha fed without setting the house on fire. You learn fast when your life depends on it, especially when Christmas time comes around.”

You snorted at the image of a younger Sevika, stressed and likely covered in batter, trying to corral two chaos gremlins while making something edible. “That explains why you’re so annoyingly good at this.”

“What can I say? I’m multi-talented.” She winked, turning back to her bowl and kneading the dough with one hand while holding a recipe card in the other.

Meanwhile, you were wrestling with a new opponent: the bag of flour. It was one of those massive ones that seemed to exist solely to mock your lack of upper-body strength. “Ugh, why do they make these so hard to open?!” you grumbled, tugging at the corner of the bag.

“Careful,” Sevika warned, glancing up. “You’re gonna—”

“I’ve got it!” you interrupted, giving the bag a sharp yank. And then—poof.

A cloud of fine white powder erupted into the air, coating you from head to toe. Sevika, who had stepped closer to help, caught the brunt of the blast as well. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as the two of you stared at each other, flour settling like snow in your hair, on her prosthetic arm, even on her eyebrows.

Then Sevika burst out laughing. It was a deep, genuine laugh that shook her shoulders and made your cheeks burn, though you couldn’t help but join in. “I told you to be careful,” she said between chuckles, wiping at her face to no avail.

“I was careful!” you protested, though you were grinning. “Careful-ish. This is totally your fault for distracting me with your smug baking skills.”

“Oh, yeah? My fault?” She leaned in, her face inches from yours, her smirk downright mischievous. “Should I let you handle the oven, too? Or are we trying to blow up the kitchen tonight?”

“Hey!” you said, shoving her playfully. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert at, uhm, stirring.”

“Right,” she teased, plucking a stray streak of flour from your cheek. Her touch lingered for a moment, soft and tender, and your playful banter melted into something warmer. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks heat again under her gaze. “But I’m your mess.”

Her smirk softened into a small smile, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your flour-covered forehead. “Damn right you are.”

The rest of the evening was chaos in the best way. Sevika took over most of the actual baking, but you stayed by her side, sneaking tastes of dough and occasionally “accidentally” smudging frosting on her cheek. She retaliated by flicking flour at you, and soon the kitchen looked like a holiday war zone.

By the time the cookies were done, you were both covered in a mix of flour, sugar, and laughter. Sevika pulled a tray from the oven, holding it up for you to admire. “See? Perfect. Thanks to my expert skills and your…” She paused, grinning. “Moral support.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know my moral support is the only reason you didn’t burn them.”

“Uh-huh.” She set the tray down and pulled you into her arms, ignoring the mess. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you shot back, wrapping your arms around her. The warmth of her embrace—and the smell of freshly baked cookies—made everything feel perfect.

“Still a mess though.” She teased, smirking at your as she glanced down between flour-covered eyelashes.

“Shut up!” You chuckled, pushing her back a little before tugging her upstairs. “Now let’s hurry and shower so that we can watch a Christmas movie.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

And afterwards, as you sat together that night after cleaning up, sharing cookies that were slightly too crisp on the edges but perfect in their imperfection, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve.

[drabblesandimagines]

Nettle Soup

Halsin x female reader 5,776 words of fluffy nonsense

--

It had started as an innocent tickle at the very back of your throat, something you’d barely given more than a moment’s thought to - fair enough due to the fact you had a tadpole squirming around in your skull to contend with. A day or so later, it had graduated from a tickle to an annoying and stubborn irritation which very much demanded attention – wouldn’t shift despite how many times you’d tried.

It would clear, surely, you thought, especially since the curse had lifted from the land and you were on your way towards Baldur’s Gate at last.

Except it didn’t.

If anything, it got worse - like you’d swallowed handfuls of crushed glass, the way it stung with every swallow – accompanied by heavy limbs and growing fatigue, no matter how much sleep you managed. Perhaps that was hardly surprising after the number of fights you’d undertaken recently, not quite as young as you once were. 

Although not comfortable with the hitchhiker in your skull, you were at least confident it wasn’t the first sign of ceremorphosis, though the concern that Lae’zel may try to slit your throat if you voiced any notion of feeling unwell remained, so you kept silent.

You powered on, as you always do.

Gale frowned when you didn’t finish your portion of stew that evening, all sat around the campfire. He prided himself on keeping the party well-fed and anything but clean bowls appeared to be a personal affront to his skill. It wasn’t that you felt nauseous, just a lack of appetite made the quarter you had managed sit too heavy in your stomach.

“Was it not to your liking?” The wizard hovers over your shoulder. “While I’ll admit it is a repeated recipe from a few days ago, you enjoyed it well enough then.”

“No, no, it’s wonderful, Gale.” You smile, trying to appease his anxieties by laying a hand on your stomach. “It’s just filling – I’m stuffed already.”

“I recall you had second helpings.”

Oh, he had you there. Think.

“We had just fought Ketheric Thorn too, quite a difference from the day’s leisurely pace.”

“Hm.” His pout remains, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach has been joined by guilt.

“Hardly a repeated recipe, though. I’m sure I noted something different on the palate?”

That did the trick, a wistful smile now gracing his face. “Ah, yes, I did stumble upon some splendid wild garlic that I thought would enhance the flavour profile – how kind of you to notice.”

You nod along, politely, as Gale tells his tale – something about how it elevates the spices - not noticing the wood elf staring at you curiously from across the circle.

You’re thankful it’s not your turn to keep watch as the githyanki takes her place in the centre of the camp, sword laying ready in her lap. You don’t wish to dawdle around the campfire like you do most nights, worried she might sense something off about you and jump to conclusions, so you bid the remaining members of the party goodnight and walk at a brisk pace to the safety of your tent…

..only for an icy cold grip around your elbow to jerk you into their own, your back now pressed against a firm chest with a thud.

“Surprised, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your crown, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “I thought you better than that. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bed.” You reply as brightly as possible, overcompensating for how rotten you’re now feeling.

“Oh, but the evening is still so young! I have a fine idea that will while away the hours, if you would be so very kind.” He drops his grip on your elbow and ghosts his hand up your side, making you squirm.

“Not tonight, Astarion.” You shake your head. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him feed off you after that first night. “I’m tired.”

“I can wait until you’re asleep, my sweet.” His hand finally reaches the back of your neck, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’ll be sure not to disturb any of your pretty dreams.”

“No.” Your tone is firm, maybe a little too firm as the vampire stiffens against you and drops his hand, causing your stomach to squirm with guilt once again. “Another night, I’m all yours – I promise.”

Astarion spins you around and you nearly lose your footing – a fact not missed by the vampire as his face transforms from annoyance at your denial to mild concern.

“My, you are out of sorts.” He sighs, before he plasters on a smile that you know to be fake. “Very well, darling. Off to bed you pop.”

You nod a thanks and hurry out of his tent, casting your eyes to the ground in the hopes of keeping steadier footing, only to collide into something firm.

A large, solid chest, covered in familiar druidic garb.

“My sincere apologies,” two warm hands grasp your upper arms, steadying you once again. “I am afraid I did not see you there. Are you all right?”

Your scalp tingles from the gravelly tones of Halsin’s voice, a warmth flushing over your cheeks as you look up at the former archdruid, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine, Halsin. And I should be the one apologizing - I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

He chuckles at your concern. “Of course. Although you have remained polite by not yet mentioning my stature, I am sure you have noticed the comparison between us, little one.”

Although one to lose your temper with the use of such pet names in inns or in combat, there is something entirely different when Halsin says it. You know it is not meant to be patronizing, more a sign of his age, really – it’s wholeheartedly sincere, affectionate, perhaps even… loving? Well, you could still dream, couldn’t you? Even though he’d kindly turned you down at the celebration for the tieflings at camp all those weeks ago, you’d be a liar if you didn’t still kindle a flame of affection for the large elf. You smile, wryly. “I suppose I have.”

“Forgive me for prying, but is anything the matter? You seemed in quite the hurry after supper. I confess I’d hoped to catch you for a moment.”

Your throat stings again as you swallow. Halsin is a healer - he would be the one to mention it to…

But you don’t want to be a bother, especially so soon after Thaniel. What was a sore throat in comparison to being trapped within the Shadowrealm for near on a century? Pathetic, really.

You shrug it off, “A little tired, nothing an early night won’t sort. What did you wish to speak about?”

He smiles at your response, though you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wish you weren’t so observant of him to be able to identify which are real and which are polite.

“Ah, no, nothing of urgency. Please, do not let me keep you from your well-deserved rest any longer.”

You eye your tent in the distance, but hesitate all the same. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He squeezes your upper arms, gently, before letting go. “I bid you sweet dreams and a peaceful sleep.”

--

You don’t even fall asleep deeply enough to dream – tossing and turning for hours, one moment feeling too hot and then another too cold, periodically drinking from your waterskin trying to ease the rawness of your throat.

You give up at dawn, quickly dressing in your armor. Instead of waiting for your companions to rise, you set your sight on climbing the hill not far off from camp - it should provide a good vista of the road ahead to Baldur’s Gate. It shouldn’t be a long walk either, you’ll be there and back before even Karlach has roused, usually the last to do so.

You had only made it a quarter of the way up the admittedly gentle incline when you start to feel unusually winded from the exercise – it feels as if you are not quite breathing deep enough, oxygen stagnating at the top of your lungs. Perhaps you’d laced your armour too tight that morning in your haste to get moving? The sun is still only a little over the horizon, given the earliness of the hour, but you feel so very warm, a sheen of sweat already on your brow.

You raise a weary hand to wipe it away, but your vision swims in response and you stumble, all reflexes abandoning you and your face meets the dirt.

--

Halsin lets out a sigh as he rubs his back against the bark in his bear form, the ridges appeasing an itch that had been bothering him since he had wildshaped. It has been a while since he’d indulged the bear for purely pleasure and not combat – it hadn’t felt right to do so when traveling through the shadow cursed lands.

He’d woken early, as usual, and decided to take advantage of an hour or so to patrol the area before the plan would be to head towards Baldur’s Gate. Heading to the city wasn’t something he was looking forward to – to be cut off from the nature he so adored made he feel uneasy - but he’d made a vow that he intended to keep.

A familiar, invigorating smell crosses his snout, carried in the gentle breeze. He inhales it deeply, being drawn him from his thoughts.

White violet, jasmine, a touch of sandalwood…

You.

It is too strong a scent to have drifted in from camp, which must mean you’re close by. He drops down to all four paws and begins to follow the trail, curious as to what has brought you out so early and, perhaps selfishly, hoping to take advantage of your company.

He doesn’t have to travel far, though, lumbering a hundred or so metres out of the wood that lines the path. His stomach sinks when he sees you sprawled out on your front down the incline, unmoving, eyes open in a blank stare in his direction.

The next thing you were aware of was thundering paws on the earth, a flash of gold and then warm, heavy palms turning you over to face the dawn sky. A very concerned wood elf soon fills your vision, pressing a hand to your cheek as his eyes scan you over, frantically.

“What is it, my heart? Speak to me.” Heart…? The world goes black.

--

You wake up slowly. Your eyelids feel heavy, drifting in and out of consciousness until, finally, you manage to crack both eyes open to find yourself swaddled in unfamiliar furs and blinking up at an equally unfamiliar ceiling.

No, not ceiling, but the inside of a tent and one that is not your own. Various herbs and flowers are hung from the support pole across the top, seemingly set out to dry, dotted between other hand-made trinkets. There’s a scent of wood smoke, flowers, freshly cut grass, and something enticingly sweet...

You sit up in alarm, trying to work out where you are, panic rising in your already tight chest when your eyes meet those of the large wood elf’s, sat only a little way to the side of the bed roll.

“Ah-ah,” Halsin chides with a sympathetic smile, pushing you back down easily with one large palm upon your shoulder. “Please - you must rest.”

“This isn’t my tent.” Your voice is painfully hoarse, but you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and watch as he tugs the furs back up to under your chin - the brief moment you had been upright a chill had prickled across your skin, almost down to your very bones.

“That is true.” The former archdruid nods, looking a little bashful. “We were camped at quite opposite ends this time round.” Your party did tend to spread the tents out across the ground you used, rather than all cluster together. “I thought it best to bring you here, where I have everything to hand to easily prepare, rather than go to and fro whilst I oversee your recovery.”

“Recov-” You don’t reach the end of the word as a horrendous, wracking cough emerges deep within your chest. You sit up again in panic, hoping it will cease. Halsin assists you with one hand on your arm and an arm around your waist, before he begins to rub large circles on your upper back.

“Easy, little one. Easy. I know it is uncomfortable, but it will pass.” He says, softly. It doesn’t feel like it will – the pain is sharp, a tightness in your chest, a burn in your lungs, heart pounding as you feel more and more breathless with every cough.

Tears burn at your eyes but, true to his word, slowly but surely, it begins to settle, allowing you to catch your breath at last and left feeling exhausted.

The hand leaves your arm then but one remains on your back, keeping you steady, before a waterskin is brought up to your lips. “Take small sips. If you drink too quickly, it might trigger another fit.”

You nod, reaching up a hand to hold over his as he tips the liquid into your mouth. It’s soothing on your raw throat, but only for a brief moment. When he deems you’ve had enough, he pulls the waterskin away, placing it back down to the side of the bedroll before pressing a hand to your forehead, a poorly concealed frown soon gracing his lips.

“You have a fairly high fever.”

“Can’t you…?” You reach out to mimic cure wounds – a spell you’ve seen him and Shadowheart cast many a time - but it seems even your depth perception has abandoned you as you brush up against the wood elf's firm chest, before snatching your hand back and circling your wrist in what you think looks a somewhat magical motion. Halsin lets out a chuckle that makes you feel flush – your temperature varying sporadically by the minute.

“Wounds and other injuries indeed, as can Shadowheart, but I am afraid for such illnesses as this the only treatment is rest for a few days, supplemented by herbal remedies to alleviate symptoms.”

“No,” you shake your head and immediately regret how it makes your vision and head swim. “We must press on - the Absolute are already in the city.”

He looks at you in alarm. “You cannot mean you wish to go and face them? You know I admire your unwavering resolve and strength to do what is right, but at the moment I fear a light breeze would be more than enough to knock you prone.”

“But-”

“No. I cannot allow it.” His tone is firm, a growl at the back of his throat – it reminds you of how he had spoken to Kagha once he’d returned to the grove. "You will rest. Lie down,” he doesn’t even need to push you back this time with a heavy hand, you’ve gone quite limp against the arm that had been supporting you, shrinking back at his tone of voice and nestle back down amongst the furs.

 “Thank you.” Halsin replies, sincerely, the tension dropping both from his shoulders and voice. “I… I apologise for my manner of speaking, but I know of what I speak - you must rest in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll try – I promise.”

He looks down at you with a smile before brushing some loose hair from your face and then cupping your cheek with a large palm and calloused fingers. If you’d had more of your wits about you, if you could think clearly, you would’ve noticed the flash of gold in his palm as he cast sleep upon you.

--

You wake up to a hand pressing a damp cold compress against your forehead and your chest feeling tighter than before. You can’t help the wince as you open your eyes, the light smarting despite it being somewhat dim inside the tent. Halsin is sat cross-legged by your side, a frown in place.

“I am sorry to have woken you, but I am afraid your fever has developed.”

“Oh.”

