#the only other companion i can think of off the top of my head is the lesbian who becomes a cyberman?? but idk her name

[lifeaspect]

Feel free to reply with your reasoning!

[vigilskeep]

I want to maximize my Loghain playthrough, do you know how early you can get him in your party? I know the Landsmeet is technically considered final stages of the game (and usually when I play it I've pretty much cleared all other quests), so can you do it and then go around and do the other major quests?

it’s only possible to do the landsmeet once you’ve completed the five main quests (broken circle, nature of the beast, redcliffe, a paragon of her kind, urn of sacred ashes) so you can’t bring loghain on any of those

as for sidequests, it’s my understanding that the landmeet locks redcliffe, as going there activates the battle of denerim. any sidequests that do not require going to redcliffe should be fine to save until after the landsmeet to complete with loghain afaik

the absolute most important thing to save to do with loghain is the dlc quest return to ostagar, where you get a ton of dialogue. especially good if you also bring wynne. as for the other dlcs you can take him to soldier’s peak but iirc i saw someone saying he only has like one line of dialogue there. i have no idea if he has dialogue for the stone prisoner but i wouldn’t recommend it since it would mean recruiting shale so late

[jojea]

finished veilguard last night and i will never emotionally recover from this

[ma1dita]

anything you want

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.6k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you and him have your first kiss. It’s just Luke. He’ll do anything you tell him to, even if you talk too much. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: trouble is a yapper yall should know that by now. happy first kiss to you and luke!

(posted 1/25/24 unbetad)

—

“Come on, Castellan, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”

Your foot taps steadily on the forest floor, waiting for Luke to finish his demonstration of how to slay a chimera, and at the sound of your voice, he sheathes his sword and claps Chris on the back to finish up the workshop.

“Where you off to, man?” 

“Gotta help our favorite head counselor set up for Greek Legends & Theatrics,” he says matter-of-factly, setting his battle armor to the side and making the walk up the steep hill towards the amphitheater to meet you like he’s following a siren call.

“Simp,” Chris mutters before his best friend slaps him across the head and jogs away.

“My hands are full, Rodriguez!”

“You wish!” Chris calls out as he picks up his sword, watching the slight blush rise on Luke’s pale cheeks as he almost trips over his own feet. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Watch your fucking language,” you say sternly, which makes the both of you laugh when he finally meets you at the top of the hill. Instantly, you’re relinquishing everything in your hands: your water jug, the bag of costumes, a binder of scripts, and a ukelele. Luke’s juggling everything as best he can with no complaints, following your footsteps as he bumps the body of the uke against his hip to get a better grasp as he marvels at your excitement for your little drama club.

“What’re you teaching today, Trouble?”

“Orpheus and Eurydice, and it’s gonna be great! One of my personal favorites! The kids should be ready for the performance at the end of the month,” you grin, walking backward as you descend the stone steps of the amphitheater. 

You’ve both grown into your roles here at camp, finding places you shine and excel at and together you bridge what the kids, your kids, are lacking. But he can see how you let yourself thrive here, being the operative heart of Camp Half Blood, and you’re radiating as you beckon him to follow you. 

Following you around has become a habit as of late, one that he’s only recently made himself aware of. Sure, he’s always loved annoying you and doing something stupid to get a reaction, whether it be a snide remark or a smile, but something in your dynamic has changed. You’re head counselor after all, and even though he’s only in charge of busy cabin 11, his hand is always extended to whatever you have to offer. Quite simply, he loves it when you look for him, there’s no other explanation for it.

You’ve always troubled him, his thoughts, his life— but Luke can’t define it, or deem it something he can live without. It doesn’t make sense, and now he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to be more than whatever you are; not enemies, not necessarily friends, but perhaps a secret third thing, something he admittedly holds sacred. 

Luke trusts you with his life, but wouldn’t choose you to be his quest companion again he thinks, not after the scar only you deem pretty is an evident sign of his personal transgression. He stares at you for a second too long while you ramble, organizing your thoughts out loud that he doesn’t notice any of the actual words falling from your lips because he’s entranced by them. Slight worry crosses his sharp features as he realizes he could kill someone if you got hurt. 

Fuck.

There’s a space he’s carved out for you in his heart that he reminds himself not to name yet and now you’re looking for him again, turning to him when you realize he hasn’t followed.

When did you get so close to him?

“Luke!” you exclaim, nibbling on your bottom lip as you snap your fingers in his face.

“Are you even listening to me? I need an extra hand setting up smores stuff for the bonfire later if you’re free, and then we have night shift after…” You’re leaning against the table with a delicate smile on your face and in moments like these where you rattle off your routine that he gladly picks apart— Luke feels a sort of elation better than any quest or glory he can achieve. Only you can make unpaid labor sound like Elysium. 

He nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering to your lips as you continue to speak, and he can’t help but admire how the way the sun filters through your hair… 

Maybe Chris was onto something…

“You okay? If you need a break you can sit and watch us, the kids should be coming soon to start.”

Your fingers graze his bicep, and he blinks at you, your eyes wide with curiosity and a fire that can’t be tamed. You drive him crazy. He probably looks like a lunatic, frozen in place as he stares at you, so he shakes his head lightly, albeit unconsciously as he furrows his eyebrows, scar crinkling with his eyes as he smiles at you.

What a dork.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you laugh, your head falling onto your shoulder as you look at him sideways. You’ve noticed Luke is softer with you nowadays, hands always full when you keep him busy, and unlike the other cabin counselors, seldom does he fight you about camp duties. He’ll fight you about anything else though, just to get the last swipe at your attention, to make sure your eyes are on him.

And they always are, whether you can help it or not.

Luke steps forward, duffel bag still in hand and ukelele at his other side and suddenly he looks like he’s on a mission, his signature smirk stealing the air from your lungs as you forget what you’re saying.

“Like what, Trouble?”

Nervous laughter bubbles from you at the increasing proximity. It’s the first time he’s spoken since you got down here. His cargos brush against the smooth skin of your legs as you nestle your hips against the table, and the smell of sweat, musk, and citrus infiltrates your nostrils with a shaky breath.

“Like you’re about to make a mess of something. I can’t really tell,” you whisper. Why are you whispering? There’s no one here but you two and the sound of birds in the spring air.

It’s just Luke. Luke Castellan, who you glitter bombed when you were 14, who shoves you around every chance he gets, and steals food off your plate at every meal.

“I might. Not sure yet,” he swallows as he looms over you, the bag in his grasp falling to the side and the ukelele making a dissonant noise as he sets it on the table. 

When did you let him past your defenses? The wall around your heart was well protected after years of whims of what you thought was love felt like running headfirst into concrete. 

But Luke’s always been there, watching.

Though as a son of Hermes, sneaking in without a sound is what he does best. Perhaps a little too well, the both of you not noticing it for what it was until this moment.

“What are we doing?” you ask, and his reply is to pull you in by the belt loop of your denim shorts, snatching you closer with a curl of his fingers.

“You talk too much, you know that?”

Then suddenly, finally—his lips descend onto yours stealing your breath away like it's second nature, almost thoughtless and without anymore questions. There's a moment where you both sigh as if it was a relief to finally be touched like this, no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, and nothing else makes sense but to be here kissing him.

Luke’s calloused hand weaves under your jaw and into your hair, propping you up as your knees buckle slightly, so intense and gentle at the same time, lips forging the undeniable connection between you that’s gone unspoken for so long. His hands are full of you, and he tastes like the strawberries you snuck onto his plate at lunch.

Your hands slide up the front of his shirt, a featherlike touch to confirm that he’s there though the feel of his tongue slipping in makes you wonder how much time you’ve wasted arguing with him when you could’ve been doing this.

Everything about this kiss feels familiar in a way you can’t describe, but this embrace lets you learn about him what you thought you were already so sure of. It makes you wonder if you’ve been here before in a different life, and then you remember who’s in front of you.

It’s Luke, who likes it when he gets to fall asleep to the sound of your voice telling a bedtime story, follows you around even if his siblings tease him, and never ridicules you for your innate madness.

Perhaps he’s just as mad as you.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already walking away, nervously chuckling like he didn’t give you a life-altering kiss. When your heart finally feels like it’s in your chest again, you grumble loudly, shaking your head with his name still caught between your teeth—

“LUKE CASTELLAN! Don't you dare run away from me!”

He's quite sure he hasn't sprinted away faster in his life. But as he runs up the steps of the ampitheater to try and clear his head, he stumbles when he looks at you, turning around every few paces until he finally catches the unmistakeable smile on your face. Luke eats shit at the top, falling against a tree and he hears the sound of your laughter.

He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life running away if it means he can look back and see if you’ll follow.

—

“I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me—or why it feels like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.”

-Lang Leav

ask to be put on general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl l @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[thedragonkween]

King Baldwin IV Headcanons! ♔🤍♕

A/N: So, here we are. I could not resist this mysterious and tormented king's charm. His silky voice makes me dream! These are some headcanons I've collected off the top of my head. The Reader is implied to be female and married to Baldwin IV. Please, do feel free to hit my inbox to ramble about our king because I'm literally dying of pining and yearning.

tags: female!reader x baldwin iv of jerusalem (from kingdom of heaven); reader is married to baldwin iv of jerusalem; fluff; slight angst towards the end

wc: 1150k

reccomended songs to listen to while reading: "Summertime Sadness" by Hildegard von Blingin; "Right Here" by Ashes Remain; "Blood, Sweat, Tears" by BTS (orchestral version)

"Many are the tales of the King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and of his Queen. Despite the varying accounts of their deeds, each one of them agrees on one aspect: the King of Jerusalem loved his Queen dearly, and the world is richer for it".

Baldwin IV is mysterious, intense, valiant, noble and utterly devoted to you, his Queen. But what does this devotion look like?