“I have prepared something that will help. Allow me to sit you up.” Somehow, he manages to slip his arm beneath your head and around your shoulders, assisting you upright to lean back against a pile of firm pillows. Once he is satisfied you are settled, he produces a bowl from his side – a waft of steam emitting off the top.

“Here. It has cooled enough to drink.”

“What is it?” Your voice is still awfully hoarse, a raw sting as you talk.

“A staple in every healer’s repertoire - nettle soup. Adept at reducing fevers.”

You take the bowl carefully from his hand, though his follows closely as you guide it up to your mouth lest your grip fail.

You gulp down a mouthful, but it’s absolutely foul upon your tongue, burns your throat as you swallow it down. It feels as if you’ve taken a gulp out of a particularly filthy pond, one thick with algae.

You hold the bowl back out with a shake of your head, hoping he’ll take it. “That’s disgusting.”

Halsin smiles, knowingly – seemingly a complaint he is not all that unfamiliar with hearing. “Whilst I admit the taste is far from what one might call pleasant, it will do you a world of good to drink it.”

You shake your head again, trying to hand it back to him. “I can’t.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Dare I enquire your age again, little one? The children in the grove manage it just fine.”

“I’m not a child,” you pout – too feverish to realise the contradiction of your actions. “And they surely do not.”

“They do…”, he retorts, a wistful smile crosses his lips, “albeit with the promise of something sweet after they’ve rested. Would that suffice?”

“Something… sweet?” Your mind drifts off to somewhere it should not as your eyes drop down to focus on the druid’s mouth.

“Mm. They are quite partial to honeycakes, does that appeal?”

You shake your head, placing the bowl down on the floor between the two of you. Though a fan of sweets, the idea of eating anything at the moment doesn’t entice at all.

“No? Well, perhaps you have something else in mind. I’m sure Baldur’s Gate itself will have something to your tastes.”

“I want a kiss.” You mumble.

He must have misheard. “What was that?”

“A kiss - that’s the sweet thing I want.”

“Ah,” if it wasn’t for the dim light within the tent, you would’ve sworn the druid was blushing. “Now, that’ll be the fever speaking.”

“No.” You gaze up at him, wishing you had the strength to curl your fingers in his hair and pull him in for the kiss you crave. “It’s not. I’ve wanted one since that night at camp, the celebration with the tieflings. I swear I’ll drink all the nettle soup in Faerun for a kiss.” “Since…” He trails off. “No, I couldn’t, little one.” He shakes his head, truly looking apologetic. “I won’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why?”

He cups your cheek in a large palm, a small smile on his lips. “I do not believe you are quite aware of what you are requesting, given your current ailment.”

You purse your lips in thought, trying to seek a compromise. “What about when I’m better, then?”

He removes his hand and nods. “When you are recovered and if you recall this conversation and still desire it, then… yes, you may claim your sweet.” He mumbles towards the end, not quite believing what he was apparently promising. “However, you will still need to drink the nettle soup now.”

“Deal.” You acquiesce, and Halsin picks up the bowl in offering.

It burns as it goes down – all four or five remaining mouthfuls - but you manage the whole bowl.

“Good girl,” the wood elf murmurs with a smile – it makes the discomfort feel worth it for a moment - as he inspects the empty bowl, swapping it out for the waterskin once again.  

“Now, try and sleep some more. By the time you wake, it will have done its work and you’ll be feeling much better.”

You lie back down without protest, closing your eyes. The furs smell like Halsin and you soon drift off back to sleep, a feverish thought of being wrapped up in his arms and the kiss you hoped to claim come morning.

--

Day turns into night and then day once more, the hours passed with numerous bowls of nettle soup that still burn at your throat with every swallow, vegetable broth for more sustenance and countless naps to no improvement. Halsin has been trying to distract himself with whittling, but it is not proving successful – lopping off half of the duck’s beak when you stir momentarily. He’s checked your temperature with the back of his hand too many times to count. There’s a taunting rattle from your lungs between bouts of sharp coughing fits that doesn’t seem to be easing either. The nettle soup should’ve broken your fever at least – he hadn’t encountered one in all his years that it had failed to do so – but you seem to be growing worse by the hour.

He watches as you toss and turn, brushing your hair from your face. You’ve done so much for him – freed him from the goblins, ensured the safety of the Grove and its occupants, defended him whilst he recovered Thaniel, freed a realm from the shadowcurse of beyond a century and yet he cannot return a simple favour by ridding you of a fever?

“Is she sick?”

“Thaniel.” Halsin’s starts at the sudden appearance of the spirit. The boy is knelt besides him, staring down curiously at your slumbering form. “What are you doing here, my friend?”

“Your party hasn’t moved on - I wondered why. Is she sick?”

Thaniel remained as curious as ever, it seemed.

Halsin sighs. “Yes, I am afraid so. The fever and cough proves most stubborn – I fear I am depleting this area’s supply of nettles.”

“Nettles?”

“For the soup – it reduces the fever. Or it should.”

Thaniel frowns, leaning over you and taking a cautious sniff. “But she smells of spolar.”

“Spolar?” The word seems vaguely familiar, though it sparks a sinking, sickening feeling in his stomach.

“It will have been a long time since you’ve had to treat it.” The boy shrugs. “A large purple mushroom, remember? Its spores line the lungs – its growth accelerates if surrounded by nettles.”

“No…” It’s as if a hand is squeezing at his heart. “I don’t recall seeing any on our travels out. It would grow so quickly?”

“Nettles are sturdy enough even for the shadowcurse, so when it was lifted it had probably laid dormant beneath the soil until the time came. How long have you been treating her?”

“Nearly two moons – numerous bowls of nettle soup.” Halsin’s face has drained of all colour. “By Silvanus, I’ll have been nourishing the infection itself.”

“You did not mean to,” Thaniel replied, patting Halsin on his thigh. “Do not fret. Vapours from a wilted Sussur Bloom will clear the lungs when inhaled, suspending any further spread. Then she will just need rest.”

“A wilted…” He gets to his feet, his mind whirring with the next steps. “I must make haste back to the Underdark – I could be there and back by night fall with the aid of sigil circles.”

He hurries out of his tent, finding Gale sat outside of his, camped a stone’s throw away, and a large tome in his lap.

“Halsin,” Gale starts cautiously, setting down his book at the wood elf's urgency. “Is something the matter?”

“Everything.” The druid drops to his knees and empties out his pack – planning to stuff it full of as much Sussur Bloom as he can lay his hands upon. “I made her worse. She’s inhaled the spore of the spolar.”

“The spore of what? And how could you have made her worse?” Gale quirks an eyebrow, trying to keep up. He has never seen the wood elf so flustered. “I don’t understand.”

“Spolar… the spores line the airways. It feeds and thrives upon other vegetation – I’ve been giving her nettle soup. She told me it burnt and I insisted she eat more. And she did, because she trusted me.”

“Oh. Well, you didn’t know-”

“I should’ve known!” Halsin explodes in response, his voice echoing around their encampment. “I need to go to the Underdark, I-” He gets up to his feet and immediately stumbles, catching himself before he could fall. Gale is quick to stand in front of him, hands held up to try in a feeble attempt to stop the wood elf leaving.

“Halsin, when is the last time you rested?”

“It matters not-”

“It very much does.” Gale chides. “Look at you – you are in no fit state to look after yourself, let alone gallivant off to the Underdark.”

“What the hells is going on?” Astarion appears the other side of Gale, drawn out by Halsin’s outburst.  

“I must set this right. I cannot allow her to suffer a moment longer due to my negligence-“

“Okay, I’m sensing there’s a lot more to your feelings here, but allow me to assure you that we all care about her. Allow us to assist you, to aid you in whatever you need in this moment.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Astarion almost stomps his foot, never one to be ignored.

Halsin sighs, running a large palm down his face. Gale is right – he is exhausted, unable to enter a state of reverie in the past days in fear of you needing him.

“A Sussur Bloom. I need to retrieve one from the Underdark.”

Gale frowns. “But they don’t work outside the Underdark.“

“Wilted ones, they-"

“Wilted, you say?” Astarion looks at his fingernails for imaginary dirt. “I’ve got a handful in my pack still, I’m sure.”

Halsin sets off running in the direction of the vampire’s tent and his pack, Astarion hot on his heels.

“Now, wait a moment!”

--

Halsin won’t look at you.

You’d woken up, confusingly, back in your own tent two days later to Gale sat by your side and your fever broken. Your voice was still a little hoarse and walking around the camp left you all but winded, but that was meant to pass in another day or two, then the plan was to finally set off towards Baldur’s Gate.

You’d felt bad for holding the party up for so long, but everyone has been rather kind about the delay, doting on you a little more than you’d like.

All but Halsin, really, who stares over your head – not a hard feat given his height, true – but still, it smarts when you cannot catch his eye, especially when it was something you used to achieve so easily. He appears to leave the campsite before dawn and returns for supper, though he moves away from the campfire when you take your place, thanking Gale for the meal before hurrying off.

It’s driving you mad.

Tonight, though, you have a plan. You took supper back to your tent, feigning the need for an early night to your companions and lying in wait for Halsin to depart the camp once more.

You find the elf stood at the very edge of the lake, standing in the shallow waters as it laps to and fro, hands held behind his back.

You approach cautiously, conscious of disturbing a meditation or ritual the ex-archdruid might be partaking in, but it seems he is already acutely aware of your presence.

“There’s a chill in the air tonight.” His voice is firm – you can imagine him using the same tone when he was chairing heated discussions amongst the other druids back at the Emerald Grove. “You should go back to camp and keep warm by the fire at least if you find yourself restless.”

“Halsin,” you choose to ignore him as you wring your hands together and take another step closer. “Have I… offended you in some way?”

“Offended? Never.” Still, he keeps his head turned away from you.

“I apologise sincerely if I said something that upset you whilst I was sick. I’m afraid I don’t recall much of the time in your tent – it’s all a bit of a haze.”

“That’s understandable. You were…” His breath hitches, as if it’s painful to remember. “..quite unwell. But, no, you did not say anything malicious or cruel – it is not in your nature.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

His biceps tense as he brings his arms back in front of him, his shoulders heaving up with a breath before dropping back down as he swings round on his heels. He meets your eyes for a second or two before his gaze moves back above your head, as if something was extremely interesting in the distance.

“There.” A forced smile – it doesn’t reach the wood elf’s eyes by a mile. “Now, will you go back to the camp?”

“No.” You huff, taking a step closer.

“Please. Your lungs are not fully recovered yet and the chill tonight will do you no favours.”

“I’m not going back until you look me in the eyes and tell me what I’ve done to be treated this way.” You stand firm, stubborn.

He sighs, seemingly exasperated at the conversation. “You have not done anything, my h… friend.”

“I must have done something.”

“You are mistaken.”

 “No, I’m not.” You retort back, placing your hands on your hips. “Ever since you healed me, you’ve been-”

“Healed you?” He scoffs, derisively, meeting your eyes at last with a furrowed brow. “Healed you? I did no such thing - I made you worse!”

You stare for a moment, bemused. “What? Worse how?”

“You said the nettle soup was burning your throat, you told me multiple times and I dismissed you saying it for not liking the taste, not of a symptom. Every time I had you drink it, I was giving the infection what it needed to thrive. I was killing you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t remember that.” And you don’t, everything’s hazy – vague memories of cooling compresses on your head, a supportive arm around your waist as you drank from a waterskin. “Why would I keep drinking it if it hurt?”

“Because,” he takes a shuddering breath, “we made a deal.”

“A deal about what?”

“I beg of you not to make me relive my shame.” Halsin sounds defeated, but you continue to push.

“A deal about what?”

“I… I told you of how the children in the Grove took their medicine under the promise they would receive something sweet when they were better. Honeycakes, candied fruits, the like. You…” His voice grows tight. “You asked for something else sweet.”

You feel your face flush, a hazy, whisp of a memory now becoming crystal clear. “A kiss.”

The wood elf’s shoulders shudder. “I took advantage of your trust in me.”

“Advantage?”

“Of your feverish state.”

“I’m the one who suggested the kiss.”

“And I’m the one who agreed due to my own selfish desires, ignoring what my patient was trying to tell me.”

“No, you thought you were doing the right thing. We all make mistakes, or misinterpret. I’m fine.” You wrap your hand around his forearm as best as you can, trying to tug him forward. “Besides the whole tadpole in my head, of course…”

He smiles, wryly, at your poor joke, though you see tears burn at his eyes. “I just… I cannot stand the thought that I have caused you harm, little one – intentional or otherwise.”

“You haven’t, Halsin.” You place your other hand tentatively on his chest and look up, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips. “I am well and, if you were still willing, I’m ready for my sweet.”

He shakes his head. “As much as my heart desires it – and it does - I do not deserve it.”

“Am I not allowed to be the judge of that? And I say a deal is a deal.”

“You… truly wish for it still?”

You stand up on your very tip toes and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, as far as you can reach. “More than ever.”

A firm arm wraps delicately around your waist – cautious of squeezing you too firmly – and heaves you up easily against his firm chest, his other hand cupping your cheek as he captures your lips in a kiss. It is soft and delicate, as if he’s worried you’ll break, but when you lift your hand to tangle in his locks and tug to bring him closer and deepening the kiss, there is no mistaking the growl that emits from his throat when your tongues intertwine.

As soon as you drop your hand from his hair, he retreats too, dropping you back down carefully to the ground, eyes scanning you in concern.

“You’re breathless, my heart.” You feel your cheeks prickle with heat at the term of endearment. “And flush too. Please, I insist you go back and keep warm-"

You cut him off, pressing your fingers against his lips, exhaling breathily. “Two things. One, I’m breathless because of your kiss. Two, I’m flush because of your words - what sort of reaction am I meant to have to you calling me that?”

He lifts his own hand then to hold yours in place so he can kiss the fingertips pressed against his lips, before tugging your hand back down and interlacing your fingers.

“My heart, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars - so many things I wish to call you whilst I lavish you with affection from dusk till dawn, and dawn till dusk… if you’d allow me, that is.”

“Allow?” You smile, “I encourage – heartily.”

It happens too fast to comprehend, a gentle twist of your arm to twirl you in front of him before one arm wraps around the back of your knees and you are swept off your feet, the wood elf commencing large strides back towards the camp.

“Then I insist we return to your tent where you will have as many sweets as you desire.”

“Oh, my tent now, is it?” You tease. “I thought I had to go and stay warm by the fire.”

 “Yes, but, lucky for you,” he smirks, “I am known to run quite hot.”

--

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[gingerbloof]

cough syrup (astarion x sick gn!tav)

contents: fluff, sick, stubborn tav, astarion being sweet, mentions of hunting, mentions of other companions (Shadowheart), medicine, kissing, sexual innuendo authors note: hii all, i'm still down with covid, unfortunately, but i hope this self indulgent fic will suffice for now! thank you all for the love on my past fics. i really apprecaite you all. please enjoy! word count: 1,726

You woke in the middle of the night, sweat trickling down your forehead despite your shivering. Gods, you were freezing…

The moon was full and big in the sky, and even the soft rays of moonlight made your head throb. You groan softly and sit up. As soon as you did, a horrendous sounding cough escaped your chest.

Oh, Gods… Please don’t be sick…

You swallowed thickly, your throat stinging in pain and parched. You slowly get up, careful not to wake anyone and make your way down by the river to get some water. You stumble a bit, your head pounding and your ears full. You knelt down by the bank and cupped your hands in the water. The coolness of it made you shiver even more. You brought your hands to your lips and drank down the water, your throat stinging in reply. Another ghastly cough left you, filling the silent night. You tried to muffle it as much as you could so you didn’t wake anyone.

Your head throbbed even more with each cough, every movement proving exhausting. You tried to stand, but your legs wobbled and you tipped over. Before your bottom could hit the dirt, a swift pair of arms caught you. A soft, familiar chuckle was heard from behind you, but you were too delirious to realize who it was, but as soon as a honeyed, yet snarky voice met your ears, you instantly knew who it was.

“Clumsy this evening, are we, my dear?”

“Astarion…” You hoarsely greeted him. 

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that you two cared for each other. Astarion had even admitted it a couple weeks ago, though neither of you really knew what this was. Regardless, he had been a sweet and careful partner thus far, and you admired him more and more for that as each day passed.

He helped to shift you back onto your feet. You wobbled a bit as you regained your balance, trying your best to hide your illness. You cleared your throat nasally as you looked at him.

“I’m sorry, love. Did I wake you?” You asked, trying to keep your voice as still and well sounding as possible. “No, no,” He said, licking some blood off the back of his hand that you had barely noticed. “I just got back from hunting. Your neck is safe for tonight, my dear,” He gave you a playful wink. You chuckled softly, another cough escaping you. You tried to cut it short, but you struggled as you went into a short coughing fit. His face grew with worry as he stepped closer to you, rubbing your back gently.

“Goodness, my sweet… You sound positively dreadful,” He said, a tone of worry replacing his usual honeyed voice. “Are you ill?” He asked. You shook your head, your coughs residing for now. “N-No,” You struggled to speak, phlegm coating the back of your throat. “Just a sore throat is all.”

A chuckle left the pale elf’s lips, shaking his head. “My love, I can hear the way your lungs are struggling right now. This is no sore throat,” He stood in front of you and placed the back of his hand on your forehead, humming softly. “As I suspected. You’ve a fever… You poor thing,” He cooed, trying to place a gentle kiss on your dry lips. You pursed your lips and turned your head away. “Mm-nm, Astarion. I don’t want to get you sick…” 

He let out a soft laugh. “Darling, may I remind you… I’m a vampire,” He smirked. “I don’t fall ill unless I haven’t fed. Now, come. You are going back to bed,” He kissed your lips successfully this time, and swiftly lifted you into his arms bridal style. You let out a soft sound of surprise and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. 

Before you knew it you were laying back down, but not in your own bedroll. In Astarion’s. He spoke a gentle “Won’t be moment, dear,” Before he hurried off to gather some extra blankets. He came back a few moments later and wrapped you up snugly in them. He obviously loved coddling you like this, because you saw a faint smile on his face as you cooed in content at the warmness of the blankets.

He tucked some loose strands of hair behind your ear and placed a soft peck on your forehead. “Sleep, now, love. I’ll go and see if our healing friends can do anything about this come morning.” You nodded slowly, feeling the everloving embrace of not only your partner, but sleep overcome you.

You woke a few hours later in yet another coughing fit. You sat up so you could catch your breath and notice Astarion is no longer with you. You looked over to the flaps of the tent and they were tightly closed. The sun had risen and the very few rays of light that came into the tent practically blinded you as you slowly opened your eyes.

You heard the sounds of Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s voices just outside the tent, slightly bickering.

“What sort of cleric are you if you can’t heal them?” You heard Astarion scoff. You could practically picture the way he was standing; arms crossed, a slight pout on his face and very defensive. Shadowheart sighed hopelessly. “As much as I would like to heal Tav, whatever has infected them will not heal simply with magic…” She said reluctantly. “It’s not fatal, if that’s what you’re worried about. Unfortunately, however, they will have to face this the old fashioned way; by simply resting and natural remedies.” Astarion sighed, defeated. “Alright… Well, thank you for trying. Now, shoo. Or you’ll be ill next,” He said.

You heard Shadowheart’s footsteps walk away before the flaps of the tent slowly, carefully opened. As he shut them tightly, another coughing fit took over you. You were positively drenched with sweat and your entire body ached. You felt like death.

Astarion quickly turned to you and cupped your face in his cool hands, his face deep with worry. “Oh, my poor little love…” He cooed. He shifted beside you and rubbed your back as you kept coughing. Tears formed in your eyes as you struggled to take in a breath, every attempt causing you to cough even harder.

Astarion frantically searched his tent for anything to help soothe the cough, even if it was temporary. He quickly grabbed a bottle of simple cough syrup that Shadowheart had given him and poured you a cap full. He handed it to you as your coughing fit slowly started to stop. You waved your head in dismissal, shaking your head. “No, love…” You said, each word scratching and gnawing at your throat. “I’m fine.” You insisted. Astarion huffed, not budging and shoving the cap toward you again.

“Right, and I adore Gale,” He said sarcastically. This made you roll your eyes. You looked at him and he wore a stern, yet pleading expression. “Take the medicine, my love.” He said, holding the cap in front of you.

Your nose curled up in disgust as you eyed the thick red liquid. Ever since you were a child you hated medicine. Your mother had to practically hold you down and force you to take it because you hated it so much. You grumbled and shook your head at him.

He sighed, and raised a hand in defense. “Alright, if you’re so sure…” He begrudgingly gave in, taking the cap away from you. You smirk in success, a lighthearted “Hmph” leaving your lips. He smirked at you and shook his head. “Even sick, you are the cheekiest little pup, aren’t you?” He purred. You flushed through your already reddened face and looked away meekly. 

A moment passed, then his cold fingers took your chin and led your head back to face him. He smiled warmly and leaned in to you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss. He briefly swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, asking for access to your mouth. When you complied and parted your lips, you suddenly tasted a disgusting fluid entering your mouth. 

Cough syrup…

He kept his lips firmly against yours, forcing you to swallow. You shoved him away weakly, your face scrunching up in disgust once again. You stuck your tongue out in disgust. “Blech!!”

That sneaky bastard…

“Ughh, Astarion!” You groaned, the sickly sweet fluid coating your throat, already starting to alleviate some pain. He laughed successfully and hard, falling over onto his side, clutching his stomach. You pouted at him as he laughed. “That wasn’t funny…” You whined, crossing your arms.

He sighed happily, wiping a tear of joy from his eye. He sat up and kissed your nose sweetly. “Oh, my dear, you are too easy!” He scooted so he was next to you and propped up on his elbow on his side, giving you a devilish smirk. 

You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help but chuckle. “You asshole,” You said, curling up under your covers again. He giggled and shrugged. “I mean, it was either that, or I could’ve put it on my-” You gasped and quickly sat up, hushing him. “Astarion!” You said, shocked at the audacity of him. He laughed once again, laying you back down.

“You would’ve taken it then, wouldn’t you?” He asked, his smirk growing. You shook your head and scoffed, allowing him to lay you back down. “Shut up,” You said, nuzzling your face into his chest. He chuckled and kissed the crown of your head, wrapping his arms snugly around you.

You both stayed there for the rest of the day while your other companions went out to travel. You slept most of the day, although you were interrupted by a couple of coughing fits, thankfully not as bad now that you had taken something. All throughout the day, whether you were sleeping or not, Astarion would check in on you and check to see if your fever had broken, which it did after a few hours. He brought a damp rag to place on your forehead and would read to you while you would drift back to sleep.

He was the sweetest, most compassionate lover you had ever had… As long as you had him to take care of you, maybe being sick wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[liiixsturniolos]

OK IM SO LIKE READY FOR ANGST I NEED THE MOST HEART RENCHING ANSGST YOU CAN MAKE DOWN PACKED OK so this could be matt or Chris it don't bother me but like lately you guys have been getting into a lot of fights about matt/Chris' new girl best friend and it's been happening for months and you and matt/Chris were on a date and of course SHE had to come and they had been ignoring you alll night

YES!

 ୨୧ " Her! " ୨୧

Bf!Chris x Jealous!reader

warnings: angst

"Come on baby!" Chris pleads. "Let's go out tonight, just me and you! We can go to the movies like you love to."

You smile, "Okay, yeah!" And reply, walking over to the wardrobe you share and getting out your clothes.

"You almost ready?" He shouts to you in the bathroom, tying up your hair.

"Yeah." You say, stepping out.

"You look very pretty." He smirks.

"Thank you." You reply with a smile now painted across your face.

At the movies, you go to sit down and find the best seats, while Chris gets the popcorn. You slump down onto the old, worn leather seats like always, and Chris comes running up the stairs to you, almost spilling the popcorn.

"Did it start?" He asks

"Not yet it's still ads." You reply impatiently, throwing a piece of warm buttery popcorn into your mouth.

Your head turns at a stomping noise, someone coming up the stairway toward your seats, realising who it is you mutter under your breath "fuck.. not this bitch again.."

It was Chris' 'girl bestfriend' Lola you hated her, and you usually like most people, but fuck, you could just tell she fed off of drama and wasn't happy about you and Chris.

In fact, you'd heard from another one of his friends that she used to have a crush on him and probably still does. She only irritated you because of how she would talk to him and touch him, right in front of you.

It's as if she was taunting you and stroking your boyfriends arm just to piss you off. You weren't a super jealous person, but when it came to this girl, you wanted to litterly slap her every time she talked because your boyfriend, Chris, being the sweet gullible guy his is, just didn't pick up on her bitchy behaviour.

"Heyyy Chris!" She screamed, running up to him. You rolled your eyes, watching her run.

"Oh hey." He replies, smiling politely.

"I haven't seen you in forever!" She squeals.

"You saw each other two days ago.." You scoff at her.

"Well, it feels like forever cus I just miss him sooooooo much!" She says in a baby voice,

You roll your eyes harder than before, to the point they can't go further back into your head.

"So, since we're all here, can I sit with you guys?" She asks.

"Sorry, Y/n and I are on a date, so it's kinda just us this time." Chris tells her.

"Chris! What the hell. You don't wanna hang out with me?" She says, pouting like a kid.

"That's not what I mean, I'm with my girlfriend right now." He explains.

"Wow, okay, so you prefer her over me now?" She whines.

Suddenly, your ears tune into this conversation more, you want to know what Chris will say about this.

"Well, no. That's not - what I mean..but." He stutters.

"So I can sit with you?" She mumbles, trying to give him puppy eyes to convince him.

"I guess so.." he gives in, not wanting to decide between his girlfriend and bestfriend.

"Wow..." You whisper to yourself, in disbelief, he just let her ruin your date like this.

You watch the movie, but your face is burning up with anger the whole hour. You barely even focused on the movie, just stared at Chris and Lola (his 'girl best friend') , watching her talk to him the whole time.

At the end of the movie, you get up quickly and rush straight out of the dark theatre. You don't even want to talk to Chris. You just wanted to go home.

"Y/n! Wait up." He shouts at you, but you continue to walk away, ignoring his multiple shouts.

You hurriedly climb into your Uber. Tears building up in your eyes, this is the fourth time this has happened, Lola loved to show up whenever you saw Chris, it wasn't fair, especially because you had to travel for your work alot, she could see him constantly but you couldn't.

It scared you that Lola was around him so much. It was so obvious to you that she liked Chris, but he was certain she didn't.

You couldn't take this anymore. You sit in the back seat of your Uber, shaking, with tears streaming down your face, your mascara leaving black stains as you wiped it on your jacket.

You got home, opening up your phone to missed calls and texts from Chris.

Your mind was spiralling, you couldn't decide what to do, you wanted to text him back, but you were so tired and drained you ended up falling asleep on your bed, as soon as you led on it.

In the morning, you woke up to the loud echoing ring of your doorbell, and you walked over to it, opening up the door to see Chris standing outside it.

"Hey, Y/n, I wanna talk. I don't get what happened last night." He mutters softly, in an apologetic tone.

hey bitchessss, if you liked this comment and there may be a part two! ty for reading it!

@m0r94n s request!

taglist : @chrislilcumslvt @matthewsroses @pvssychicken @to-a-place-i-recall

[crowandmousewritingco]

We Liked Your Vibe

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader x Din Djarin

Words: 3.4 k

Rating: M (it's mostly smut folks)

Summary: Din promised Dieter to a threesome, and you have caught their attention.

Author: Mod Mouse (I know I'm not dead)

Note: Happy Holidays everyone! This is my gift to @guelyury for the secret santa exchange set up by @dieterbravobrainrotclub! Thank you @sp00kymulderrI for setting this up! I hope you enjoy your gift.

On another note, I hope to start getting back in the grove of writing. With the semester wrapped up and my life in general calming down, I hope to start posting fics again. I don't think it will be as often as I was (I can't believe I somehow put two fics a week out lol) But I'll figure out something that works. Anyways onto the smut!

“Oh what about that one?” Dieter asked excitedly, nodding in the direction of a goth looking person strolling up to the bar. 

Din glanced up from his whiskey, the melting ice giving a small tink against the glass. His gaze took in the figure, but he shook his head. “Not that one. Came in with a partner.” 

Dieter signed dramatically and slumped over the bar counter. Din slid his drink away to keep him from knocking it over. This wasn’t the first time tonight. “Diiiiiiiiin” Dieter whined. “That’s the third one you’ve said no to tonight.” 

“Yes but all you’ve shown me are couples. I said they had to be single,” Din replied raising his highball glass to his lips. 

Dieter stuck his tongue out at him before turning his head to survey the room. His dark eyes roamed the space once again. So many people with others. ‘Was no one single in the tristate area anymore?’ The thought crossed his mind and he sighed. Maybe it was just going to be him and Din tonight. 

That was until you saddled up to the bar, seemingly with the weight on the world on your shoulders. Dieter’s head poked up as you ordered a shot of tequila. You sprinkled some salt on the crook of your thumb as the bartender set the glass in front of you. Quickly you lapped the salt up with one hand and down the shot in the other, the sting of the alcohol barely affecting you. 

Without looking away, Dieter tugged on Din’s sleeve. “What about that one?” 

Din sighed, only getting slightly fed up with his husband. But when his eyes took you in, something stirred in him. You were very attractive to say the least despite not trying too hard. The favorite shirt that you choose, more for comfort than for attraction, stuck to you in all the right places leaving Din with a nice outline to admire. 

Din hummed which was the most approval he had given all night. Dieter smiled a big goofy grin and practically jumped from the barstool. Though he quickly straightened his outfit to make himself just a tad bit more presentable. Din followed soon and Dieter quickly grabbed his hand dragging the older man over. 

You hadn’t noticed them approach, your mind wiring a thousand thoughts a second. It was only when you heard someone say “Ya know we saw you from across the bar and we like your vibe.” You glanced up and blushed as you took in the odd couple. One man dressed in what you would call disaster chic and the other in a very monochromatic but well put together fit. 

You smirked. “You know this is a new one for me.” 

The messy haired one tilted his head. “Oh and how's that?” 

“Well you aren’t a middle aged straight couple who’s only way to save their marriage is to have a threesome,” You quipped. 

That got a laugh from the shorter man. “We’re about as opposite as that.” 

You raked your eyes over both of them smiling. “You can definitely say that.” 

“Oh where are my manners? Let me introduce ourselves. I’m Dieter and this is my tall, dark and very handsome husband Din.” 

Din held his hand to you and you graciously took it. The size difference from his hands against yours sent heat fluttering to your stomach. “It’s a pleasure to me you,” Din said, taking interest in your reaction. 