Firstly, he would believe in you like no other and would always be ready to give you his best advice whenever the weight of your responsibility becomes too much. Foreign rulers would soon learn of your qualities - there would hardly be a piece of correspondence where the King of Jerusalem does not praise the intellect and insight of his dear wife. He would glance at you from time to time, while you both work at your desks sharing the burden of paperwork, silently thanking God for having sent him not only a beautiful, but reliable life companion as well.

He values your opinions greatly and has the utmost regard for your views on political, military and state matters. Disagreements happen, yet your overall values are aligned, which is why Baldwin understands your vision and where your point comes from. During the discussions regarding complex decisions, he would let you speak and explain, then he would offer his honest thoughts on the matter, should he see another, different way from yours. 

Playing chess is a favorite way of spending quality time together in your chambers, away from the chaos of the court. If you know how to play and are proficient at it, he would delight in the thrill of challenge, as he would finally have found a true equal. If you do not know how to play, he would teach you with patience, taking pride whenever you make an unexpected and astute move. He would be such a nerd while he explains the rules to you and would be delighted to see how your mind works when devising a plan.

"Congratulations, dove. You have a checkmate."

I can also see Baldwin taking you on long rides, if his health allows it. He would sweetly check the reins and saddle on your horse before mounting on his steed and leading you away to enjoy the cool early morning breeze, before the heat of Jerusalem becomes too sweltering. You would have a nice and secluded spot to enjoy and to pretend that you are a couple of young lovers without responsibilities and crowns weighing on your heads.

Your presence brings him safety and comfort, which is what would convince him to remove his mask when he is alone with you and the physicians. He would especially love to rest his head on your la as you gently caress his curls while the physicians tend to his skin. It is a sacred moment. He does not know how he went so long without your presence during this delicate time. Speaking softly to each other, you would distract him from the pain with talk of your hometown, fairy tales from your culture, or even simply reflecting on a happening of that day. On these occasions, you learn how to best take care of him, watching the physician tend to his arm while you tend to the other, delicately dabbing the cloth over his wounded skin. Baldwin feels so protected and safe in your presence. He thinks you are God’s greatest gift to him.

Now, jealousy. Baldwin knows he boasts the honor of having an exquisite flower such as yourself to call his own. As do powerful men and courtiers from distant lands. Many covet your loveliness as one would a precious gem. Should one of these foolish people try to take you from him or even stare at you for too long to be considered proper, they would be met with a pure force to be reckoned with. Should a knight’s eye linger on you for too long, he would be quick to put him in place in his signature glacial, elegant way. Before long, everyone learns not to disrespect the Queen consort of Jerusalem.

“Perhaps you would have understood my point, had you not been so insolently ogling my wife”. He takes out his whip. “On your knees. You will pay for insulting the Queen”.

He would protect you with his life. He swore to protect Jerusalem and, as its Queen, that includes first of all you. Should a courtier doubt your devotion and mistake it for thirst for power, or should he learn of an orchestrated attempt on your life, he would waste no time in employing his best forces in your service to defend you.

His enemies and templars alike fear him, yet with you he is as gentle as the morning breeze that gently caresses Jerusalem. This powerful king who makes armies tremble and kingdoms shake is the same person who holds and kisses your hand (when in public, bringing your fingers to the lips of his mask), who silently admires your loveliness from afar and sighs to himself, who longs for your warmth after a tiring day. 

He would write you letters. Lots of them. And not always when he is away. Maybe he just liked the way the sun reflected in your eyes that morning. Or maybe when you helped a servant, he was moved by your kindness. Your every action inspires him, so much so that he has to let out his thoughts on paper. You have a pretty wooden box brimming with delicate papers penned by Baldwin in your honor. He is not only the King of Jerusalem, but also the king of pining, of yearning. Even when he has you near, he yearns for you.

I love to imagine him letting you accompany him to battle. He would love it too, in theory. You make him so strong, the both of you would be quite the sight, meeting your enemies head on, as one, donning your best armors. Yet, at the same time I cannot imagine him resting easy knowing that a loose arrow, a desperate soldier seeking glory for killing the Queen of Jerusalem, or fatigue and sickness could take you from him. It pains his heart to be parted from you, yet he cannot risk your safety. Instead, Baldwin would trust you with ruling the kingdom. He has absolute faith in your intelligence, willpower and cleverness, especially after all he has taught you about running the realm. He longs for you every second he’s away from Jerusalem, yet his heart is at peace knowing his kingdom is in the most capable hands.

When he feels that his time on this Earth is nearing his end, he calls for his most trusted advisors, including Balian and Tiberias. He would ask them, almost begging, to protect you always, at all costs, when he is no longer there to do so. Balian and Tiberias would exchange a quick glance to each other, vowing to respect their King’s wish until the very end.

“Protect her. Please.” “Always, my Lord”.

Poems, songs and stories would be written in honor of your love even centuries after your passing. Many tales would speak of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and his Queen. Different pieces of art, such as paintings and ballads, would inspire people from all over the world to find a love as devoted and unshakable as yours. Until the very end.

All in all, to love Baldwin means knowing your time together is limited. As is the time of all creatures on Earth. He would beg you to go on after his passing, to live for him. He shall wait for you and protect you from above. Until the very end.

[internalloops]

DA:TV rant … if you are of the mind that BioWare can do no wrong /its games can be criticize or if you truly enjoying the game and are loving everything that you’ve seen so far this post is not for you. Please move along and if you don’t want me showing up on your feed please block me.  I will not be engaging with any fan that will not allow me to take up space and vent my feelings on the disaster that is this fucking game.

*Also a lot of spoilers!!

.. it’s horrible, like I knew I was going to be disappointed but holy fucking shit …

I’m about to finish act one and .. they destroyed their entire lore … BioWare destroyed their ENTIRE lore /world build of Dragon Age

Minrathous has NO SLAVES !!! They are briefly talked about via shadow dragons but they’re are none visible at all in the city ( but they have the animation to give a poor person “fake money” )

The qunari who literally fought and tried to kill solas in trespasser have been turned into mindless brutes who willingly joined the evil gods … because they command dragons ?

The blight except for one mission is harmless. They purposely turned it into a bio weapon and then (besides the dark spawn spawning from it like something out of an MMO) due to *plot armor, no one actually contracts the blight ???

The black chantry minus one building that you go through in a side quest doesn’t exist? No chantry members , no talk of the black divine ..

Dalish are all engineers now and part of the veil jumpers ( which should not exist lore wise) and all elven magic has been converted into cyberpunk technology and artifacts. Very little talk about their oppression and they are all very willing to drop all their history , even their distrust of solas , to flight the old gods .

Varric Has been demoted to inspirational speaker and narrator he has no other role and the entire team acts like he died , even when he’s in the room with him ( I think BioWare actually planned to kill him but then chickened out ) and is a husk of his former self

Same with Morgan , you can’t interact with her at all and she’s given the same mysterious background as flemeth ( the theory that she carries mythal spirit is very strong right now )

Lyrim potions don’t exist, in fact lyrim doesn’t exist at all besides the dagger. All magic has turned into technology, and if you play as a mage mana just has an automatic replenish rate /cool down effect that you can level up.

Evil gods go back and forth between an actual intense adversary and threat to the world, and a typical Disney villain.

These are just the few I can think of off the top of my head, there is so much more than this …

The game can literally be summed up as Mass effect andromeda x2 with God of war animations and marvel style writing ( not the avengers I’m talking about the recent shit)

Also for the people who want to kill solas or simply dislike him, the game pushes a sympathetic view of him on you ,even your companions who outrightly want to kill him will feel sorry for him. And I’m saying this as a solavellan fan. Yes they’re options to be mean to him and antagonize him, but you won’t get anyone agreeing with your actions ,at best they’ll be neutral about it. Now this might play out differently for those who picked the “chooses to stop him “ option , but for those who’s inquisitions wanted to save him but they wanted their rooks to hate him … you’re not gonna be happy about what you get ..

The only thing that keeping me playing is the reveal of history of ancient elves and Titans and solas’s story. And Assan!! Assan can do no wrong !! Everything else is a slog to get through.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 | kitten braden x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | being a peep show girl can be sort of solitary work, so it's nice to spend the day with miss kitten... and your time together proves to be not only profitable, but a chance to act on a secret crush.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only!!), voyeurism/exhibitionism, fingering, oral sex, girldick <3, penetration/top!kitten, creampie, come eating, titty sucking, brief transphobia (t-slur), friends/coworkers to lovers, lots of filth with some feelings in there too c:

You laid back across the massive velvet ottoman, sighing as you glanced at Kitten— she was laying on her stomach but propped up by her elbows, feet kicked up and crossed as she wrote in her journal with a fluffy-tipped pen. 

“What are you writing?” you asked her.

“A letter,” she answered sweetly, tilting her head a bit, “to my friend Charlie.”

“Will you tell her about me?” you asked with a smile.

“I already did,” she answered, “just here— sometimes they have me working with other girls,” she read aloud from the page, “like today, I’m paired up with the biggest slag in the whole place—”

“Fuck off!” you laughed, grabbing one of the nearby pillows and smacking her in the back with it, and she grinned at you.  “You didn’t really say that, did you?”

“No, of course,” she rolled her eyes.  “I told her that I made a friend.  That was what I said about you.”

You felt a little warmth in your cheeks as you sat up, tossing the pillow away— the whole thing was set up to look like a slumber party, so pillows were plentiful.  Of course, you’d never actually worn lingerie and heels to a slumber party, nor had you ever had a sexy pillow fight… but you probably would have if you were getting paid then, as you were now.

Speaking of, it was only a moment after Kitten finished her letter and tucked the journal and pen away that the red light flicked on— and you knew you had a customer on the other side of the glass.