“Uh yes um ditto,” You stuttered, still taken aback. “Too bad I’m not dressed up.” You mumbled to yourself. 

Dieter chuckled. “It seems our friend here sees something she likes.” 

“Hmmm? Oh um yes” You blushed quickly taking your hand back. 

“So how about it? Want to see where else there's a size difference?” Dieter asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Your eyes darted back and forth between the pair, but you shrugged your shoulders. “I actually would love that.” 

Dieter’s eyes widened and he clapped his eyes excitedly. “Perfect.” He dramatically pointed to the exit. “Let us make haste and love!” He hurried towards the exit. 

You couldn’t help, but giggle at the man’s antics. You hopped off the stool throwing a few ones onto the counter. “Is he always like this?” You asked Din who offered his arm to you which you gladly accepted. 

“Always.” Din replied, and you followed the chaotic Dieter out the door. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dieter talked the whole way home to their apartment. It wasn’t so bad. You sat in the back with him as Din drove, and Dieter basically went over all of the kinks he had and what they both were comfortable with. It wasn’t what you were expecting considering your past experiences, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You laid out what you did and didn’t like to do which Dieter was very receptive too. After your check in, it wasn’t long until you were making out with Dieter, his hands roaming all of you and trying to pull you into his lap. You giggle as you carefully straddled his waist, bracing yourself on the door frame. 

A low purr emanated from Dieter as he nuzzled his face into your clothed breasts. You couldn’t help but giggled as he motorboated against the fabric. With your free hand, you tangled your fingers into his curly hair, giving his scalp a gentle scratch. Dieter squeezed your hips making you squeak from the surprise. He smirked and snaked his hands up your stomach, sighing at your soft skin. You watched as he pushed up your shirt, licking his lips at the sight of your bare tits staring him right in his face. 

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I see you weren’t interested in the support tonight.” 

You chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Nah, the girls needed to be free tonight.” 

With both of his hands, Dieter gently grasped your breasts in his hands rolling his thumb gently over your peaking nipples. You gasped, pushing your chest forward needing more stimulation from his fingers. Dipping his head, Dieter lapped at your nipples, the chill from his drink still evident on his tongue. You shivered as he lapped at your peaks, loving the contrasting warm and cold feelings. Dieter chuckled, pausing his motions and nuzzling his cheek into your chest. Playfully he bounced your tits saying, “Well I can be their support.” 

You giggled at his playfulness. “Unfortunately I can’t have you holding them 24/7.” 

Dieter pouted. “But I wanna.” 

You smooth his curls away from his forehead. “I’ll see what I can figure out.” 

That returned Dieter’s smile. With one hand still on your breasts, he sneaked his other down your stomach once more sliding them into your pants. You gasped softly as his fingers toyed with the lacey straps. Dieter smirked. “And you said you weren’t dressed up.” 

You blushed. “I wouldn’t consider underwear as dressing up.” 

“On the contrary, sweetheart. I am always an advocate of showing off the fanciest of underwear.” He purred his fingers rubbed against your clothed clit. Slow delicate circles send a pulses of pleasure through your body. Soft pants escaped your lips and you pressed your head into his shoulder. 

Dieter chuckled as he continued his motions, dragging his fingers all around your sensitive bits. His dark eyes caught Din’s in the rearview mirror and he smirked. “My love I believe your eyes stay on the road.” 

All Din gave as a response was a grunt, but Dieter could tell how worked up Din was. Dieter chuckled to himself as they pulled into their long driveway, the car gliding over the smooth concrete. Din turned the car off, quickly unbuttoning his seatbelt and opening the driver side door. It only took a second for him to open the backseat and carefully pull you off of Dieters lap holding you in his arms. 

You bit your lip as Din nuzzled his nose into your neck, his noticeable erection pressing into your stomach. “Oh and what was that about not paying attention?” Dieter teased, closing the car doors behind you. Din growled into your lips and Dieter rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the door” 

Din followed Dieter up the driveway, the footsteps of Dieter’s crocs guiding him into the house. You weren’t paying attention. All of your focus was the taste of whiskey against Din’s soft lips. Quick pants escaped your lips as the warm air of the house hit your skin. Din bit your lips sliding his tongue into your mouth. Gasping your fingers tangled in his hair giving them a firm tug. Din moaned, his cock twitching inside his pants. You chuckled and nuzzled your nose into his stubbled cheek. 

“Oh that’s such a nice sound.” Din blushed, dropping his gaze. You kissed his cheek leaning in close before saying, “I like hearing you moan.” That heard another twitch in his pants as he carried you into the bedroom. 

With your attention focused on other things, you could finally take in the space where Din had carried you. A giant bed lay against the wall with the soft silken covers adorning the top. Memorabilia from Dieter’s collection lined the wall while Din’s areas stayed relatively minimalist. You wondered how such an odd couple ended up together. 

But quickly your mind returned to the task at hand. As gently as handling an animal, Din set you in the middle of the bed. It only took a moment for him to crawl over you, encompassing you with his wide body. You bit your lips as your hands slid up his button shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. 

“Mmmmm what a lovely sight you two are,” Dieter commented as he sauntered to the edge of the bed. He made himself at home by the pillows as he watched the show. 

You blushed under the attention of the actor, but continued your focus on Din. Your fingers danced over the buttons, slowly opening them to reveal the skin underneath. The sight was utterly delicious and all you wanted to do was lick the saltiness as you made your way down. 

With a slow pull of your hands, you touched every inch of Din’s torso earning gasps from the older man. By the time you reached the tops of his jeans, he was panting, his full erection pressing against the material. Slowly you caressed his cock, feeling the magnitude against your hand. “Shit you are big.” You said, licking your lips. 

Just like his shirt, you undo the button, shifting the material down freeing his cock. It stood at attention with beads of precum already pooling on the head. With a finger, you traced the prominent vein up the shaft to the head where you gathered the precum against your finger. Curiously you brought it up to your lips, not breaking eye contact with Din as the saltiness coated itself over your tongue.

 You moaned at the taste and you could hear Dieter chuckling beside you. “He tastes better than any cocktail.” 

Humming in agreement you shifted yourself bringing your head closer to Din’s. But as you go to take his cock into his mouth, Din stops you with a gentle push on your shoulder. You look up, worried you did something wrong. 

“I want to treat you since you were so kind to agree to this,” Din voiced, a soft pink blush on his cheeks. 

You couldn’t help but blush in return. With these sorts of nights, you were lucky if the man ever went near your vagina with anything other than his cock. Din was such a considerate person that it was a shame this was only for one night. You nodded, returning back to your original position. With dexterous fingers Din pulled your pants along with the underwear off in one fluid motion. You shivered as the cool air hit your legs. Din stared at you with his dark brown eyes as he trailed slow kisses from your calf to your thighs until you could feel his breath against your wet lips. 

“I’m gonna devour you, little flower,” Din purred. 

Dieter rolled his eyes. “We all love your chivalrousness babe, but someone is also getting lonely. And I mean, she did want to blow someone.” Dieter commented and you couldn’t help but smirk. 

With a playful roll of your head, you opened your mouth ready for Dieter’s cock. Dieter smiled pulling down the waist of his well loved yet fashionable sweatpants, his own erection popping out. You lifted your hand giving Dieter a few pumps before kissing the head. His own salty taste mixed with Din’s was like a cocktail of lust in your mouth. 

That was when Din took the opportunity to take a long lick up your lips ending on a flick of his tongue on your clit. You gasped from the sudden pleasure, making you open your mouth. Dieter took the chance and slid the full length of his cock into your mouth. You gagged a little though taking no time to adjust to his size. 

Dieter leaned back his head against the headboard. “S-Shit we should have found you faster.” He slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue swirling around and up the shaft. “D-Din we gotta keep her.” 

Din hummed in agreement as he lapped at your clit. Sparks of pleasure tingled in your stomach, making you moan against Dieter’s cock. The full balls slapped against your throat as Dieter’s thrusts started becoming faster. Dieter cursed with each movement enjoying himself immensely. His gaze wandered down to watch Din as he continued to pleasure you like you were his last meal.

“Shit babe, leave some of that for me. She’s gonna need it when I cum inside her.” You moaned at the thought of his cock spilling his seed inside you. Dieter smirked his gaze meeting your eyes. “Is that something you want, doll?” He asked, his thumb tracing your cheek. You nodded the best you could, and Dieter slowly pulled out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connecting you two. 

“You heard the cutie. I think it’s time for the ol’ Johnson to shine,” Dieter exclaimed excitedly as Din shifted away from you. It was your time to roll your eyes at the other man’s antics. Dieter maneuvered around getting on his hands and knees in front of you. 

“You’re ridiculous,” You teased hands cupping Dieter’s cheeks and quickling kissing his lips. 

“Uh ya ridiculously horny,” He replied with a cheeky smirk. 

You threw your head back against the pillows, a loud laugh filling the room. “God you’re funny.” 

Dieter glanced over his shoulder at Din who had kneeled behind him. “See, someone thinks I’m funny.” 

“Just give it a few years,” Din teased back as he gently pulled a very fancy buttplug out of his husband. Dieter moaned at the lack of friction and you preoccupied him with your lips. He pushed for dominance against you, but you pushed back with just the same intensity. 

Din set the butt plug aside and squirted a dollop of lube onto his palm. Carefully he applied the generous amount onto his cock and Dieter’s hole. A soft gasp escaped Dieter’s lips as he shuttered against the chilly material. 

With a quick peck of the cheek, you said “Don’t worry. You’ll be warmed up in no time.” Dieter groaned at your words, his own cock twitching at the idea of being deep inside you. With a slow push, Din entered him a deep grumble vibrating his throat as he felt Dieter pulse around him. Dieter moaned, resting his head on your shoulder as he adjusted to his size. 

Gently you twirled his curls around your fingers, your nails massaging his scalp. It only took him a moment for him to be ready. Dieter gently pumped his own cock adjusting his hips to meet yours. He guided his cock up and down your slit, your arousal coating the head. You both moaned at the feeling. 

But Dieter grew impatient. With his hand he guided his cock to your hole, gathering up the wetness glistening between your legs. With an eager but still gentle push, he buried himself fully inside of you. The noise that escaped his lips was down right sinful as his legs shook from so much pleasure. Small pants flowed from your lips as you felt Dieter filling you to the brim with his cock. It twitched inside of you and you squeezed around it in response. 

“Fuck,” He whimpered nuzzling his nose into your neck, his warm breath ebbing against your skin.

Din took this as a sign to begin thrusting. It was slow at first, gauging how you were handling everything. In and out Dieter’s cock rubbed against the sensitive areas inside you, and you moaned. Fingers pulled at Dieter’s curls earning a new set of moans to the symphony of sex. 

Din grunted as he pulled his cock almost out of Dieter before plunging it back inside of him, sending Dieter deeper inside of you. The trio moaned as everyone was feeling on cloud nine. Din sped of up thrusts, the need for gentleness over. He draped his torso over Dieter’s back, leaning in to bite on the actor’s shoulder. 

Dieter twitched inside of you, and you smirked. “S-Shit I should bite you more,” 

Dieter moaned as Din’s thrusts became more erratic. It was clear that Din was close to cuming and by the way Dieter felt inside of you, he was close too. Your hand slid down your torso and your fingers began circling your clit, speeding up your motions as you felt the heat in your stomach began to grow and grow. 

With each circle you squeezed around Dieter, earning a moan each time. Your fingers pressed on a particularly sensitive bit and you moaned, sending your legs shaking. Dieter couldn’t hold on much longer. With a few more thrusts from Din, Dieter leaned his head back and came hard inside you. You could feel each bit of cum drenching your walls. 

You played with your clit as fast as you could, using your entire hand to gain the pleasure you need. Soon you joined Dieter in the realm of orgasm and came with the tensing of your legs. As you came down from your high, a series of grunts filled the room as Din filled Dieter with his own high. 

All three of you were left panting against the bed. Din was the first to pull out, and with a tilt of your head you could see the cum cascading down Dieter’s leg. Din gave Dieter’s ass a few taps before slowly getting off the bed to grab a towel from the bathroom. 

Almost reluctantly Dieter pulled out of you, his gaze drifting down to see his own seed dripping from you. “Fuck that’s such a pretty sight, doll.” Dieter moaned as he leaned down. You followed his gaze with curiosity. Dieter glanced up. “What? Think I would miss an opportunity to taste the both of us? Not a chance.” With a quick swipe of his tongue, he gathered you and his own arousal on his tongue savoring the saltiness. You gasped at the overstimulation and latched onto his curls for grounding. This only spurred him on, and soon he was devouring like he hadn’t eaten in days. Another orgasm ripped through you, surprising you with how quickly he made you cum. That made Dieter’s ego skyrocket, and he chuckled as he detached himself from you. 

“S-Shit…how?” You asked, panting, mind fuzzy from the pleasure. 

“I can’t give away all of my secrets,” Dieter winked before he settled beside you. His arms pulled you in for cuddles which you gladly appreciated. The warmth from his chest filled you with ease as you wound down from the activities. 

Din reappeared with the washcloth, and with effortless gentleness he cleaned the both of you. He tossed the material aside, dealing with it at a later time, before settling on the other side of you. You practically purred at the feeling of the two men sandwhiching you. 

Everything was quiet as you laid there. Din gently drew imaginary shapes on your skin, and Dieter twirled your hair in his fingers. “C-Can we do this again?” You asked hesitantly not wanting to break the magic of tonight. 

Dieter chuckled against your hair. “I was hoping you would ask that.” You smiled in return happy that your crappy night had turned into something you had a feeling would last a long time.

Credit: @inklore

All Works Taglist:

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Characters Taglist:

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

@jessthebaker

[and-claudia]

Little Sundress (Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader) SMUT!! DAY 1 of KINKTOBER

Set during First Class

Warnings: sundress kink, oral (f receiving), I think that is it, let me know if I missed one though!!

Wordcount: 1500+

Being in Charle’s childhood home was interesting, to say the least. He and I had very different upbringings, and seeing how massive this place truly was only seemed to prove that more. 

“And here is the kitchen.” He said, “I know it’s not anything crazy b-”

“I love it.” I said, cutting him off. 

He turned to me and smiled. 

“It’s charming. And honestly, anything is better than our tiny one back in Oxford.” I said with a laugh. 

“Well, I am glad you like it. And you do know, you don’t have to cook for all of us.” He said, stepping closer and placing his hands on my hips. 

“I know, but I want to. Plus, it will make me feel more helpful… my mutation isn’t the most useful in a fight.” I said, looking down. 

“That won’t be the case much longer, dear. That’s why we’re here to train and grow our abilities. I believe you’ll be able to copy any mutation of anyone at any time without touching them by the time we’re done.” He said, using his thumb and pointer finger to grab my chin and tilt it up to look at him. 

I smiled at him, “I hope so.” 

I didn’t actually say it to him out loud. Since he was touching my face, I was able to say it to him telepathically. 

Charles finished showing me around and ended in the room we’d be staying in. I took some time to unpack while he went off to do his own thing. Once all my clothes were unpacked I decided to take the chance to shower before I went down stairs to make dinner. We had been traveling all day so I felt a little gross and I knew a shower would feel amazing, especially since I would be getting the hot water before everyone else. 