“Well, hello Mister,” Kitten greeted with that sultry voice of hers, and you smiled as you knelt on the plushy surface beneath you, turning your body towards her but keeping your eyes on the barely-visible silhouette behind the wall.

“Look at you two,” a deep, rough voice praised as you smiled and moved a little closer to your companion.

“Do you like to watch girls play with each other, Mister?” Kitten asked coyly, running her fingers up your arm delicately.

The gruff voice chuckled, a scratchy sort of sound as it came through the speaker.  “You’re a couple of naughty little birds, aren’tcha?”

You giggled as you shook your head, before tenderly laying it on Kitten’s shoulder.  “No, sir, we’re very good girls— we like to do exactly as we’re told.”

“Mm, bet ya do,” he replied.  

“Care to introduce yourself, Mister?” Kitten asked quietly.  “We like to know who we’re talking to.”

“I think you two are the more interesting ones,” he replied.  “What are your names?”

“I’m Kitten,” she answered, seeming even more coy as she said that, “and this is my friend Lovely.”

“Lovely indeed,” the man growled.  “Just a friend, eh?”

“Well,” you feigned hesitation, looking up at Kitten and biting your lip, “sometimes we… experiment.”

It was all about the innocent act— you weren’t sure why, but it drew them in like moths to a flame: Kitten had always specialised in this, looking and acting like a little naive ingénue before revealing her dirty side.  You were used to the more classic stuff… you know, just acting like the most horny, whorish creature who ever lived.  You liked this more, especially since you didn’t have to do it alone.

“And today we’re having our special playtime,” Kitten continued, moving in closer to you but keeping a teasing distance between you— for the customer’s benefit, of course, not yours.  So why was it having an effect on you?  “Would you like to watch?”

“Yeah,” the man said instantly, “wanna see you ladies kiss each other.”

You smiled and sat up to eye-level with her, both of you shutting your eyes and leaning in.  The kiss was gentle and sweet, your fingers carefully brushing over her hair and then cupping her face as your lips moved together.  It was almost routine now, with how much you’d kissed each other today… almost.  You still felt your hips shift slightly, a hot feeling gathering between your legs.

The man groaned in approval through the speaker, but it was Kitten’s teeth brushing over your lip that made a chill run up your spine.

“Fuck, your tits are getting hard, aren’t they?” the man noticed— you hadn’t even realised it, but yes, your nipples were starting to poke up through the lace.  “Play with ‘em, Kitten.”

Slender, delicate hands ran up your body, carefully teasing your breasts at first before starting to really properly grope them; you moaned softly at the feeling, deepening the kiss and feeling yourself try to press in a little closer to her.  You were already so needy for friction of some kind, and you held on to Kitten’s thighs as you tried not to grip them too hard.

“Betcha wanna put those pretty lips on her tits, don’t ya, Kitten?” the man presumed.  The kiss broke quickly, making you almost lean in for more before you came back to reality.

“Yes,” Kitten sighed, “I do— and they’re so beautiful, do you want to see them?”

“‘Course I do, fuck,” the man groaned.

She was slow about it— she was slow about everything.  That was the idea, after all— to run the clock as best you could so they’d keep paying for more.  Her fingers delicately pulled down the straps of your lingerie, leaving little goosebumps behind as you sighed with anticipation.  She gently tugged the top down until your tits were free, and all three of you groaned a little as they were revealed.  

She held them again, and you loved the feeling of her touch against your bare skin.  Leaning down, she teasingly licked the bud as those big blue eyes blinked up at you sweetly.  You wanted to keep holding her gaze, but you couldn’t help your eyes falling shut with pleasure when she swirled her tongue around your nipple, holding tighter onto your breast before closing her lips around it and suckling.

“Fuck,” you breathed, but you smiled— not just from the feeling, but from realizing that your time would’ve run out by now if your customer had only paid once.  He must have added more coins to extend the time… teasing works, it seems.

She moved her mouth to the other nipple as you moaned louder, your hands sliding up her legs to run over her sides, her back, even teasing her tits to try to make it fair.  You couldn’t help it: you just wanted to touch her everywhere.

“You don’t quite fit in those panties anymore, Miss Kitten,” the man noticed, and she blushed a little as she pulled back from you and bit her lip.

“W-well, I can’t help that,” she defended, and you felt your chest deflate a bit at the sight of how hard she was, the tight lace looking like it was restraining her as the leaking tip bobbed up against her stomach, obscured slightly by the see-through material of her babydoll lingerie.

“Mm, maybe your friend can,” the man suggested.  “I bet you know how to use your mouth, don’t you, Lovely?” 

You tried not to seem too eager as you reminded yourself internally that you needed to go as slow as you could get away with.  You nodded and started to sink your head down into Kitten’s lap, before stopping and looking at the mirror again— almost losing your train of thought when you saw how hot you looked together in the reflection.

“Would you like to see me use it, Mister?” you asked shyly.

“Yeah— show me what a good little cocksucker you are.”

Kitten leaned back slightly, giving you a little more room to reach down and tenderly slide the panties down her pale, smooth thighs.  You tried to be real cute about it, just giving one little lick to the tip and giggling proudly when it flexed up towards you for a second.  “Oh!  Does that feel good, Kitten?”

“Y-yes,” she breathed.  You did it again, purring at the moan she let out; she watched you with that pretty mouth fallen slack and smeared with pink gloss, throat bobbing for a second when you met her gaze and even gave her a little wink that your customer couldn’t see from this angle.

You licked all the way from the base to the tip, hoping to cover the whole thing just with your tongue before you even did anything else.  You teased her for a while, trying to hear her little mewls and whimpers over the sounds of the man’s moaning through the speaker.  

Wrapping your lips around her fat tip, she bit her lip and dropped her head back with a sigh.  

“That’s good,” the man groaned proudly, “y’like that, Kitten?”

“Yes,” she panted, starting to push your head down so you would take more, “s-so good…”

“You can stop now,” he decided, and you both hesitated before you pulled away and sat up.  Poor Kitten, she looked almost heartbroken at getting cut off like that— you would’ve given anything to make her come…

Sitting up, she reached for your lips— you hoped she would kiss you again, but instead she wiped up where some of your lipstick had smeared, and you felt almost shy again as she did it.  Such a sweet gesture had no place in a job like this.

“C’mon, let’s see how wet little Lovely is after that,” the man demanded, and Kitten pulled you into her lap— your back to her chest, her arms wrapping around you— as she slowly spread your legs for you.  “Fuck, soaked through the panties, did you?”

“Did you?” Kitten repeated in a surprised whisper just to you, slipping two fingers down to tease you and feel the wet patch on the lace.  In your defence, these things weren’t really built for absorption, were they?

“Lemme see that pretty hole, then,” he ordered.  “Show me her cunt.”

Kitten gingerly pulled your panties aside, and you caught in the reflection not only how soaked and swollen you really were, but how absolutely wrecked your facial expression had become.

“Shit, s’a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” the voice praised darkly, groaning again when Kitten used her fingers to spread your slick lips and give the customer a better look at your opening.  

“Should I rub her a little more, Mister?” Kitten asked sweetly, starting before he’d even agreed to it.

Your back arched up as she ran her finger over your clit, teasing it with gentle circles.  You shut your eyes and sighed, losing control of your hips as they rocked into her touch.  “R-right there, Kitten,” you pleaded softly, but apparently your customer had other plans.

“Put two fingers inside her,” he ordered Kitten, making you whine in frustration at the separation from where you were most sensitive.  

She was careful about it— she had to be, with her nails— but it still felt intense as she pushed her fingers inside you, even just two stretching you quite a bit as you moaned lowly.  They moved slowly and deliberately within you, and her heavy breathing began to tickle your neck as your legs almost tried to push together from the sensation.

You were starting to really get into it, moaning and rocking against her as she kissed your neck and played with one of your tits with her free hand.  So, of course, he had to stop you again.  “I wanna see you fuck her,” the man said suddenly, and your heart skipped for a half-second.  It had never gone that far— you didn’t even know if she did that— but you felt your channel clench on her fingers at just the thought.

“Oh, my— you’re very dirty, aren’t you, Mister?” Kitten noticed.

“Just do it,” he insisted, “wanna see how she looks with a cock in her.”

You could hear the coins rolling in the slot, so you obeyed; it ended up with both of you kneeling a bit on the ottoman, her body still slotted behind yours, your heavy eyes transfixed on the reflection— and ostensibly on the man on the other side— as she looked down at where she was about to enter you.

“So hot,” the man praised, but you could barely hear him— you just heard Kitten softly ask you if you were ready.  Instead of answering or nodding, you just started to slowly sink down onto her, making both of you moan.  “Yeah, fuck,” he went on, and Kitten suddenly grabbed your hip to keep you steady, guiding you just how she needed until your ass was flush against her lap and your back was pressed to her chest.

“Oh,” you breathed, melting slightly against her as you both adjusted to the feeling.  Slowly, she started to move— and you moved with her, less like thrusting and more like writhing.  It was sensual, it was sexy; it was driving you fucking crazy.

She ran her tongue along the edge of your ear as she grinded against you, your eyes rolling back at the feeling.  “Fuck, Kitten,” you mumbled under your breath, arching your back as her hand slipped down over the front of your body, reaching between your legs to start teasing your clit.

“Yeah, like that,” the man agreed, breathing heavily himself.  “So fuckin’ dirty…”

You moved together in perfect harmony, her body seeming to fit so naturally against yours— and inside it.  She moaned softly by your ear, a little deeper than you were used to hearing it, and you shuddered with delight as you imagined that was how her real pleasure sounded.

“Feels good, does it, Lovely?” he prompted, his grin obvious in his voice.

“Yes,” you moaned loudly, “yes, so good…”

You were so sensitive from being essentially teased all day, from the joy of pleasing her and the effortless way she played with your body like her toy.  Still, it was a little embarrassing how quickly you became overwhelmed with the feeling.

She moved a little faster, egging on your needy moans and holding on tighter to your hips as she filled you just right.  “Oh, fuck,” you yelped, feeling the pressure start to build as you tried your best to push back against her thrusts and get her that much deeper.

“You like how she fucks you, eh?” the man taunted.

“Yes!  Yes, she’s amazing,” you panted, biting your lip as you fought the urge to beg Kitten for more.

“Never been fucked by a tranny before, have ya?” the man asked with a rough laugh.

You reached back behind your own head to hold onto the back of Kitten’s neck, pulling her closer so you could lean in to whisper in her ear— the ear your hidden watcher couldn’t see.  “Don’t listen to him, Kit,” you breathed, “you’re so fucking beautiful.  I’m so close.”

She turned her head and kissed you, sloppy and needy with heavy breaths passing between your lips to hers and back; it was all getting blurry and sweaty and that feeling just kept getting heavier and sharper as you rocked your hips back against hers.  Every movement pushed you just that much closer— 

“Fuck, I’m out of coins!” you heard the voice announce, but you were barely paying attention— until the red light suddenly went off.  Then, both of you stopped, panting and breaking away from the kiss to look up at the light.  You waited a moment to see if it would turn back on, only to glance at each other and begin to laugh as you realised you weren’t going to be hearing from your visitor again.

“We can stop,” Kitten noticed— but she didn’t move away, she only looked at your eyes, and you saw a hint of nervousness in hers.

“I don’t wanna stop,” you admitted in a whisper.

“Me either,” she smiled, speaking under her breath as one of her hands came up to hold your face sweetly.  “I don’t ever want to stop.”

You kissed her, and the whole thing felt different without anyone watching.  Sweeter, softer— you loved feeling her smile against you, and you smiled back, until she started to move again and your lips dropped to a moan.  “Oh, Kitten,” you breathed, writhing against her as her hands moved all over you, touching anywhere they could reach.  She pet and teased your thighs with one hand, pinching a hard nipple with the other, until you were shaking with desperation.

“You’re easy to please,” she noticed with a teasing laugh, trailing kisses along your neck and shoulder, and you groaned through a grin.

“Easier when you’ve had me worked up all day,” you admitted.  “Kissing and touching you for hours but never getting to come… you should see me when I get home from work, Kit, I can’t stop touching myself— beat my poor clit all night, soak the sheets—”

“Poor thing,” she clicked her tongue at you, and you shivered again.  

“You never got naughty after work?” you pressed.

“I didn’t say that,” she mumbled with a smirk, and you laughed softly.  “I thought about you… about how soft your lips are… your sweet tongue…”

“I wanted to taste you, Kit,” you blurted out, excited that she might have had the same fantasy.  “Fuck, I wanted someone to tell us to do it today— to make me put my mouth on you.  I wanted it so bad—”

“It felt better than I imagined it,” she admitted.

“God, I wasn’t— I didn’t even do it like I wanted,” you admitted with a groan.  “I wanted so much more…”

“Show me,” she begged— it almost reminded you of those men you had to listen to all day, except unimaginably perfect.

You sat up and spun around in a moment, pushing her down onto the ottoman with a sigh.  She smiled at your eagerness, only to moan when you instantly dove down and licked her again— but harder and faster this time, with a wide tongue and a dark stare up at her.

“O-oh, darling,” she praised, but could only choke on a moan when you wrapped your mouth around her and sunk down in one quick motion.  Yes, you choked, but you wanted to— you wanted as much of her as you could get, any way you could get it.  “Oh!”

You hummed happily as you sucked hard and bobbed fast, too desperate for any teasing now.

“You are a dirty girl,” she cooed, holding onto your hair as you stroked what your lips couldn’t reach and did your best to pleasure her every way you knew how.  “You can taste yourself, can’t you?”

You hummed again, agreement this time, and she tightened her grip on your hair.

You could only take a few more minutes of that— your poor cunt was dripping, flexing on nothing, desperate to be filled again.  “Fuck, I need you,” you explained as you pulled away and climbed up to straddle her lap, that grip on her now guiding the swollen head to your entrance.  She looked up at you with the slightest smirk around her open mouth, and you could tell she was aching for you, too.

Sinking down, you both moaned loudly— and you almost whimpered when she went even deeper than she had before.  Balancing your hands on her chest, you tried to adjust to it as quickly as possible because you had absolutely burned through all your patience already.

When you were ready to move, the pace seemed to pick up right away: in a moment, you were a blur on her, lifting yourself over and over as each stroke created the perfect friction against your sensitive walls.  You rode her hard and fast, desperate for release, letting your head fall back at the feeling.  “Oh, Kitten— y-you feel so good—”

“You too, dear,” she breathed, grabbing your hands and holding them tightly— your fingers interlaced with hers, and you held onto them for balance as you bounced on her.  “You too— so warm inside…”

“Fuck, fuck!” you whined.  “Wh-what if someone puts in a coin now,” you panted, “and sees us doing this?”

“Then they’ll probably blow in their britches,” she suggested with a grin, and you laughed before another movement forced her tip right up against your spot, making you gasp again.  

“G-god, don’t make me laugh, Kitten— I’m so close, I’m so fucking close—”

“I know,” she breathed, “I know— I can feel your little pussy, squeezin’ me—”

“Fuck,” you whined.

“What if we came together, darling?” she suggested as she panted under you.  “Wouldn’t it be filthy, if I came inside you?”

“O-oh, fuck, perfect,” you moaned, “it would be perfect, Kit— please, please—”

“Yes,” she hissed, holding your hands tighter.  “Let’s see you come, darling— no faking it like you do for the boys.”

“Gonna come,” you promised, nodding fervently as you felt yourself moving (inside and out) completely on instinct.  

It made you shake all over, it made you bite down on your lip and dig your nails into her hands; it was sharp and hot and you had never felt anything quite like it… probably because you’d never had the patience for being on the edge for so long.  You didn’t want to be too loud, not only to avoid getting caught but to make sure you could hear her and the precious way she moaned as she spilled inside you, her hips shakily bucking up into you when your own strength failed.

Slowly, it came to a shaky and shivery stop, and you blinked your eyes open to find the world a little blurrier, but sweeter, than it was before.

You sunk down, still holding her hands and sliding them upward as you brought your face to hers, smiling and almost losing yourself in her eyes.  She kissed you— slow, soft, both of you still catching your breath— and hummed in delight as you relaxed on top of her.

“That was perfect,” she whispered to you, and you moaned quietly in agreement before breaking the kiss to lay your head down beside hers on the velvet.  She turned her face to keep looking at you, and you must have been that way for one of those brief-yet-infinite moments, just looking at each other and trying to soothe your hearts as they raced.

“We should clean up,” you finally sighed, “before someone sees us…”

“How will we explain all that come leaking out of your pretty hole, hm?” she asked with a proud smile, making you bite your lip.

“Maybe I’ll just be very wet for our next customer,” you laughed, barely finding the strength— mental or physical— to let go of her hands and roll off of her onto your back.

You both pulled yourself together as best you could— gone soft now, she tucked herself between her legs again and slipped her panties back up, and you found your discarded lingerie top laying off the side to put back on.

You were about to reapply your lipstick when she stopped you, gently laying her hand on yours, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Kiss me again,” she pleaded softly, “before someone puts a coin in—”

You jumped forward and pressed your lips to hers, tossing the lipstick aside; she hummed against you and pulled you closer, giggling into the kiss in the most adorable way.

Neither of you noticed the light turning on, but you both jumped slightly when another man’s voice— a little higher-pitched and smoother than the last— came over the speaker.  “My my,” he purred, both of you breaking away and looking at your reflection in the glass.  “Looks like you two started without me.”

“We couldn’t help it,” you panted out as you draped your arms around Kitten, giving the man on the other side a pitiful-yet-pleading sort of look.  “We’re just so worked up, is all… do you know that feeling?”

This was your wheelhouse— needy, horny, raunchy.  Much more natural for you than Kitten’s innocent style; but she did just fine with this one, too, leaning in to nibble at your ear as she stroked your back.  “Don’t stop on my account,” the man offered, “you two look perfect together.”

“We do,” Kitten agreed in a whisper as you both saw your reflection, before holding your face tenderly and turning it to hers, kissing you harder this time.  So much for the teasing, soft kisses you’d been trading all day— you were both smiling and panting into it, falling all over each other until she was leaning back and you were between her legs, running your fingers over her hips and chest until she moaned for you.

“You do more than just kiss, don't you?" the man asked, and you grinned against Kitten's sweet lips as you nodded.

"We do whatever you want," you promised, glancing to the side at him— or, where he would be, if you could see him.

"Shit, almost out of time," he noticed, and you both grinned at the sound of more coins rolling in.

Kitten's hand slipped down the front of your body, into your panties, as she purred sweetly at you.  "Oh, right there," you moaned— certainly overdoing it for the benefit of your watcher, but not entirely lying about how good it felt.

Just when she was doing exactly what you needed her too, and getting you all needy again in the process, she pulled her hand away and smirked as you whined softly.

“She’s so wet,” Kitten informed the man with a purr.  “See how she’s soaked my fingers?”

She held up the manicured hand, a mix of your come and hers dripping down her fingers as you heard a happy moan from the man on the other side.  “Wily minx,” he scolded you playfully.

“Why don’t you clean these off for me, Lovely?” Kitten instructed you, tilting her chin up a bit and watching you as she brought the fingers to your lips and watched you lick them slowly.  You hummed at the taste, loving having a secret with her while this man watched, none the wiser.  You fluttered your eyes shut as you started to suck them properly, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the digits inside your mouth.