When I got out, I decided to throw on one of my sun dresses. It was always so rainy in Oxford I hardly ever got a chance to wear them, so I intended to take full advantage of that. I threw on some simple kitten heels so that I wasn’t walking across the mansion barefoot. Then, I made a few adjustments to my outfit before heading out. 

On my way to the kitchen I passed a few Raven. 

“Why are you all dressed up? Are you and Charles going out or something?” She asked, slightly confused. 

“No, not tonight. I am actually just on my way to make everyone dinner. I just never really got to where these dresses often, so I figured I’d take advantage.” I said. 

“Make sure you make it to the kitchen before Charles sees you. He won’t be able to keep his hands to himself once he sees you, and I’d like to make sure we get fed tonight.” She teased, and I just laughed and rolled my eyes before continuing to the kitchen. 

Once I got there I set about getting everything I would need for dinner ready. I was just beginning to chop the vegetables when Erik, Charles and Hank all walked in. 

“Hello, boys,” I said, spinning around to greet them, causing the dress to flow out. 

Erik and Hank both said their own hellos, but Charles was too busy staring… I was starting to think Raven may have been right. 

“Dinner will be ready in probably half an hour.” I informed them. 

“Do you want some help?” Hank offered. 

I was about to tell him that he could help finish chopping while I got the chicken in the oven, but Charles cut me off before I could. 

“I got it, I can help her… you two go ahead and… yeah.” He said, clearly already a little flustered as he walked over to help me. Luckily, the other two men got the hint and left us alone in the kitchen. 

“Well, that was smooth, Charlie…” I teased. 

“What?”

“I got it, I can help her… you two go ahead and… yeah.” I mocked his voice as I repeated what he had just said. 

“Well, can you blame me?” He asked, turning to look me over, not even the slightest bit ashamed of the way his hungry eyes racked over my body. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, stepping past him to grab something from the fridge, but he caught my arm. 

“Oh, but you do. It doesn’t take a telepath to know that… but it is useful being one because now I know that you have nothing on under there.” He said, reaching for the hem of my dress but I smacked his hand away. 

“I gotta cook dinner.” I said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek but he turned his head and I kissed his lips instead which he immediately took advantage of that. His hands gripped my hips as he pulled me against him. 

“Mm, I’d rather start with dessert.” He said against my lips as he grinded his hips against me. 

“Charles, we can’t. Not here.” I said. 

“Who said? It’s my house, I should be able to fuck my girlfriend wherever I please…” In one swift motion, he turned us around so that my back was now to the table that sat in the middle of the room, “And right now, it would please me to fuck her right here.” 

Without our lips separating, he lifted me up onto the table as we continued to make out. His hands slid down to my knees, and he pulled them apart so he could stand between them. 

“What if someone walks in?” I asked, glancing over to the door. 

“Don’t worry about that, darling.” He said, subtly inching my dress up higher and higher. 

He finally broke away from the kiss and gave me a look before dropping down to kneel on one knee between my legs. 

“You should wear these more often, love.” He said as he began planting kisses along the inside of my thigh. 

He left a trail of kisses and a few love bites all the way up my inner thigh. Then, when he reached where I wanted his lips the most, he hesitated. I felt the cool air of him sighing so close, sending a chill up my spine. I was mentally preparing myself to feel his tongue delving into my cunt. So, when I felt his lips press to my other thigh and begin working their way back down it, I accidentally let a small whimper slip through my lips. 

“So impatient.” He mumbled, and I could feel his smirking against my skin. 

“No, you’re just a fucking tease.” I sighed. 

“Oh really? Maybe I should just let you get back to cooking then.” He said, going to stand up. 

I reached forward and caught his shoulder, pushing him back down, “Don’t you dare. You’re going to eat me out.” I said to him telepathically. 

“As you wish.” 

He dropped back down and went straight the my cunt. No time was wasted as he began fucking me with his mouth. His tongue was working wonders. I was trying so hard not to let anyone hear me. 

Suddenly, he pulled away and looked up at me. His lips were shining with a mix of my wetness and his own spit. 

“No, let them hear you, darling.” He said. His eyes were the darkest I had ever seen them. 

He didn’t even wait for me to respond before going back to lapping at my cunt. His nose was now also rubbing up against my clit, sending me soaring towards ecstasy. 

“Fuck, Charles, keep going.” I said, running my hands through his hair, pulling it lightly, which earned a grunt from him that I felt vibrate up through my cunt. 

I could feel that oh so familiar and welcom feeling of the coil tightening, knowing it would snap soon from the tension. Charles must have felt that I was getting close too because he began to speed up. 

“You taste so good, love.” He said to me telepathically, “Wish I could eat you out every day.” 

“Charles…” I moaned out loud, not caring that I could hear my moans echoing off the walls. 

“Go ahead, darling, come all over my tongue.” 

“Fuck!” I moaned as I came. 

Charles refused to let a single drop of my release go to waste as he lapped up every bit of it. Once he was done, he pulled back, chin wet with a mix of my release and his own spit. As he stood, he grabbed the rag from off the table and used it to wipe his chin, and only his chin, before he leaned over to kiss me, allowing me to taste myself on his lips. The kiss was so soft and gentle that I never wanted it to end. That was until I smelt something burning. 

I reluctantly pulled away and glanced around him. 

“Fuck, the chicken burned.” I said. 

Charles turned around and just turned the oven off. 

“Oh well, that gives me more time to fuck you… where shall we take it next? My new office, perhaps?” He asked. 

The thought did excite me, but what was everyone supposed to do for dinner now? 

“Change of plans. Go into town for dinner tonight.” Charles said to everyone in the house using his mind. 

“Problem solved.” He said before leaning in to give me another kiss, “So… my office?” He asked, raising his eyebrow at me. 

Kinktober taglist:

@comicbookslut

[ode2rin]

kaiser, before this sight in front of him, was certain he carried all the crazy in this relationship. 

looking at what you were doing right now, he realized he was apparently wrong.

“darling, what are you doing?” he questioned, his curiosity piqued.

“practicing my WAG cheer and clap,” you replied nonchalantly.

“your what?” 

“if you make me repeat it, you'll find your pillow on the couch tonight,” you warned, sparing him a glance.

so, this is serious business.

“alright, i heard you. but why are you trying to mimic them?” he inquired, referring to the women you were watching on tv, seemingly seated on the sidelines of an NBA game, clapping like they intended to make no sound by how close their hands were.

fed up with his questions, you darted towards him. in your hand, you held your phone, containing a photo taken during one of his recent games. it captured the moment he scored a goal, with you in the background, caught up in the fervor of the crowd, jumping and screaming with unbridled joy. 

kaiser never thought he had a favorite photo of you until this one. 

“look at that!” you exclaimed, thrusting the phone into his hands before returning to the couch where you were initially situated.

“i look like one of your crazy fans, bouncing and screaming like that! you could basically see the entirety of my mouth by my scream! and i look like i won a multi-million lottery jackpot!” you continued to rant.

“that’s because you're proud of your man, baby,” kaiser reassured you with an amused smile.

“but i want to look chic! nonchalant! while i’m at it! twitter people are calling this photo ‘crazy fan behavior,’ mihya!” you protested.

kaiser couldn't help but chuckle at your outburst. he found this whole WAG thing incredibly adorable of you. “come here, please?”

you slowly approached your boyfriend from the kitchen counter he was leaning on. now that you had calmed down, you finally noticed that he had just gotten out of the shower, wearing nothing but his sweatpants. his tattoo was on full display, captivating your eyes. 

cheeky bastard, as always.

once you were within arm's reach, kaiser wrapped his arms around your waist, turning you around to face away from him. he held you in a warm embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and down your shoulders as if he was inhaling your essence.

“you know i wouldn't have it any other way,” he mumbled against your skin.

“really?” you softly ask, the tension dissipating from your mind. your focus shifted to the warm body pressed against your back and the sensation of his large hands kneading your hips.

“definitely, baby,” he replied, his voice low and hoarse, while peppering your nape with soft, lingering kisses. his hands slid sensually along the curves of your waist, pulling you closer to him. “when i look at your seat after a goal, i always look forward to seeing you like this. it makes me feel as if i have the energy of a hundred men when you cheer for me. so, you don't need this, hmm?”

“okay…” you whispered, no longer concerned about your previous intentions. your senses were now fully occupied by your lover.

“besides," he continued, his tone slightly teasing, “you did win a multi-million jackpot when you had me.”

you sighed. of course, he needs to mention that. “you really know how to ruin a moment.”

“come on! i'm worth that much!” he retorted, his smirk audible in his voice.

you couldn't help but smile, his playful banter lifting your spirits. “yeah, still. eat the rich.”

“well, i wouldn't say no to that, darling.”

“oh my god! michael kaiser!”

“i’m just saying!”

your boyfriend really knows how to ruin a moment, but still, you wouldn't have him any other way.

WAG = wife and gfs of high-profile pro athletes (but this is gn!reader oki) and if you know the WAG cheer and clap, that means we have weird tiktok fyps, no i will not elaborate.

note. here, take my insanity. i did not know what made me write this man in FLUFF (sighs i don't know who i am anymore) but it needs to leave me alone. jk, just testing things out for my milestone event hehe <3 this is slightly suggestive, btw!

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: wowowowow im so so happy yall are liking this, i found a discrepancy already from previous chapters so pls don't think too hard about the time line bc honestly idk where we are even at either!!

ch 4

warnings: cussing, Logan is mean to Charles, blood mentioned, idk what else

previous -- next

~~~~~

The feeling of the blood sticking to your body made you feel dizzy. It had been so long since you had fed from a person, let alone Logan and you wanted more. You needed more. Frenzied was the only true way to describe how you felt. You needed to eat.

A hundred and fifty years of denying your primal instinct finally caught up to you. You had a taste for warm, orgasmic blood and you were willing to do anything you could to get more. 

You wandered the walls aimlessly, thankful for the final exams happening the next day. You stumbled around, pupils blown wide as you frantically searched for your next meal. Anything with a beating heart would do, you just needed that sweet, metallic liquid. 

Where are you going y/n? You turned your head, the voice startling you. Come to my room.

Desperately you chased the soundless voice. You chased it, listening to the beating hearts of the children sleeping peacefully in the dormitories. Finally you reached him, Charles.

You entered the room and paused, suddenly aware of your appearance and mental state. 

“Oh my god. I’m-”

“Enough y/n. Sit.” He mentioned to the end of his bed. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you”

You listened to his instruction, shakily sitting and playing with your hands. 

“There you go. You are very loud tonight, drowning out the sounds of everyone else. I can now see why.” You stared at him silently, bringing your hand up to wipe your mouth of the dried blood. “Have you thought about my offer? Are you willing to go?”

“I think I have to go” You told him, thinking about Logan. 

“Are you sure? You know where you’ll end up don’t you?” You stared at him and nodded.

“If I don’t, this will happen again. I’ll drain him dry.”

“I understand why you feel shame. What happened to those girls were not your fault. You are not a monster.”

“We both know that's a lie, Charles.”

“Then avenge them” You let the words sink into your soul. This would be the only way you could truly live with yourself. “Kill the man who did this to you. Alex doesn’t know. Just us.”

Charles wasn’t comfortable with the death of mutants. You knew that all too well. Killing this man would give him piece of mind. Using your hands to do it would give him deniability if anything were to go wrong. 

You understood what this meant to him. But to you this was closure. You will kill the man who tortured you. 

---

The next morning you sat in  the passenger seats of the blackbird and watched as the ground grow smaller. Alex was controlling the jet for the most part, occasionally asking you to flip a lever or press a button. He didn’t talk much the flight over, noticing how you were in a completely different headspace than him. 

The flight was relatively quick considering the distance traveled, you’d have to remember Hank for upgrading the jet’s engines. As Alex landed the jet in the private airfield owned by the Xavier family estate, you stared out the window recalling the last time you were in London. 1913, right before the first world war. By then, Logan was taken by the scientists for the weapon x project. It was just you wandering the streets, searching for any trace of him. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You snapped your head to Alex. “You’re lucky you’re hot” You frowned at his response. “I said that the hotel is just a fifteen minute walk from here. I already put the jet in conceal mode, so are you ready or are we gonna stare at that tree for like thirty more minutes?”

“You don’t have to be such an ass about it.” You told him, unbuckling your seatbelt and joining him off the jet. 

“I just like to tease you okay? Lets get going” He said, holding out his hand to you. Raising your eyebrow at the gesture, he sighed. “We are supposed to be a couple on their honeymoon. Did Charles tell you anything?”

You grabbed his hand but it felt wrong. It wasn’t as warm as Logan’s or big. Alex was soft and comforting, but not in the way you found Logan’s hand. You weren’t sure why this feeling was creeping into your heart, but maybe it was because this was the first time someone other than Logan touched you like this, ever. 

Chalking it up to the fake intimacy of it all, you put on a brave face and walked in step with him, heading to the hotel.

---

“You better speak up you wheelchair fuck. Where the hell did. you. send. Her?” Logan was stuck in his own frenzy now. Angry at you for up and leaving. Angry at Alex for being a dick head flirt. Angry at the bald man in front of him for not explaining a thing.

“Logan, calm down. y/n is safe with Alex. They are just doing recon on a uprising mutant cult in London.”

“You should’ve sent me, not her” He growled. 

“Why do you care so much Logan?” Charles wheeled closer to Logan, not afraid of what he was capable of. 

“I don’t care!” Even Logan couldn’t believe himself. It was pathetic really. Denying himself the pleasure of her love, but indulging in every intimate interaction they had. He had been in love with her for so long, but something was holding him back. 

Maybe it was the fear of not having his feelings returned. Or maybe even the fear of loosing his oldest companion, the one person who had never judged him. 

“London. She is at 578 Trekshile road, the hotel. Room 327.” Charles told Logan, hearing his inner dialogue. “I have tasked her with killing Morgue.” 

His eyes snapped to the Professor. “What?”

“Go to her if you must.” With that, Charles left the room. Logan was stunned. Morgue was the cruelest person he had ever encountered. You had spent years with him until you had found Logan after the weapon x program ended. From your stories, Logan should’ve killed him years ago. 

All he had to do now was find a way to London. Luckily for him, the silhouette of a blue, devil tailed boy had walked passed the door.

“Kurt, come here I need a favor”

~~~~

Tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: kurt my baby <3, also Morgue is my oc, based on Morgz 💀(only in name)

[callalillywrites]

A Stuck Zipper

This story is actually a longer, spin-off version of an older post response. It was meant to be a Christmas/Wintery story, but I missed that mark a little bit. It's okay though because I had a lot of fun writing this. I'm sure I can come up with something for Steve (and a couple others before the end of the year). I do hope you enjoy this story as much as I did writing it.

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader

Word Count: ~2100

Summary: It's the night of the biggest party of the year. You've been working alongside Pepper and Nat to ensure this party goes well. What you don't count on is a stuck zipper. At least, you're married to a man with a plan who's never failed to let you down.

Warnings: mostly fluff

A/N: This is my first fic since melting down last month, so please be kind to me as I try to get back into the swing of things again. I do hope this is the first of many more stories to come along with some older ones to join its ranks once more as well.

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

“It’s stuck.”

You tried to turn around at Nat’s words, but she stopped you before you could wrench the tiny zipper from her hands.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t heard the smallest shreds as the zipper caught the delicate fabric and refused to let go. It’s just that this couldn’t be the thing that went wrong tonight. Of all your planning with Nat and Pepper to make this event the talk of the year, you couldn’t afford to be brought low because of a measly zipper on one of the most expensive gowns you’ve ever owned.

“How bad is it?” you asked though you couldn’t be sure you wanted to know.

Nat didn’t immediately answer, which was answer enough.

“Can we pin it or something?”

A glance at Nat’s pinched features in the mirror sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

The party would start any minute. Not only would your dress keep you from your duties, you would miss out on seeing the one person you’ve been wanting to see the past few weeks. Oh, you’d missed him something fierce while he’d been away, and now you couldn’t be certain you’d have the reunion you wanted with him.

This was supposed to be one of your biggest nights, too.

How were you going to explain your absence? How could you leave Nat and Pepper to fend for themselves? Then again, how were you supposed to help if your dress’s darn zipper was stuck halfway up your back.

In your current self-pitying state, you almost missed the way Nat’s face smoothed. Her hand had gone to the small ear comm she wore, holding it as she listened to Pepper on the other end.

You had one, too, but you’d taken it out after it started bugging you. The intention had been to replace it after you’d gotten dressed and had no more time for yourself before the party started. That had fallen by the wayside when your dress had pulled its dirty trick and kept you standing in front of your mirror debating your options.

Whatever Pepper told Nat soon tugged her signature smirk over her features, replacing her previous frown.

“Pepper is sending us reinforcements,” she said after a moment, her hand dropping from the comm.

The smirk remained as the two of you waited for whoever Pepper had sent to save the day.

Within minutes, said savior arrived.

You couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past your lips as you took in the only man that’s held your attention and your heart for so many years.

His new suit fit him to perfection, but then, you had no doubt it would after sending his measurements to the best tailor New York City had to offer. The dark navy made his blue eyes pop while the silver vest beneath his jacket brought out the sparkle you so adored whenever he glanced at you.

“Hello, sweetheart,” his deep voice echoed softly through the room. “I heard you could use my expertise.”

Nat, not at all offended at being ignored, deepened her smirk as she moved toward the open doorway. It didn’t seem to matter how much your man filled it, blocking her. Having fought at his side longer than you have, it didn’t take much for her to slip past him. Then again, that could be her spy training more than her comfort at being one of his Avenger coworkers.

As if her disappearance gave him further permission, he stepped into the room, quickly closing the distance. He didn’t stop until only a mere foot separated you. His slacks brushed the outer layers of your dress’s full skirt.

“You look ravishing, sweetheart,” he murmured, his gaze missing nothing of the silver dress you wore with the navy lace creating intricate snowflake patterns.

Putting up a hand to keep him at bay, you raised a brow. “And you, Mr. Rogers, have been hanging out with Sam and Bucky too much if you’re using ‘ravishing’ as a word to compliment me. You’re going to behave until after this party is over. Do we understand each other?”

“You are married to Captain America, sweetheart. I’m the very beacon of honor and virtue.” He held up his hand as though he were a Boy Scout though his gaze continued to twinkle. His lips twitched with the amusement he wasn’t trying too hard to conceal.

You simply shook your head. “No, I married Steven Grant Rogers. You’re the epitome of a punk from Brooklyn just as your best friend has always claimed. Never back down from a fight even when you should and have a mouth that could make a sailor blush on a good day.”

“Is that so?”

It was his turn to raise his brows though his amusement remained.

Knowing what he wanted to hear next, you sent him a softer smile, indulging him. After all, you two have done this little dance since not long after the two of you fell in love. Reaching out, you rested your hand over the small pocket of his suit jacket. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, relaxing you as it always did.

Even as you nodded in affirmation, you added, “Yet, you’re also the man with a heart of pure gold and always help your friends and family whenever they need you. I didn’t marry the perfect soldier the U.S. Army wanted, but the good man you are and will always be. My life has been better for knowing you, and I fall more in love with you every day.”

His amusement melted into such warmth and affection that you knew he’d behave for at least a little while.

“What do you need, Mrs. Rogers?”

Pressing the softest kiss you could to his lips and not mess up your pristine makeup, you flashed him a grin before turning around to show him your dilemma.

“It’s stuck. I can’t see the problem, and Nat’s face told me pinning wouldn’t work.”

Steve’s warm fingers brushed against your skin as he inspected the ornery zipper. He tugged gently, but the stubborn slider refused to budge. Another tiny rip of the delicate fabric reached your ears a moment before Steve raised apologetic eyes to yours in the mirror in front of you.

“Nat’s probably right, sweetheart, but…”

His brows knitted together as he continued to stare at your current predicament.

After several seconds, his brows smoothed and his gaze met yours once more. Inspiration had hit him in a way that never fails to take your breath away. Always the man with a plan, he didn’t hesitate in coming up with some unique solutions to even the most basic of problems.

“You still have your emergency sewing kit in your purse?”

You nodded.

He stepped away and picked up your purse. His gaze met yours for permission before he opened up the main flap. Always the gentleman. His hand felt around the few contents until it encountered the little tin he sought. The same little tin you inherited from your grandmother after she passed a few years ago. You never failed to update the kit with threads for whatever outfit you and Steve wore that day from your rather vast collection of sewing threads.

As he held up the little tin with a small triumphant grin, you thanked whatever gods were listening that you’d remembered to update it that morning with what you’d need for your evening attire as well.

“Stay perfectly still for me, sweetheart,” he murmured after threading the needle with the necessary thread and stepped behind you again.

You did as he asked. It took everything in you not to peek over your shoulder to see exactly what he was doing. Instead, you had to settle with feeling his fingers brush against you now and then, sending delicious shivers down your spine even as he worked diligently at your dress.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than five minutes, he tied off the thread and snapped the extra with little effort. Turning you so your back faced the mirror, he nodded towards his work. “What do you think?”

It took a bit to get the right angle and see what he’d done.

When you did, you couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past your lips. The stuck zipper remained in place, but the rest of your dress had been perfectly and almost seamlessly stitched closed. Only some nosy person would notice the zipper wasn’t all the way up with the way Steve had stitched your dress closed. You could barely make out the stitches he placed.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you blurted, “Where did you learn to sew? How did I not know this about you after all these years?”

Steve’s cheeks flushed at the awe in your voice.

“We didn’t have a lot of clothing options back then as there are today. My ma worked hard to provide me with what she could. I used to watch her doctor clothes for my smaller frame whenever she could afford to get me something new.”

His gaze took on a wistful expression as he remembered his old life and his mother.

You turned so you could rest your hands on his chest, offering him what comfort you could. He didn’t talk about his past as often as you thought he should, but you never pushed him, either. Not wanting to miss out on this new opportunity, you remained quiet.

A small grin spread across his features as he indeed continued.

“Well, I wasn’t one to take precautions with my clothes, either. Most of us boys didn’t. I probably should’ve for my ma’s sake, but I always got myself into one scuffle or another as you’re aware. Most often, I’d end up with a rip in either my shirt or pants. Sometimes, both. Not wanting to upset my ma, I used the little bit of knowledge I’d gained by watching her to start mending my clothes myself. It was better than asking her to do more for me when she was already doing so much.”

His grin softened as more memories seemed to surface.

“My first attempts were awful, but then, boys didn’t typically do what they considered girl chores back then. I got better over time. I even helped Bucky out a time or two when he needed it. Some way, I guess, to repay him for always looking out for me, too. It was better than the tongue lashing he would’ve gotten from his own ma for getting me out yet another bind.”

Unable to resist the desire, you rose up and pressed another soft kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” he asked though his eyes glowed with warmth and a mirrored desire.

You brought one of your hands up to cup his cheek as you whispered, “Just because you’re you.”

As you moved to lower yourself, Steve followed you until he leaned into your space and took a swift but no less chaste kiss for himself.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Rogers.”

The two of you gathered up the rest of your items for the evening, including the masks you had made to match your outfits.

After all, the party was a masquerade. Tony had declared it so when he announced wanting to throw a holiday party for the Avengers and other important guests. At least, he left you, Pepper, and Nat to work out all the other details to make this night a spectacular one. It would certainly be one to remember after all your hard work and theirs.

As the two of you walked towards the elevators, a thought struck you.

Turning your head to look at your husband, you asked low enough so any others wouldn’t overhear, “How exactly am I getting out of this dress later?”

The smirk you’ve come to know and love appeared on Steve’s face. He helped you onto the elevator as the doors opened. His arm came around you as he held you close to his side. Only as the doors were closing did he bend down to whisper, “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’ve got a plan that will not only get you out of that dress but will satisfy us both before the sun comes up tomorrow.”

His lips skimmed along your neck until he reached the spot where it met your shoulder. A slight stinging nip of his teeth sent a tingling shiver down your spine. The promise clear in his action as his hand tightened at your waist.

The party, while an amazing success of your hard work, paled in comparison to the hours after where Steve lived up to his sensual promise in the elevator. It would be a night you wouldn’t soon forget.

[outsidersstuff16]

Darry Curtis Smut

tw. Fem Reader, Oral, face fucking, vaginal penetration, no protection, loss of virginity, and Darry being low-key rough as fuck.

Plot line: In which! Darry and you had been going strong for six months, you had been very nervous about loosing your virginity but Darry shows you it'll be ok!

It was a typical Friday night at the Curtis house, you had been here before. You had a beer in hand that you weren't drinking cause you didn't do alcohol. All the boys wanted to go to a movie, leaving you alone with Darry. Darry had walked over to you with a VERY noticable bulge in his jeans.

"hey.." you said quietly, bouncing your leg nervously awaiting a reply from him.

"Hey, so uh.. I was thinking since nobody's home we could.." he trailed off hintingly

"well uhm.. I really.. I don't think I could I'd love to but.. I'm a virgin.. I heard it hurts the first time.." you said quietly, you truly were nervous..

"oh... Well.. I'll make it feel good, I swear.. I'll try to be gentle, yeah..?" He said, which convincing enough

"ok.." you said quietly, you stood up and he took you quietly to his room, after the both of you guys entered he closed the door behind him, he pushed you up against the ground and started to roughly kiss you. You put one hand on his upper arm and the other on his shoulder as he he hoisted you up.

"I've got you, just be a good girl, yeah..?" He asked quietly, he tossed you onto the bed effortlessly and started to strip you to your pink lacy bra and panties. He took one of your breasts out of the cup of your bra and cupped it, he left one last kiss on your lips before moving down your neck to your chest to your left nipple. He attached his lips roughly to your nipple, rolling it gently between his teeth and putting his full body weight on you as he laid himself down one you. He grabbed greedily at your right breast, he detached his lips from you nipple and started leaving hickies and bite marks on you chest, he started toying with your right nipple. "God, your such a good sweet girl.. I can't wait to see my cock shoved into you right pussy, baby.. you blood running down to my balls and base as I fuck into you. I'll fuck you so hard I've imprinted my cock into you, I'll fuck your cervix, I'll make your entire pussy be bruised." he said before he sucked and rolled your nipple between his teeth just like he did with your left one. When he was done had had you get on the floor on the side of the bed, he took off his pants, underwear, and shirt. "Suck it, baby.." he said sternly. You wrap your pretty lips around his big cock and he just decides to use you as his personal flesh light. He guided you head roughly, face fucking you. You let tears roll down your cheeks as you choked and gagged on his cock, you put a hand on his thigh as he force fed you his cock. "Ahh yeah, fuck baby.. takin this cock in your mouth so good.." he said almost like a demand when he finished, he put you in doggy style before kissing your shoulder and pushing himself in, you cried out in pain as he broke through your resisting hymen, your tight needy virgin pussy bled on him, he thrusted slowly.

"Darry.. 'm sorry I bled on your bed sheets.. I really am..." you whined softly, he leaned down and kissed your shoulder roughly.

"It's fine.." he murmured into your ear. He started to move, slowly and gently, his veins making themselves with each drag of his hips.

"ah.. Darry... please.." you begged softly, you buried your face into his pillow as he spent up his pace. He started thrusting hard, getting drunk on your tight sloppy pussy. He snuck a hand to your perfect tit and groped it and pinched the nipple. You arched your back more, allowing him more access.

"Fuck!.." he groaned out, fucking his cock into you, imprinting the soft walls of your cute cunt as he violated it sweetly. "Best pussy out there I swear... Fuck.. ah yeah.. an this ass of yours.. your luck I don't try fucking it tonight.." he said almost like a threat. You finished first, cumming all over his cock. He had shot his sperm into your cunt and smacked your ass gently, you thought you guys were done but nope. He put you in missionary and thrusted gently at first but the more his pleasure built, the hard he went, he put you in mating press and started slamming his fat cock in you. "Fuck you can't get enough of my cock huh? That's just fine considering I can't get enough of this pussy, God must have kissed this pussy, it's so good... So breedable. God, I could just knock you up right now.." he murmured quietly, finishing again. You guys were done and he laid on top of you burying his face in your chest. "I love you baby.." he murmur quietly, falling asleep, quickly after you fell asleep too.

The End

@lizzy019 you inspire me sm Ilyyy wifeyyy

[glacierclear]

ISN'T BITE ALSO TOUCH?

fuckboy!leon x gn!reader (maybe a few gendered terms oops)

content: hurt/no comfort, angst, arguments, passive aggression, mentions of drugs/alcohol

Your best friend is a fuckboy. He ditches you at a party. You argue. Maybe they were right about him.

[ao3 link]

They all tried to tell you. Every single one of them.

He’s bad news, don’t bother. You would scoff.

He’s nothing but a walking penis. He doesn’t care about anything. And you’d roll your eyes.

Every red flag. Every warning sign. Every flashing light. You refused to heed any of them. And you tilled, and you sowed, and you fed. And now? You were reaping.

“I don’t get what the big deal is. You’re a big kid. You don’t need a damn babysitter.” His hands remained clenched, balled up and shoved into the pouch of his hoodie. His posture was lax. Noncommittal. He stared into a wall, his expression detached and unreachable.

“When you called me up tonight to drag me to some stupid frat party, I at least expected you to like, stay with me,” you countered. “We weren’t even there for an hour before you up and ditched me. Streaking across campus like a moron.” The base of your neck throbbed, the fledgling burn of an oncoming migraine. Your clothes still reeked of burnt weed and the cloyingly pungent whiff of cotton candy vape smoke.

“You should be fucking grateful. Wouldn’t have gotten into that party without me. Shit was the best thrasher of the month.” He lifted his head, scorching you with that know-it-all smirk. It huffed the coals of your stomach. You felt like puking.

“I didn’t…oh my god, Leon. I didn’t go for the party. I thought you…I don’t know. I thought you actually wanted to hang out. Have a good night.”

Your fingers burrowed their way through the folds of your sheets and you stayed perched at the edge of your bed. Leon hovered at your doorway, barely present in the space of your dorm, his contour fuzzed with casting light.

He didn’t say anything. Your eyes pulsed and stung. “Look. I’m not mad, I just–”

“You should be.”

“What?”

It’s then that he finally dared to meet your eyes. Blue hues swallowed whole by the pitch of his pupils, seeking you past tendrils of mussed, blonde hair.

“You should be mad. Why aren’t you? Cuz’, you’re right. I fucking ditched you. Like a moron.” He flung the word back with acid and you winced away. “God forbid I have some fun, right? Forgot you’re too much of a buzzkill to actually have fun at a party.”

There’s a throttling impulse to scream at him. Tell him off for being unreasonable and kick his ass to the curb like last week’s trash. But you’ve danced to this song before. The repeating pattern and pervasive enigma of Leon’s refusal to invest himself; emotionally, or otherwise.