"So naughty," the man praised, "can't wait to see all you girls can do."

More coins, more time; you gave Kitten a knowing look, and her expression in return was understandably a little weary and yet obviously excited.  You both knew you had a long night ahead of you, and your heart was already fluttering with excitement.  Not just your heart, of course, but your heart most of all.

[eldritch-nightmare]

do the others know about you?

synopsis: you're just a human dating someone that's... well. you can certainly never introduce them to your friends or family. but do their friends/companions know about you?

a/n: is it a good idea to include every single creepypasta i can think of from the top of my head... no. will i do it anyway? yes, i will. anyways this right here is my pride and joy. i enjoyed writing it, and i'm proud of it, so i hope you guys enjoy it as well.

warnings: possessive behavior in a few, yandere behavior in a few, spoiler alert alex almost kills you but dw there's no character death here.

includes: jeff the killer, eyeless jack, jane the killer [richardson + arkensaw], laughing jack, slenderman, nina the killer, the bloody painter, the puppeteer, clockwork, jason the toymaker, hobo heart, nurse ann, zalgo, x-virus, homicidal liu, ticci toby, tim wright, brian thomas, jay merrick, alex kralie, and jessica locke.

jeff the killer would more than likely tell the others about you, though mostly just so everyone knows that you're off limits for killing. he also just has this thing where he needs people to know what belongs to him so they know not to touch it, and in his mind, you belong to him so. none are allowed to touch you.

eyeless jack isn't that open about his personal life to others. mostly because he can't remember any of it, but also because he's just a guarded person in general. at most, the only people who know about you will probably be jeff, ben, and maybe sully.

jane richardson doesn't really hide your existence, mostly because she doesn't have contact with the others, so it doesn't matter. everyone of importance knows that you're together, and the government knows as well, so.

jane arkensaw would prefer certain people didn't find out about you, though she may tell some of her close friends about you if she's certain that they will keep your existence a secret as well. then again, it's not like you'll ever come into contact with any of the others so long as she has any say about it.

laughing jack more than likely lets everyone know about you because he literally can't shut up about you. he loves you! people need to know that he is so sickeningly devoted to you! even the kids he terrorizes know about you!

slenderman doesn't have any say on whether or not people learn about you because they're gonna find out anyways. besides, it's better if they did know about you because then they would know that you are off limits for killing. anyone who dares to even try to harm you will understand the pure wrath slender can bring down upon them.

nina the killer wants everyone to know about you. she needs everyone to know that you two are together and that she loves you so very much. she tells everyone all about the dates you two have and the gifts you get each other. it's cute, though it can be annoying at times.

the bloody painter doesn't interact much with the others, so not many of them know. helen doesn't really care if anyone finds out that he's dating you, it doesn't really matter to him. though... he will have some words if any of them try making a move on you or hurting you. you're his muse, after all.

the puppeteer doesn't want anyone to know about you, not even his proxies. you're his. no one else deserves to even know that you exist, so why the hell would he tell anyone about you? at most, the only person who knows about you would be emra because he knows that she won't tell anyone if he orders it.

clockwork doesn't let people close to her, so only a small handful of people would even know about you. she likes that none of the others really knows about you, though a part of her thinks about telling them so they know not to make you a victim. not that you'll ever become a victim, of course. she'll protect you from anything, don't worry.

jason the toymaker wouldn't want anyone to know about you. honestly, his whole thing is making sure that you belong to no one but him. you don't need anyone other than him, so why would he tell anyone about you? the others will know that he has someone in his life already, someone he'd burn the world down for, but they'll never know it's you unless they visit his toy shop.

hobo heart would be delighted if the others knew you were his. you have his heart, so it's only natural for everyone to know that you love each other, right? that's how relationships work. he doesn't really speak much with the others, but when he is around then he'll let everyone know who has his heart.

nurse ann is hardly ever around the others for them to even know about you. the only three to know of your existence is liu, sully, and helen because those are the only people she's close with. they don't need to know about you, it's not like they'll ever hurt you. trust me, she won't let them even if they were to try.

zalgo is just as surprised as everyone else that he's like... together. with you. shocks him every day, to be honest. but yes, he wants everyone to know you're his. he doesn't see you as a weakness, though he knows how fragile humans are so he makes sure you're safe from any that may cause you harm. it also sends a... delightful chill to the core of his existence knowing that everyone knows you belong to him.

x-virus basically needs everyone to know that you're together. not because he's possessive in any way, but because he needs to use this as a way to keep you with him. a tactic to keep you from leaving, if you will. with you dating cody, you're safe from harm. if you ever leave him, then you're no longer under his protection. so... stay with him.

homicidal liu is... hesitant, to put it simply. he doesn't particularly mind if the others find out, but he most certainly won't go out of his way to tell anyone. he doesn't want you involved in the darker parts of his life because he's worried about your safety. there are a few that he simply doesn't trust to know about you. sully, on the other hand, would love for everyone to know about you. he doesn't tell anyone because he respects liu's wishes to keep your existence a secret. though, he can't lie, it does make his heart race knowing that he and liu are the only ones who know about you.

ticci toby neither hid your relationship from people nor did he let anyone know about it. he's a naturally reserved person, so it wasn't like he was super open about himself with the others. in the beginning, the only one to know about you would probably be slender, but that's just because it's like... toby's boss, essentially. of course, those who were paying attention could see the signs.

tim wright would definitely keep your existence secret for as long as possible. the only person who knew about you in the beginning was brian, if we're being honest, and after all hell breaks loose, he'd do everything he could to keep you from getting involved. god forbid if jay or alex found out about you. jay would've used you to find him, and alex would've tried killing you.

brian thomas was open about his relationship with you, so everyone knew who you were. you even offered moral support to everyone filming marble hornets. of course, brian disappeared one day... and then you lost contact with alex... and tim was trying to move on with his life, so you didn't really keep in touch with him either. then jay came around, and... well. that led to a certain hooded figure watching you from afar.

jay merrick was neither open nor reserved about his relationship with you. he probably mentioned you early on in a few tapes, and he maybe even introduced you to alex when they were still friends. you'd probably be mentioned in casual conversation with tim, but ultimately it was a situation where if someone knew, they knew. and if they don't, then they just don't.

alex kralie was more reserved about his relationship with you. his closest friends knew, such as jay and brian, but that was about it. of course, once the operator entered the scene and alex started cleaning up loose ends, your life was endangered. alex... he wanted to kill you. he had to kill you. you suppose it's a good thing jay managed to find you before alex could.

jessica locke is obviously very open about her relationship with you. no need to keep it a secret, y'know? you two are like... the couple, y'know? everyone knows you're dating; you guys don't hide it. why would you two keep it a secret? there's no reason to.

[coryosbaby]

18+, MDNI !! Oliver Quick x reader x Michael Gavey

♡ Bimbo! Reader letting Oliver and Michael take turns on her

♡ Like ughh. It starts out at a party where the both of them are sulking in a corner. Two losers with no friends and slightly obsessive personalities trying to socialize? No way, no way

♡ Until you come along, all pretty and pink, tits out and underwear peeking out of your skirt. And they’re both drooling as they see you, embarrassed to look at each other because of the obvious hard ons they have

♡ And you’re a little airheaded, but you aren’t dumb, per se— you got into Oxford, for christs sake! — so you notice their wavering glances

♡ Introducing yourself to them, asking if you can sit down. The both of them parting like the red fucking sea to let you take a seat between them on some random frat boy’s stained couch. Your bubbly personality enticing the both of them as you tell them your name and about how you had seen them both around

♡ Going on a rant about how you and them are similar — you have companions, but they aren’t close ones, and you came to this party alone. Besides a few frat boys (with ill intentions), no one really wants to be your friend. Call it stuck up rich kid attitude, or whatever

♡ And they nod along, palming their bulges in their jeans like fucking pervs. Nasty, icky boys

♡ You don’t notice until a few minutes in, and looking down at each side of your thighs and into their laps, you let out a sweet little giggle

♡ Teasing the fuck out of them, all while they’re completely flustered as hell and stuttering out apologies. But you just shrug them off, tell them it’s okay

♡“If you want.. I can help? I’m good with my mouth and… other stuff. At least, that’s what my ex boyfriends said! We can go in a room upstairs, ‘m sure the guy who owns this house won’t mind.”

♡(It’s Felix’s house. He does mind, thank you very much, and is sickened by the sight he sees in his bedroom the next morning)

♡ Oliver and Michael are at loss for words at such a simple offer. Awkwardly nodding their heads, they refuse to aknowledge the other’s existence as you grab their hands and lead them upstairs

♡ When you get into one of the rooms, you shut and lock the door. Your lips find Oliver’s first, because he’s the closest. He kisses you rough, desperate. Not a virgin, but not completely experienced either. Probably a drunken fumble with a girl in high school, nothing more

♡ When you kiss Michael, he’s so soft. Like, insanely soft. Lips and touch alike. His hand finds your cheek and he holds your head in his hands when he does it. It’s sweet. Definitely a virgin

♡ You push them both onto the bed, and your fingers nimbly play with the zipper on your pink top. They both watch in wonder as you pull it down, sliding the shirt off your shoulders. No bra .

♡ Both literally gaping, mouths wide open, as they stare at your tits

♡“They’re nice, right? I think they’re my favorite part about me, honestly.”

♡ And then comes your skirt. Short, so they know the color of your underwear already (bubblegum pink)

♡ They both gape as you slide it down, revealing yourself to them so effortlessly. You tilt your head as you ask them to take their clothes off, too

♡ It’s instant. Buttons are undone as quick as lightening, shirts fly to the floor. Underwear is pushed past their ankles. They don’t even care at this point what the other is doing. The only thing in their focus is you

♡ Sliding your panties down, you step out of them and make your way over to the bed. You get on your hands and knees in front of them, pussy exposed and wet, looking back with a smile

♡ “Which one wants to go first?”

♡ Oliver is the braver one, since he has more experience

♡ His cock brushes up against your entrance, clumsily slipping against you. Michael watches, stroking himself with a shaky breath

♡ Oliver sheathes himself in you in one go, whining at your heat, his hands dig into your hips as he begins to thrust into you

♡ He’s not gentle, really. Not even close. He pounds into you, desperate and only thinking of his own aching dick as he splits you open. Mouth agape, sounds tumble out of your glossed lips as he pounds you into mattress

♡“Mmm, give it to me, give it t’me, just like that.”

♡ You’re moaning like a pornstar, feeling every drag and every ridge of him. His fingertips leave crescent moons in your hips, painting your skin with pretty indents of his infatuation

♡ Michael moves to your side and presses a warm kiss to your mouth. His cock sits big and heavy against his stomach, and you try to reach out and touch it but he slaps your hand away

♡ Is he getting a bit cocky? Maybe. He must be doing something right if he’s getting to screw a girl like you

♡ That’s probably why his big hand curls into your hair and he yanks your head back so he can slip his tongue into the warm confines of your mouth. Spit slick lips collide against sticky red ones, making a smear of divine crimson. Oliver, groaning and pent up, is close. So incredibly, undoubtedly close

♡ With a tiny cry, you try to guide him towards his release

♡“It’s good, yeah? My pussy’s so warm ‘n tight for you, Ollie. Cmon, want you to fill me up, want it so bad..”

♡ He can’t say no to that, spilling inside you with a deep stutter of his hips

♡ Michael watches in excitement.

♡ Absolutely fucking insane for that pussy, I’m telling you !!

♡ Practically throws Oliver out of the way to get at you. Watching the way your little hole gushes creamy white cum, he can’t help but push into it

♡ It’s warm, sticky, wet. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt

♡ Whimpers as he presses all the way in. He’s a little bit bigger than Oliver, and your cunt burns from the stretch

♡ But it’s nothing you can’t handle. Your ten inch dildos can vouch for that

♡ Oh, Michael is needy

♡ Needy, needy, needy

♡ The way he fucks— rutting into you like an animal, while also cooing to you as Oliver presses his thumb against your tongue— makes your vision practically white out

♡ Oliver isn’t a completely selfish boy, of course, and his fingers reach down and rub your clit

♡ It surprises you. Usually they pump and dump. You guess he’s just different because he’s a loser

♡ Michael spears his dick against that spongey spot inside you, and you mewl, fucking back onto him with an avaricious intensity

♡ He doesn’t last as long as Oliver, but that’s okay

♡ He’s a virgin, after all. You wouldn’t expect him to

♡ And ughhh when fills you up :(

♡ It’s so precious, the way he whimpers as he releases inside

♡ Oliver just watches, a smirk on his face

♡ The sick fucking freak is already hard again

♡ Ready to go another round

♡ The minute Michael pulls out, Oliver is behind you and you’re being used again

♡ It’s okay, though. You have all night for the two of them to abuse your little cunt <3 they’re pretty boys, after all. And pretty boys deserve to indulge in sweet, creamy pussy

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi

[undiscovered-horizon]

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[Just a sunny afternoon with bear Halsin. What more can a heart desire?]

Halsin claims that sleeping in his bear form provides better rest. Whether that is true or not, you have no way to know. But no matter what the truth is, the druid comes out the winner anyway: he's lightly napping, drifting in and out of slumber, while you're leaning against him.

For the past week, it's been raining on and off. Cold wind nipped at your skin, even sneaking its way into your tent and making sure you shuddered uncomfortably for an hour or two before finally falling asleep. Nighttime storms left you carrying drenched clothes for long hours.

But today, the weather is exceptionally nice. Warm sunlight is peeking through the crowns of the tall trees. Wind, much gentler than for the past few days, is only strong enough to make long blades of grass sway from side to side. Even birds seem to enjoy the change - their melodic songs are carried by the forest's echo.

Halsin and you have decided to spend your day off from travelling in a small gathering. Although your companions-turned-friends are a delightful bunch, the rather crowded camp doesn't allow much liberty in terms of intimacy. Not to mention the sheer noise of so many people going about their day, cramped in one place...

The woods are as silent as nature can be - filled with rustling, birdsong, chirping and chirring. It's the whispering of nature, Silvanus himself enjoying the chatter of his creations. On days as pleasant as today, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to think that he's wandering among the trees, checking in on things, so to speak.

Your back is leaning against Halsin's massive bear frame. With each of his sleepy, shallow breaths, your entire body is moving along them. Every now and then, he lets out a snore and you can't help the loving smile curling your lips. When was the last time he was allowed so much peace?

Dry paper rustles as you turn over the page. Your voice resounds in this part of the woods as you continue reading aloud the book you found just a few days ago. It's a typical, run-of-the-mill court drama but written well enough to have you thinking about something other than the rather unwelcome guest squirming inside your skull.

But the tale of prudish ladies and cunning servants is suddenly brought to a halt as you yawn and stretch your arms. It's been at least an hour or two since Halsin and you have sat down.

The bear underneath you opens one of his eyes curiously. His careful gaze studies your visibly tired face.

"Lay with me, my heart," he says in a groggy voice. There is nothing pressuring about his tone but you feel so enticed to fulfil his words that you don't have the mind to argue against.

Soon you find yourself lying on the ground, cuddled into the side of a bear. Which, by itself, sounds quite funny. And you do chuckle quietly but not because you find the situation humours - no, it's the all-consuming cosiness that makes you uncharacteristically giddy. His fur is thick and soft, as though a moment of distraction could cause you to fall into him.

Halsin, consciously or not, shift his bear body to engulf you a little more. Although a frame of that size is awkward to manoeuvre, he tries to fit his body around your curled-up physique. If it wasn't for the absolutely crushing weight of his wildshape form, Halsin would probably lay himself on top of you to satiate his desire to take care of you.

For the first time in long weeks, snuggled up to a snoring bear, you feel content and safe.

___

I have thought about having a nap with bear Halsin like two weeks ago and that thought has not left ever since. Actually, I think it's already built a house in my head.

[eyesxxyou]

❝ teddy ❞ hobie brown x gn!reader

❝ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ❞ teddy bear humping, teasing, humiliation, penetrative sex

Hobie’s off doing Spider-Man stuff more often than not, it’s just a part of the job, as difficult as it is, but you’d grown to accept it. You miss him, a lot, but there are ways to get around that when he just simply can't be there to hold you the way you need him to.

You have a secret teddy bear you sleep with at night. It’s a huge thing, about half your size, dark brown, and fluffy. You had dressed it up just like Hobie, piercings and all, called it his name, misted it with his cologne, and pretended it was him at night when you cuddled with it. It was a shameful little thing. You kept it from Hobie, knowing he would tease you relentlessly for it if he ever found out about it.

It was your mistake falling asleep with it. You hadn't meant to. The faded cologne that clung to its fur and clothes made it so easy to drift away into slumber. You felt safe and safe meant sleepy.

Hobie had a habit of coming to your flat after a night of patrol, just as the sun would crest over the horizon. He’s come, crawl into bed with you, and sleep with a snore that could wake the dead.

That didn't happen this time because you had so blissfully forgotten bear Hobie on the bed and fallen asleep in your wait for Hobie Hobie to come back and sleep throughout the day with you.

You awake to a deep, guttural chuckle, eyes fluttering to open as your hazy vision cleared and saw Hobie standing over your bed, staring at bear Hobie with a grin on his dark, beautiful lips. “Wha's this then?” He motioned to the clear replica of himself in bear form you were all cuddled up with.

You scrambled up in bed, you eyes flickering between your two Hobies. “I- I uhm…”

“Do ya hump it?” He asked, such a Hobie thing to ask, tossing it back down on the bed in front of you. His lips curled when you didn't respond, cashing your eyes away from him with your fingers fiddled aimlessly with each other. “My fuckin’ days, ya do.” He laughed again, thoroughly amused by the situation and your utter embarrassment.

Hobie grabbed the bear, picked it up under its armpits and lifted it to examine it. “This me?” He asked as if the answer wasn't obvious. He wanted to hear you say it, say that you have a bear replica of him just to further your humiliation. Your face heated with embarrassment as you nod once. “Yeah…”

Hobie was silent for a moment, staring at it. A sick thought entered his head.

“Go ‘head, show me then. I wanna see.”

Before you know it, Hobie has you naked and on top of bear Hobie, straddling the thing that looks so innocently up at you. He’s behind you, large, rough hands on your hips to guide your motions as you rut your hips on rough fabric of bear Hobie's pants.

You moan softly as Hobie’s hands grope at your body, your hips shuddering against the rough fabric of your favorite teddy. Your back arches, body rolling while Hobie kissed at the shell of your ear and whispered soft obscenities to you.

“Ya think ‘e can do better than me?” He pushes your hips forward and back, forward and back, your leaking out all over the poor thing, ruining the fabric you would inevitably have to wash later as you always did. “Hm? Does ‘e make ya moan louder than me?”

You whimpered, craning your head around to look at him only for Hobie to spank you softly on the soft flesh of your ass. “Don' look at me, look at Hobie, doll.” He makes your hump and rut and fuck against your precious companion, all for his greedy eyes to take in and enjoy.

You’re cries are soft with humiliation, fingers gripping the soft plush of the teddy to keep it still beneath you while you fuck yourself against it. Hobie chuckles in your ear. “Fuckin’ pathetic, really.”

And when you cum, you make a mess of the thing, leaving your poor Hobie and wet and sticky with cum. Its face remains unchanged, just as innocent as before.