So, you sucked in a steadying breath, filled your lungs with patience, and spoke softly.

“It’s not just about the party,” you began, and passively, you noticed him shift. “I mean…streaking? You realize that if you got caught doing that…you wouldn’t have a scholarship anymore. Hell, maybe you’d be expelled.”

The realization settled on him like a poison and you caught his face darken. As much as he denied and disguised, Leon was a smart man. Excellent standing in his classes and a whopping GPA to match the third leg he swung in his pants. It meant a lot to him.

There’s a gap of silence before he opened his mouth again.

“...well, I wasn’t caught. And it was my choice. I don’t need you nagging me like a fucking mom, alright?” His body shrunk in on itself. Caging his softer parts from the reality he narrowly avoided. On a better day, perhaps you’d chase him. Push and fight for a break in his shell, a crevice that gave way to the man you knew he was capable of being. But, God, your head was shattering. Your nausea was worsening. You weren’t making progress.

“Right, well, sorry for caring, Leon,” you relented, turning away from him to click your phone into its charger. “I’m going to bed. Don’t bother inviting me to any more parties.”

Your gaze left him, you weren’t fully aware of his body, but in the fleeting moments following your surrender he’s on you. Lurking above you like the baleful firmament of a roaring summer storm. You hardly had the time to open your mouth before he’s speaking. No, he’s growling. Revving the engine of his fury.

“...so that’s it? You’re not putting up with me anymore?” It could be the headache talking, but you swore you heard a tremble in his voice.

“Huh? The fuck are you–”

“We’re not friends anymore. That’s what you’re doing, right?” You searched the raging sea of his eyes for a raft. But all you did was drown. “I fucked up one too many times and now I’m just another shitty dude you had to put up with.” You watched the chipped black of his nails dig into his arms, tensed up limbs shielding him from what he’s most afraid you’ll confirm.

“Leon, that’s not…we’re still friends, okay? I just don’t want to go to parties like that anymore. Just give me a few days to cool off and we can…I dunno, we’ll hit up that burger joint you love.” It’s a pretty weak bargain, but maybe he’d bite.

And he did bite. He bit and he tore and he sought out blood.

“You’ve always had shitty taste in guys.” He practically spat at you, a scornful wrinkle deepening in the bridge of his nose. “Fucking stand up for yourself. You always let people walk all over you and act surprised when they turn out to be shitheads.”

He leaned in. You smelled him. Overpriced cologne. Underpriced shampoo. Crappy beer he drank even though he hated the taste. Despite it all, you yearned to hug him.

“Leon, I–”

“...and you know what? I don’t fucking need you. I don’t need your little dates. Your pity sex. I don’t need you looking out for my damn scholarships and I especially don’t need you making me look bad when I’m trying to let loose at the party I’ve been looking forward to all goddamn month.” You wanted him to stop. You wanted to bridge the chasm and devour his violence. If only he’d let you. But all he did was bite harder. “I won’t bother inviting you out anymore. Actually, I won’t bother talking to you at all. Have fun with your fucking life, I’m done being your fucking charity. Goodni–”

At the edge of his precipice, the void he dug for solace, Leon plummets. He straightened his spine, eyes widening and jaw hanging lifelessly. You were crying. Tears bursting without prejudice. Staining your face in vulnerability you so often only used to comfort him.

He went too far. And now, you were crying.

Neither of you moved for an eternity. From the hallway of your dorm, you hear the thundering trots of drunken friends laughing and yelling. The noise swelled and faded. The only evidence of a world beyond your room.

He called your name. His voice was so much quieter, held together with twine and stinging regret. You lifted your eyes and your throat barely allowed your words to pass.

“...Great job, Leon. Now I’m mad.” In an act of self-preservation, you tore your gaze away, burning a stare into the ground below his shoes. They’re blotched with dirt and chlorophyll, still damp from his midnight misdemeanor. “I won’t bother you anymore. If you hate me that much, I…I’ll leave you alone.”

His arms unfolded, one hand reaching out, a fragmented attempt to soothe you. But it was too late.

He repeated your name.

“I didn’t…fuck, I shouldn’t have said…hey–”

“Go home, Leon.” Your voice was unwavering, and he flinched back, your ire the open flame he’s too human to touch.

And then he left. Your dorm vibrated with the slam of the door, and you buried your face in your hands. In the place of his feet, soil stained your carpet. In the place of his warmth, sandalwood smoldered the air.

In the place of your love, all you wanted was to die.

[pursuitseternal]

“Bites in the Night: Part 4” returns hotter bloodier than ever: a series of nsfw Astarion x Reader on the road

“Let me have that sweet ambrosia, my love…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 2.7K of Period sex 🩸

Summary: Remaining behind to loot your enemy, the moon is full. Your belly aches. He smells it instantly, the feast between your legs, and he just has to do something about it, for his sake and for yours.

CW: (tasteful) period sex, a ravenous vampire rogue, very attentive care and comfort, blood kink, NSFW, a bloody feeding frenzy for Astarion

A/N: Ambrosia: Ancient Greek for menstrual blood and the perfect Vampire meal😈🩸

Read here if you prefer AO3

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Night is falling, and you are nowhere near the rendezvous point. Your back, your ass, and everything in between is killing you. Astarion had to insist on looting that enemy camp. He left no chest unopened, no stone unturned. You sniff in mild irritation. Fucking rogue.

Your horse begins to slow, another thing he insisted on keeping as spoils. Two beautiful mounts to hurry back on your journey. The rest of your party is half a day ahead, but you should have been there by now.

You turn in your saddle, eyeing the packs of loot on the rump of your brown mare, and the equal amount on that beautiful black stallion your vampire rogue rides on behind you. His eyes meet yours, his mouth twisting in that irritating smirk that drips with sex. “It is quite the view, you know, watching your ass shift and bounce with every step…” his voice is loud, sultry and daring.

When it’s just you two, he hides nothing. Every little dirty thought or suggestion, he proudly voices. In fact, it’s why you’re running late. Your roguish lover insisted on replenishing his strength after the fight almost the instant you two were alone. He fed well, not to mention you just had to help each other burn off your blood running hot after battle. Nothing a quick rut in the forest didn’t fix.

But now you paid for it, your belly aches from

How deep he had taken you, the folds of your cunt swollen and sore from roughly fucking in the dirt.

You tut your tongue at him before turning back around in your seat and urging your horse forward. Faster.

But now your belly burns. Looking into the sky through the trees, you begin to see the world growing dim, bathing in the light of a full moon. That’s when you swallow.

Oh.

It isn’t just from being fucked hard after battle that your belly is sore. You look down at the tan of your saddle, your suede breeches. And sure enough, they darken.

Blood.

You groan.

And of course, Astarion knows. He urges his horse alongside yours now, brows furrowed. “I smell blood, darling, yours no less…”

You reign in your mount. This little clearing among the pines will have to do. “It’s nothing,” you shrug. You pull your cloak over your shoulder, hiding your lap from his crimson prying eyes. “You see to the tent, I’ll tend the horses. We can camp here for tonight.” You’ve decided.

“Wouldn’t it be faster if we simply ride….” he begins to argue, but the way your face screws in hot irritation makes his mouth snap shut. He arches a single brow, but he mumbles his acceptance. He slides from his horse, beginning to unlatch the bedrolls and packs from his stallion. He eyes you suspiciously when he thinks you’re not looking, but you are taking your sweet time, waiting for him to leave before you slide off your saddle. Knowing it’ll reveal the mess you have made.

At last he carries armfuls of equipment away. But you know you don’t have long. You dismount rapidly, grabbing a rag and some saddle soap, trying to work the stain from the leather.

You hurry, but you’re not fast enough. His hand comes to rest on yours, pinning you mid-swipe with the rag in hand. You watch him lean towards the leather, his nostrils flaring and his eyes observing the spots of red on the cloth. He cocks his head, a single finger slinking to lift your cloak ever so slightly. Just enough to show the stains that darken the tan of your breeches.

“You smell of blood, of ambrosia, my darling,” he purrs. Fingers now claw around that edge of your cape, holding you fast in place.

“It’s just the moon,” you grimace, trying to pull away. “Just my monthly bleeding. Nothing so delectable.”

You ache, eyeing the tent he has pitched with ridiculous speed.

But his hand only grips tighter and pulls you harder. “Darling,” he breathes, heavier than before, and you look into his eyes, they catch with the moonlight and glow their deep crimson. You watch his chest heaving, slowly but noticeable. “What am I?”

“You…” you scan him. Every muscle in his body is taught and ready to spring. Pupils dilated. Cock already bulging from his trousers. “You’re aroused?”

“Darling, what… am… I?” now he growls, his finger pointing to the two scars in his own ivory neck.

“Vampire,” you exhale, never feeling more like you are trembling before a blood-sucking monster than now.

“And what are you?” he pushes, raising the stained cloth, covered in your courses and in saddle soap to his nose. Watching him breathe deeply, fairly drooling as his eyes open again.

“Bleeding…” you reply to a look of deep approval from your lover.

“A perfect combination, I would say,” he croons as he tosses the rag at your feet. “Now, you get yourself in our tent, you rest for the slightest moment while I tend to our horses. And then you’ll find yourself in the arms of so much attentive caring, you will beg me never to stop until I’ve had my fill of your ambrosia, darling.”

You shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from his sweet and dirty words or the fact your body is in such turmoil. Slogging your way, you manage to get into the tent, dropping your cloak and immediately reaching to unfurl the blankets and bedrolls, tossing them all over the ground. Your belly aches and your breeches stick uncomfortably. You need them off. The pressure, the stick.

Shimmying them from your waist, you keep your back to the entrance, because somehow you know he’s standing there. Watching and waiting. Maybe it’s the heavy breathing that you notice first. But you finally step out of the soiled pants, turning in nothing but your shirt to come face to face with Astarion. Your hungry vampire. The very picture of famish and yearning.

He licks his lips, eyes almost black, dilated so wide as he looks at you. His lips pull back, fangs bared, the beast barely restrained.

He crosses to you in a split second, faster than lighting, lest you forget he has already feasted on you once today. His mouth ravages yours, suffocating and consuming. As if he feeds on your air, not your blood. Fingers tangle into your hair, angling your mouth perfectly for his tongue to delve into its warm depths. His other hand grips at your back, pressing you flush against him, the hard, cool plane of his body giving you some reprieve. His touch is hard. Commanding. His hips give a little thrust where you ache. Your vision blurs, but not in pain. No, it feels… good. So good. Pushing and thrusting where your body feels like it’s tearing itself apart.

He doesn’t speak, his heavy breathing deafens you, the little growls he makes into your mouth make you somehow feel even wetter between your legs. “On the ground, darling,” he finally rasps into your kiss. One hand grips into your shirt, pulling it off you so swiftly, your skin becomes gooseflesh with it gone.

Astarion moves your body down, letting you spread yourself over his hips, sprawling himself across the haphazard bundles of blankets. He hushes you softly, “Shhh, my love. Now, you just close your eyes, and I’ll tend to everything. Every little drop of your delicious blood will be mine… if you wish?”

You nod; “Yes,” you breathe.

Large, cold hands grip into your ass, urging you forward from where you straddle him. His tongue is already licking his lips. Splaying your hands on the ground, you let him move you, your drenched cunt a banquet he will savor. You feel him as he licks you so rapidly. Wet everywhere as he centers you over his hungry mouth. Then, he really, truly feasts.

You cant your hips, both hands splayed on the ground as his grip keeps you pinned over his greedy mouth. Your arms shake, your body growing more and more rigid, taught and building and ready to burst.

He gives a light slap on your cheek, making you twitch as his tongue dives right into the center of your channel. Palms cupping you, his tongue slows its lick, languorous now, exploring more than cleaning. Attentive, exquisite pressure catching and swirling in all the right places. His hold on your rear eases, letting you swivel and buck as he licks you, your belly aching in more familiar ways. The clenching of your muscles, the throbbing in your core wants more than just to be cleaned and fed upon.

You clamber off of him, the sight of blood on his chin not unfamiliar, but that greedy, irascible glare makes your blood run cold and hot all at once. He sits up quickly, eager and hungry as he licks his bloodied lips. He will pin you down and keep feeding unless you take control, you see it in his eyes. In the ferocious appetite that claws beneath that hard, flirtatious exterior. You see it in the way his hands clench and open as he scans every inch of your flesh.

But you know what you want, what you need next. Hands tug his shirt from his waistband, pulling it from his ivory skin. “Gods, I’ve never wanted to feel you inside me more than now,” you breathe, one hand bunching the fabric of his shirt.

You use it to wipe the blood from his chin, revealing the dramatic pout of his lips. “Darling,” he tries to purr, but his voice is thick in his throat, edged with the gravelly tones of his appetite, “I was saving that for later.”

“Not if you are going to kiss me as you fuck me, my love,” you offer as lightly in reply as you can.

It makes him smile, wickedly and brimming with delight. His hands already unlacing the band of his breeches, he moves with that near-supernatural speed in his fingers. Before you even can laugh, he is on top of you, the cold, heavy weight of his body stealing your breath. You gasp to feel his cock already straining, pressing at your aching entrance. All that blood, that arousal that pools there, it makes it so easy for him to slip right in.

Groaning, he takes you, merciless, your cunt engorged. Swollen from your courses, he thrusts harder into you, filling you with the delicious drag and pressure of his cock. It presses, hard, straining against the way every muscle inside you clenches. Astarion watches your face, cautiously scanning for your every reaction. He smirks, relishing how your eyes roll and flutter, savoring the feeling of your hips bucking to take every single one of his rapid thrusts somehow deeper into your warm bliss.

He groans, his forehead coming to rest on yours, hand clutching with command into your hair. “I want to feed, my love, I want my mouth on any and every part of you,” he growls, the chill of his breath passing between your lips from where he hovers.

“Yes,” you moan, “yes, anywhere. Everywhere.”

His hand in your hair pulls you slightly, his teeth in your neck again before you even have a chance to finish your words. You shudder, feeling his taught body dancing on the edge of his control. But for as quick and hard as his fucking is, his mouth is tender on your neck. You twist to face him, catching his mouth with yours. You don’t even care as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your body is warm and numb and cradled, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his cock pummels your cunt.

So swollen, so full, so overcome, you can’t even tell when your climax begins to consume you, not until you are screaming into his mouth and clacking your teeth against his fangs. Not until your legs buckle and clutch around his hips. And not until your muscles clench harder than they ever have, even as he persists with his thrusts. His breath heavy in your mouth, grunting with each dive into the wet that comes pouring out of you. His head throws back, and you watch his own wave of ecstasy claim his pale, handsome features. His face tweaks in painful pleasure, and you watch those glowing eyes beam down at you as he eases from his climax, the smile on his mouth covered in equally crimson blood.

You breathe deeply, hand brushing gently to his neck to bring that mouth against yours once more. His kiss is tender—satisfied and soft. “Feel better, darling?” he purrs with a caress of his icy fingers against the flush of your face.

“Much,” you breathe, still relieved at the pressure of his cock deep inside you. “Thank you,” you give a little list of your hips.