You’re forced to stare at it as Hobie gets you on all fours on top of it and eases his cock into you. You’re made to kiss it’s nose and tell it you love it while Hobie fucks himself into your pretty little hole. His cock slides against that sweet spot that makes your body shudder with the throes of another quick, shivering orgasm.

“Look at Hobie, luv. Look a’cha favorite lil’ boyfriend.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 8: She's The Salt Of The Earth And She's Dangerous]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading!!! 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace (again).

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “She's A Rebel” by Green Day.

Word count: 7.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I’m sorry if I was a creep when we first met,” Aegon says. He’s been oddly philosophical since he was burned. “I hadn’t seen a hot single chick in a while, and I wanted to fuck you.”

Cregan siphoned just enough gas from a decrepit Chrysler Sebring in Merna to take the Tahoe two and a half hours west to Little Thunder Bay Campground on the shores of Lake McConaughy, a manmade reservoir and New Deal project from the 1930s. You glance over at Aegon dubiously, amused. “Do I count as hot?”

“Yeah, Chippendales, you’re hot. In like a…you live in a cabin and knit sweaters by a crackling fireplace kind of way.”

You smile. “So you got over that.”

“Oh no, I still want to fuck you. Now I just know you better, so I wouldn’t want to offend you by being obnoxious about it.”

“That’s sweet, I guess. I appreciate your discretion.”

“No problem. If you ever decide you want to take a ride on a less distinguished Targaryen brother, let me know.”

The two of you are fishing from a boat launch, dry splintering planks of wood, opaque rippling water, soft wind and bright sunshine from an aquamarine, cloudless sky. Cregan found the fishing poles in the abandoned RV you’ve moved into, a Winnebago Spirit with one of those stick figure family decals on the back window, Mom, Dad, four lovely children and a dog too, all of whom are perhaps alive but more likely dead and in any case nowhere to be found here in this tranquil corner of western Nebraska, 150 miles from the Wyoming border. Helaena digs worms from the earth, then Rhaena slices them into wriggling segments with a hunting knife and brings them to you and Aegon to be impaled on barbed hooks. Aemond, Rio, Daeron, Luke, and Cregan are swimming about twenty yards down the beach, soaked boxer shorts and nothing else, splashing each other and scrubbing the grime off their skin from a morning spent gathering wood for the firepit and the grill; Ice is paddling joyfully alongside them. Baela floats on her back and peers vacantly up into the vast blue nothingness. Aegon is not permitted in the water, as his leg is an open wound beneath his bandages. You ask him as you recast your fishing line: “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

You shrug, smirking guiltily. You thought it was obvious.

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, slow and lazy. “Oh, I get it. A loser.”

“I didn’t say loser.”

“You thought loser.”

“I implied loser.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been called worse things by people I admire much less.” He contemplates his answer as he gazes down into the water, sluggish stoned reverie. Aemond must be almost out of morphine by now. At last Aegon says: “I think the first thing I ever learned was that no matter how hard I tried, no one was ever going to love me. Not in a normal kind of way, Disney movie love, Christmas rom-com love. So I stopped trying. Mother wanted me to play piano, so I bombed the recital. Father wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, so I skipped class, went golfing and yachting, didn’t even bother to pay someone to write halfway decent essays for me. If they couldn’t love me unconditionally, I wasn’t interested in meeting their conditions.” Then he chuckles, the breeze combing through his hair, ninety degrees and only getting hotter. “I refused to work. All you’ve ever done is work. You must hate me.”

“No, I get it.” You reel in your line; a fish has stolen the worm from your hook, tiny clandestine nibbles. You impale a slimy new victim and recast. “No one wants to be used.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I wasn’t going to spend my life doing shit I didn’t want to do so my parents could brag about me to their insufferable friends and absolve themselves of their mistakes. Mother married a man who didn’t give a fuck about her, Father ignored us all. Me being a success story would have given them the impression they did something right. I couldn’t have that.”

So Aemond had to be the success story instead. You glance down the beach at where he is bursting through the water and slicking back his dripping hair from his face, showing Luke a bone he found in the muddy silt of Lake McConaughy, hopefully not human.

Aegon follows your eyeline. “Aemond went the other way, I guess. Always so pathetically desperate for their approval. Scrabbling for crumbs of it like a rat. That’s what the thing with Alys was all about, it’s the only explanation I have. Older woman, surrogate mother, comforting but chilly, fawning but forbidden, always keeping him at an arm’s length and rewarding his tricks with treats.” He smirks flirtatiously, then sees that he’s hurt you. “Oh, um, I mean…look, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a good thing, you know? He wasn’t happy. It was a seven-year-long psychotic episode, not a relationship.”

“You mentioned that Criston likes Aemond,” you say, pivoting. “The…what is he? A family friend, an assistant?”

“My mother’s personal security guard. And yeah, he cares about Aemond. He’s proud of him, he trust him, he thinks he’s more capable than any of the rest of us, and that’s probably true. It’s definitely true compared to me. But that doesn’t mean Criston always knows how to express it.”

You look out over the water, trying not to imagine Aemond touching Alys, this woman you hate without knowing her face. You wonder if he ever wishes you were more like her: older, clever, entrancing, masterful. “It must have been a strange way to grow up.”

“Cold,” Aegon says. “Hollow. Holidays, birthdays, vacations, everything. You go through the motions but something’s always missing. When you’re little, you think it’s your fault, and then eventually you realize that they’re going to be miserable whether you’re there or not. But you can get out if you’re willing to run far enough.” He scratches at his forearm, and your eyes catch fleetingly on the black ink of his tattoo: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You had told Rio something similar when you were stranded on that transmission tower in Catawissa, Pennsylvania. “This is fucked up, and I don’t mean that I don’t feel bad about what happened to Jace, and I get that millions of people have died agonizing deaths, and that all sucks, believe me, I know, but this…” He gestures vaguely, to the zombies and the desolation and the collapse of everything you’ve ever known. “It was kind of my Get Out Of Jail Free card. And in a weird way…sometimes I feel like I’ve been happier since the world ended than I ever was before.”

You smile. You know what he means. “Even if your leg gets infected and we have to saw it off without anesthesia like you’re a Civil War soldier?”

Aegon laughs and shakes his head, his hair flopping around. It’s almost long enough for him to have a man bun like Cregan’s if he wanted one “No, probably not. Also, what’s the Civil War?”

“Forget it.”

“No, now I want to know.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Aemond said something interesting this morning while you were picking blackberries with our favorite Trump supporter,” Aegon tells you, salacious and sly, offering a tantalizing morsel he knows you’re powerless to refuse. He pauses and waits for you to admit it to yourself.

“Fine. Okay. What?”

“He said that when you and Cregan are standing next to each other, you look like you belong together.”

You groan, quite loudly. “I have zero interest in Cregan romantically. Literally zero. I don’t think he sees me that way either.”

Aegon shrugs. “The dating pool is awfully small nowadays, Banana Chip. Anyone who’s not a corpse or an immediate blood relative starts to look tasty.”

“So that’s why you like me.”

Aegon grins, teeth he shows often and easily, so unlike Aemond in every way. “No. I think I’d like you anywhere.” He tugs languidly on his fishing pole. “I want a new golf club.” He forgot his at the house in Broken Bow where Jace died.

“We’ll see.”

“I want new shoes too.” One of his Sperry Bahama sneakers was burned beyond repair and filled with shreds of his own singed flesh, scraps like soft bacon fused with the padding and insole. “And some polos.”

“I’m not a Big Lots.”

“Who the fuck shops at Big Lots?” Aegon’s fishing line jerks, and he yanks hard on the pole before reeling in his catch. Suspended at the end is a long green creature, yellowish spots and a villainous angular face. “That is one ugly bitch.”

“It’s a pike,” you say, and then when you grab it you observe that the misfortunate fish has the barb of the hook piercing not through its lip but one of its bulging, glassy eyes. “Oh my God!”

Aegon squeals, horrified. He offers no meaningful assistance. “That’s so gross, that’s so gross, what are we going to do?!”

“We have to, like, I don’t know, grab the back of the hook from inside its mouth and pull it out of the eyeball, I guess…?!”

“Yeah, awesome. Good luck with that.”

You reach tentatively into the pike’s gaping mouth. Its jaws snap shut, needlelike teeth stinging your wrist. “Ow!”

“Cregan!” Aegon bellows. “Cregan, help!”

Now the others are running to the boat launch to see what’s going on, Helaena and Rhaena from the shore, everyone else from the lake, Luke helping Baela wring the water from her sundress and Ice galloping alongside Cregan. He gets a look at the pike and guffaws, loud and rumbling.

“Poor little guy. That’s some bad luck he’s got.”

“Can you get the hook out?” you ask, eager to surrender the fish, which is still thrashing franticly and gnashing its teeth, mindless cold-blooded death throes.

“Of course I can.” Cregan plucks the pike from your grasp, shoves his massive hand into its mouth, and rips the hook out with one effortless maneuver. The pike is freed, but its eyeball remains speared on the hook. Then Cregan spies blood on your wrist. “You okay there, Miss Chips?”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

“Freaking disgusting, man,” Aegon mutters; he and Rio are ogling the disembodied eyeball, complete with a frayed optic nerve like a tail, with identical, stunned revulsion.

You turn to smile up at Aemond, but he doesn’t notice you. He is staring at Cregan, his sole blue eye narrow and fixed and flat like still water.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The closest town is Ogallala,” Aegon says as he lays his map across the wooden picnic table. The rest of you are seated around him and picking flaky white meat from between the thin, fragile bones of the pike, which Cregan has gutted and cooked on the large metal grill that careless camping families once roasted marshmallows and hotdogs over. Helaena is at the edge of the table and writing in her spider notebook, elegant loops of cursive. Ice is lying on her belly and gnawing on a rabbit she killed for herself, its doomed black eyes gazing up at you.