“Really, darling, it is my pleasure,” he smirks, heavy lidded eyes regarding you with such intensity. Again. “There is nothing more delicious than you, my treat. I could gobble you up all night…” he taunts, a hint of mischief playing over the lines of his face. “Now, you rest, and let me tend to the cleaning…”

You look at the mess, at your bloodied clothes, relaxing to merely have to rest. He slides from you, and your body goes limp the moment he withdraws that prodding and massive length from your walls. But even as sleep begins to claim you, you feel that wet mouth lapping at you again.

Groaning, you glance between your legs, his face buried deep as he does, in fact, tend to the cleaning.

You drift off anyway, his tongue far less instant than before. But even as you rest, overcome in exhaustion, you stir hour to hour. Stirring every time he comes back to your thighs to feed again. And again. Until finally, sometime during the night, you shut your legs tight, hand reaching to shove him away. “Not until dawn,” you groan as you roll back over.

He only giggles, low and deep in his chest. His cold body lays behind you, hard and unyielding and comforting as you let the waves of sleep take you again deep into their embrace. As you rest, wrapped in his arms.

The moment light breaks, grey dawn filling your tent, a hand spreads your knees apart, throwing one leg’s sleepy weight over his shoulder as he laps and sucks from you again.

“True to my word, darling, I have waited until daylight,” he whispers, breath passing over your still aching mount.

You try to sit up, but a hand presses down on your still swollen belly. You sigh. “We will have to get moving, my love, if we are to meet the others…”

“Oh, my treat, you are in no condition to travel,” he croons between wet slides of his tongue up your thighs. “The others will just have to understand…”

“But…” your words are silenced the second his tongue delves back between your folds, making hard little circles over your clit.

“You are in no condition to have me let you out of my bed, darling,” he replies, hand pressing one leg lower against the ground, opening up your wet slick even more. “It would be dangerous to have you traveling with so much blood… You never know what monsters out there might scent you and try to claim it for their own.”

You give a scoff from your dry throat. “Like a vampire…” you groan as his tongue returns to pleasure you again for a moment.

“They, my pet, are the most demanding of all.” He grins at you, from between your legs again. “Tch,” he sucks his teeth, taunting and arrogant and handsome, “you should know better by now.”

“You are a demanding beast, you know…” you moan before you can finish your words.

“You should see me… if you were to deny me my feast, darling…” he replies between swirls of his tongue. “Now, hold still and let me have that sweet ambrosia, my sweet.”

Hips bucking a bit, letting him in deeper, you relax, luxuriating in his bed. For who are you to deny your vampire such a feast.

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Other “Bites”

Part 1: “Go back to sleep, darling…”

Part 2: “You’ll have to keep quieter than that…”

Part 3: “Daggers are a love language, my sweet…”

Ascended Astarion x Reader: “The Rogue You Were”

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Kinktober Day 5 - Dottore X Reader - Humiliation

 Day 5 – Dottore X Fem Reader – Humiliation

Disclaimer: Very intense humiliation and free use themes. No sex or penetration in this one, just plain humiliation. Thought I’d spice these up once in awhile <3

It was a cold night out as you followed Dottore to a local tavern. The Doctor had a pep in his step, this particular version of him whisking you away from your chores to act as his aid. Whatever that means. “Keep up.” He said, looking back at you and giving a particularly harsh tug to your leash, making you choke and almost trip while walking. “Y-Yes Sir.” You responded meekly, the metal of your collar digging into your skin. With a smirk, the man continued onwards and you made sure to match with his pace so you were right behind him.

When Dottore offered to cure your illness and only asked that you work as his assistant, you couldn’t believe your ears. The offer was too good to be true and you were worried there was a catch but the man kept his word and helped you, making you the healthiest you’ve ever been. No more sleepless nights in pain, no more constant headaches, no more fevers every other day- you could finally live your life.

And of course, you had to keep your end of the bargain as well. Most of your duties involved checking up on his clones and seeing what they’ve been upto, making sure his subjects were well fed and taken care of, recording down notes of his recent experiments, keeping his pen full of ink and replacing his notebooks when needed-

Letting him bend you over the table and fuck his stress out, offering your body to his many clones to have their way with, put a collar on you and drag you along everywhere like a dog and not caring about people staring-

You know. The usual assistant stuff.

Tonight, Dottore (the original one? Atleast, he was the one who first gave you the offer) had a meeting with the owner of the tavern. An exchange of goods of sorts. The tavern head was experimenting with his wine and agreed to help Dottore in spiking it with some kind of potion, Dottore planning to use the drunkards of the bar as his unwilling experimental group.

He opened the door, the bell of top jingling to signal that they had entered. The man behind the bar greeted them, instantly recognising Dottore and his eyebrows shot up when he saw you trail behind him, leash and all. “Welcome, Doctor.” The man said, “Glad you could make it.”

“How could I not?” Dottore asked, sitting on the chair opposite the counter. He hadn’t ordered you to sit, so you continued to stand behind him. “I’ll have a bottle of your finest red wine, my good man.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender said, “And for the Missus?”

Dottore looked at you, his eyes hidden behind his mask but you were confident they were twinkling in mischief, “Can you put some milk in a dog bowl?”

Blood instantly rushed to your face, Dottore’s comments catching the attention of the many regulars in the bar, all of them immediately looking at you. The bartender barked out a laugh, “Lucky for you, I just bought a new dog bowl. A glass of wine and milk, coming up.”

“On your knees.” Dottore ordered, tugging tightly at your leash. You quickly obeyed, kneeling down next to the man and sitting on your heels. More murmurs echoed through the bar as people’s attention was all of you. You in your cute white shirt, turquoise corset and adorable blue booty shorts with knee high boots. It was quite revealing but Dottore liked it on you and so, you wore it.

“Cute little girl you got there.” The bartender said, placing a glass of beautiful red wine on the table in front of the Doctor and a dog bowl filled with milk next to it, “What do you think about lending her to me for a while?”

“Oh, are we talking business already?” Dottore asks, grabbing the bowl before carefully placing it on the floor in front of you, not needing to command you. You should know what to do. With a gulp, body trembling as you tried your best to ignore all the people staring at you, you placed your hands on either side of the bowl before bending down and drinking the milk. You heard Dottore laugh along with the gasps of the people around you, almost choking on your milk as you felt the familiar sensation of a heel pressing gently onto your head. Dottore’s heeled boot was on you, the man stepping on your head as he made sure to keep you bent over.

“If that’s what you want to start with.” The bartender responded, “Not the first time I’ve made dealings with the Fatui. As long as the deal is fair, I’ll do anythin’ ya want.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dottore said as he picked up his glass, taking a sip of the drink before continuing, in a softer tone so the onlookers couldn’t hear him, “But you know exactly what I want from you.”

“That I do.” The man responded, “But it won’t be cheap.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.”

“So, spiking my bottles for a whole month will cost you twenty million mora.” The man said, leaning against the counter so only Dottore could hear him, “and it will cost ya extra if you want me to make that purple powder myself.”

Dottore chucked, “I’ll be proving you with the powder and I’ll pay you ten million.”

“Nah. Twenty million.”

“Ten million and I’ll throw in a few Fatui to act as your bodyguards.” Dottore negotiated, “Doing this will put a target on your back, you know.”

The bartender paused, gnawing at his lower lip before saying: “Ten million, bodyguards and…I get to fuck this pretty puppy of yours.”

You jumped as he said that, close enough to hear their conversations. The milk was empty and you were just waiting for Dottore to get his boot off of your head, but he just pressed it down harder.

“No one fucks her but me.” Dottore said, his tone indicating his annoyance even if the mask covered his eyes.

“Damn, well, then I guess we’re back to square-“

“Eleven Million, bodyguards and I’ll let you watch while I fuck her.”

You shivered, a rush of heat and shame washing through you. “Now why would I just wanna watch?” the bartender said, looking at Dottore like he was foolish.

“Not just you. Everyone in the bar.” The Doctor responded, “They’re already interested in her- why not make a profit? Only those who buy drinks can stay behind and watch. What do you say?”

Your body shivered some more and you could feel your pussy clench underneath your shorts, the action no doubt visible to some of the patrons who grinned widely at the scene. The man behind the bar took a second before a smile formed on his face, a twinkle in his eye as he brought his hand out for Dottore to take, both of them shaking on it.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with ya!”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine~”

~~~

You shivered and mewled at the lewd stared directed your way, some of the patrons already hard in their pants and nothing had really happened yet. Sure, the Doctor had stripped you of your corset and was groping at your tits, your mounds shifting in his touch, but that was all he had done. Sitting in the middle of the bar, perched on top of Dottore’s lap with your legs spread wide open, you tried your best to ignore the large group of men that were now surrounding the two of you in a circle, beyond excited to see what was going to happen.

They got filled in on the situation and a few people left, mostly women and men who were taken but majority of the men stayed behind, refusing to miss this chance. They sat comfortably around you, eyes wide, taking in every second. The door of the tavern was locked and the bartender was pocketing money, his business booming tonight.

“Look at how hungrily they’re looking at you, pet~” Dottore cooed in your ear as he found your nipples under the shirt, his long fingers starting to run circles over them, “You’re making them so horny~”

You didn’t respond, letting out a yelp as the Fatui pinched your buds, squeezing them tightly between thumb and forefinger before pulling them harshly. The men cheered at your sweet cries, their voices louder at the way your breasts bounced back once Dottore let go. He cupped your tits from below and started to jiggle them, the fat of your tits bouncing for everyone’s viewing pleasure. It was so humiliating- so shameless- so hot.

“Unbutton your shirt.” The man ordered as he continued to jiggle your tits, “flash all of these old perverts.”

Knowing better than to argue, you started doing just that. Eyes around you widened and cocks swelled in pants as you revealed your naked chest, not wearing a bra underneath. With a gulp, you shrugged the shirt off of your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the greedy crowd.

“Oh fuck.”

“Holy shit.”

“Such good fucking tits!”

You mewled at the lewd words thrown your way, your pussy drenching your panties as you shamelessly bared your naked tits to the group of strangers. There were more than ten men leering at you, perhaps close to twenty, all of whom were staring at you with nothing but lust in their eyes. You were briefly distracted as Dottore once again cupped your breasts before jumping them up and down again, this time, the ripple of your flesh all the more delicious. You noticed that a few men were starting to palm themselves over their pants, eyes watering from how they weren’t blinking.

“Your nipples are hard~” The Doctor said, licking at your earlobe before his fingers flicked your sensitive buds, “Are you enjoying this?”

“S’ cold…” you said as an excuse, whining as his gloved hands started to twirl your nipples in circles. Your breasts were so sensitive to his touch- even the lightest of sensations make you feel like your body is burning up. “Oh yeah?” Dottore asked, clearly not convinced as his palms grabbed your breasts, palming them lewdly, “So your pussy won’t be dripping for me?”

“N-No-“

“Hmmm, should we check then? What do you think boys?” Dottore asked, addressing the crowd, “Should I take off these shorts and check if her cunny is drenched?”

A loud cheer echoed through the room, all of the men shouting a deafening yes making your ears turn red. You felt so vulnerable- so bare- so humiliated as everyone celebrated getting to see your pussy. This wasn’t the first time Dottore has showed you off to others, being fucked in front of the Fatui warriors a fairly common occurrence, but this was different. These were random strangers who had nothing to do with the organisation and were just here in the right place at the right time.

“You heard them.” The Doctor said, nuzzling at your neck before giving it a kiss, his hands letting go of your breasts to instead slide down the curve of your hips and towards the hem of your shorts, “Let’s get you naked, pretty puppy~”

“Pussy! Show us that pussy!”

“Tear those slutty shorts off!”

“Spread those legs wide! I wanna see that asshole!”

You gasped as the dirty words thrown your way, lifting your hips up so your master could slide your shorts down. Everyone hooted as your bare legs got revealed, your black thong doing very little to hide your pussy. One of the men grabbed at your discarded shorts and held it up, hooting like he just won a prize.  Deciding to leave your boots on, Dottore grabbed you by the back of your knees before pulling up, making you yelp as your position got slightly changed. You couldn’t help but slap your hands over your eyes as you saw the men move closer to you, some of them so close that you could feel their breath on your cunt. With your body slightly lower and your knees almost pressing your shoulders, Dottore held you wide open for everyone to ogle at. Your thong was wedged between your pussy lips, your puffy cunt practically swallowing the thin fabric and your asshole almost completely visible.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” the Doctor asked, his voice like honey as he took in the scene. It was truly a power trip to watch all these men be so obviously horny for his darling but they couldn’t touch you- couldn’t taste you- couldn’t fuck you. “Take pictures, Gentlemen. It will last longer.”

“Wait- Seriously?”

“Holy fuck! Where’s my Kamera?!”

“Jerk off material for life!”

“Ah-ah! Only if you refill your drinks!”

You looked up at Dottore from your position, peeking between your fingers as the commotion around you increased, everyone buying drinks and scrambling to get their Kamera’s. “I should use you more often.” Dottore said as he looked down at you, “I can convince a lot of perverts to do a lot of bad things just so they can have a taste of your pussy- why didn’t I think of that before?”

He clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself, his mask starting to reflect the flashes of the Kamera’s. Your body twitched every time the shutter went off, the slick from your pussy glistening in the light, something the audience took note of. They moved in closer, their Kamera’s taking countless pictures of you- of your tits, your pussy and your ass. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what they would do with said pictures but knowing Dottore, if they ever got circulated, he’d find a way to monetise it for himself.

“Come on, pet.” He said, his hand sliding between your legs and giving your pussy a few pats, the impact wet and filthy, “Do you want them to see more?”

“Wh-huh?”

“Beg for it.” He explained, “Say: ‘Everyone, please take a good long look at my wet, nasty cunny~’”

“B-But-“ you sputtered, blood rushing to your face so fast it made you feel dizzy, “That’s so- I-“

Dottore raised his hand and gave your pussy a sharp slap, making you yelp out in pain. “Did you say something?” he asked, daring you to protest.

“E-Everyone!” You said, tears in your eyes from the pain and from the humiliation, your ears ringing and your heart hammering so loudly in your chest, you wondered if they could hear it, “P-Please take a g-good long look at m-my w-w-wet, nasty c-cunny!”

“Fuck yeah!!” The crowd cheered, some of them getting your words on video. You were so focused on Dottore and his touch that you failed to notice just how riled up the audience was. Most of them had their cocks out and more than half of them were jerking off, their pleasure filled expressions hidden behind their Kamera’s. You gulped down the saliva in your mouth, your body having been trained well enough that you’d drool when there were hard dicks around- cocks that were eager to fuck you. The slick sound of the strangers sliding their hand up and down their members echoed through the air, their dirty panting somehow turning you on more than their dirty words.

“Let’s show them this pussy, hmm? This pussy that belongs to me~” Dottore growled before his fingers clutched at the hem of your thong and pulled so harshly, he ripped the thin fabric to shreds. Drinks were poured and cheers erupted as the blue haired man tossed aside the remains of your underwear, leaving you truly and completely naked. You gasped, tossing your head back against him as the flashes and clicks of the Kamera increased, your brain getting overstimulated. You felt Dottore’s fingers on your cunt, his gloved hand going up and down your pussy lips, collecting the slick before giving it a nice pat pat pat. The sticky sound of your cunt was barely audible over everything else, especially of the men who started to jerk off with more vigour.

“Take a good look, Gentlemen.” Dottore said, his fingers suddenly spreading your pussy lips apart, showing off every nook and cranny of your cunt, ignoring your cry, “the most perfect pussy in the World~”