“That has to be what, ten miles south?” Rio says apprehensively.

Aegon licks grease from his fingers. “Yup. A little more, probably.”

“What about Lemoyne?” Daeron says, pointing. “Or Keystone, or even Belmar? They’re all closer.”

“See how small the names are written?” Aegon tells him. “That means they’re not actual communities. They’re like a few stop signs and maybe a Dollar General and that’s it.”

“I love Dollar General,” Cregan says, nostalgic. “Man, do y’all remember Chicken in a Biskit? I used to park myself in front of the tv and eat boxes and boxes—”

“It has to be Ogallala,” Aemond insists. “We need pharmacies and grocery stores and cars to siphon gas from, we need a real town.”

Rhaena chews her lower lip anxiously. “The Tahoe is empty. We have maybe half a gallon left and that’s it. Just enough to get down to Ogallala if we’re lucky, but not back.”

“So we’ll drive until it dies and then we’ll walk. Cregan has a gas can in the back, if we find fuel we can bring some back to the Tahoe and continue from there.”

“Walk, huh?” Aegon says, looking down at his bandaged left leg, which he can’t put any weight on. He gets around by hopping, leaning against other people (oftentimes against their will), and being carried by Rio.

“Well, you’re not going,” Aemond tells him. “And Baela isn’t either.”

Baela, gazing blankly down at the map, says nothing. A brown striped snake darts through the grass only a few feet from the picnic table, moving swiftly towards the lake, and there are alarmed gasps and yelps.

“Northern water snake,” Helaena says, glancing up from her notebook. “Not venomous.”

“Good,” Rhaena replies with a shudder.

Luke says fearfully as he reads the map: “Aemond, last time we went into a town that big was Broken Bow, and…Jace…the farmhouse…”

Aemond slams his fists down on the table. “We have to, okay? We need food and water. We need bullets. I need more pain meds and bandages for Aegon, I need antiseptic and Neosporin, and Vaseline for when he’s healing, and supplies for when Baela goes into labor too, since I’ve had to use everything I had saved.”

“We need pads and tampons too,” Helaena says as she examines the black-ink inventory in her notebook. “And Advil, lip balm, bars of soap, hair ties, and socks and underwear. And that green jelly aloe vera stuff for Aegon’s sunburn.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Aemond agrees. “We need a lot of things. And we have to refuel so we can keep moving west.”

“We could stay here,” Baela says, so softly that at first you aren’t sure if you heard her right.

“What, Baela?” Rhaena asks gently.

“I want to stay here.” Baela is more resolute now. “I want to have the baby here.”

Nobody knows how to respond. Rio gives you a troubled glance. You nod in agreement, so subtly you doubt anyone else notices. Not an option.

Aemond is calm but unwavering. “Baela, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

She pleads her case. “I like the Winnebago. I like the lake. I’m comfortable here, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and I…I think we could make this our home for a while, now that we’ve found someplace like this. Someplace quiet and safe.”

“We’re not safe here, Baela,” Aemond says. “It feels like we’re safe, but we’re not. We aren’t a big enough group to reliably be able to defend ourselves. We don’t have adequate supplies. We have a lake to our backs, sure, but the rest of the shoreline is open for anybody to walk right into, and our visibility is blocked by trees. No one has stumbled across us yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. And if they do we’re extremely vulnerable. But when we get to the west coast, we’ll be home.”

“I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being afraid.”

“I understand. I am too.”

“It’s different,” Baela says, abruptly fierce. “You don’t know what this feels like. None of you do. I’ve never given up and I’ve never asked to be taken care of, I’ve always been the strong one, but I’m so goddamn tired, and I want to have my baby here, and I…I…” Her large dark eyes are glistening, haunted. “Every time we’re driving I feel like I see him sitting next to me, or standing out in the middle of the road, and then I have to remember what happened all over again, and…I just…I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Rhaena takes Baela’s hands in her own, skims her thumbs across Baela’s knuckles; Luke rubs her back reassuringly. The rest of you can only offer silent, pitying looks. There are no easy answers, no fortuitous gold strikes, no shortcuts. The only way out is through.

“Whatever you guys decide, I’m leaving either way,” Rio says. “Sophie’s waiting for me in Oregon. I can’t just hang out in Nebraska forever. I’ll walk if I have to.”

“It’s over a thousand miles,” Aegon tells him.

“Doesn’t matter, man. I gotta do it.”

You add: “Obviously, I’d have to go with Rio.”

Both Aemond and Aegon appear startled. “We’ll be on the road again soon,” Aemond promises. “Tomorrow, if we can find gas in Ogallala.”

“I’m not going,” Baela whispers.

“We have to, Baela,” Rhaena implores. “It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you, and the baby too when the time comes.”

Baela stands, strides to the Winnebago, disappears inside and slams the door behind her.

“She’ll be okay,” Rhaena tells the rest of you. “She’s…you know, she’s shaken up. She’s not thinking clearly. But she’ll realize this was the right decision. The only decision, really.”

“It’s best if we can get set up somewhere permanent before she goes into labor,” Aemond says, as if he’s defending himself. “Traveling with a baby…Baela recovering…it would be very dangerous for all of us.”

“Luke and I are thinking the same things, Aemond. We agree with you.”

He gives Rhaena an appreciative smile, very small but sincere. Then he turns to Daeron. “Baela and Aegon will have to wait here when I go south to Ogallala, since they can’t walk in the event the Tahoe runs out of gas. You’re going to stay behind to protect them.”

“Got it,” Daeron says soberly. All the bullets are gone; his compound bow, fed with arrows fashioned from sticks, is the best weapon you have left. Cregan has his axe, Rio still prefers to bash skulls with the butt of his Remington shotgun, everyone else must make do with hunting knives from that cellar back in Pennsylvania and kayak paddles found here at Lake McConaughy.

Aemond looks around the table. “I’ll need Rio, Cregan, and Luke.”

“And our beloved furball Blue Raspberry Icee,” Aegon says, smirking. “To sniff out any zombies.”

“Yes. Ice too.”

“What about me?” you say, staring incredulously at Aemond.

“Not you. You’re staying here in the RV.”

“If you and Rio are going, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Aemond says. “You’re the best shot, and we all agree about that, but we’re fresh out of bullets. You therefore have no advantage tactically.”

“What’s Luke’s advantage?”

There are awkward chuckles. Aemond leaves the picnic table and gestures for you to follow him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Why?”

Aemond doesn’t answer; he keeps walking until he’s hidden amongst a small grove of Kentucky coffeetrees, oval emerald leaves and umber seed pods that hang from branches, reminding you of skate egg cases—what some people call mermaid’s purses—you once found washed up on the beach outside Djibouti City. Rio teases you: “Ohhh, you’re in troubleee…”

You swat him on the back of the head; his hair is getting long too, dark curls that flutter in the breeze that comes in off the lake, hot and humid, the infinite wildness of July. “If I’m not going, you have to swear that you’ll—”

“I got it, I got it,” Rio says, blasé and jolly. “I’ll look underneath things, I’ll look on top of things, I’ll look everywhere. Okay?”

Aegon kicks him with his good foot. “Get me a golf club.”

“I’m not a Dick’s!”

“Dicks?! Who brought up dicks, you sicko…?!”

You go after Aemond and meet him in the shade, an island of twilight in the omnipotent golden morning. He pushes you against one of the Kentucky coffeetrees—rough bark to your back, prodding you through your t-shirt—and nuzzles your throat as he presses his hips to yours, blissful clandestine surrender as your knees weaken and you gaze dizzily up into the canopy of leaves.

You sigh: “This is not an explanation. This is a distraction. A very enjoyable one, but a distraction nonetheless.”

“Daeron is good with a bow, but he’s young,” Aemond murmurs. “I need you to help him protect the others.”

“You’ve managed to make this sound like a promotion.”

“And,” Aemond continues. “When things get risky and chaotic, and I’m trying to make sure everyone is safe…I find you being around to be…distracting.”

“Rio doesn’t think I’m a distraction.”

He chuckles, avoidant. “That’s not an equivalent situation.”

“I get that Luke has binoculars, but I am also perfectly capable of using binoculars, and I could borrow his and he could stay here. I really don’t think he’d mind being benched, he’d probably prefer it—”

“I always ask you to stay near Rio, and you never do, and then I have to worry about you getting lost or bitten or imperiled in any one of a million other ways.”

“Because it’s not that simple! Rio gets it, I have to be able to improvise—”

Suddenly, Aemond pulls away and asks: “Do you trust me?”

You are bewildered. “What?”

“Because I could understand if you don’t.”

You search his scarred face; he has that look like he’s trying not to reveal too much of himself, to show that he’s nervous or vulnerable or afraid. You touch your palm to his ravaged cheek, your voice soft. “I trust you, Aemond.”

He seems relived. “Good. Then please stay here.”

“You’ll watch out for Rio?” you say threateningly.

“Of course.”

“And yourself too.”

He grins, those small secretive teeth he loves to hide. “That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll check under things and on top of things, and you’ll remember what I said about the racks? When you go into stores and you’re rummaging through—?”

Aemond kisses you, warm and slow and kind, the curve of his lips pleased and mischievous. “It’s flattering that you’re so concerned.”

“And don’t forget the pads and tampons.”

His scarred eyebrow rises half an inch. “Oh?”

“I’m already having pre-period cramps. I’ll need supplies in a few days.”

“You’ll have them. Don’t fear.” Then he studies you, concerned, his brow furrowing and his palm testing your cheek and forehead. “You feeling okay? You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Oh yeah, totally. It’s very routine at this point, I’ve had a decade to get accustomed.”

“Alright. If there’s anything else you think of before we head out, I’ll add it to the list.” He takes your hand and examines the shallow scratches left on your wrist by the needlelike teeth of the pike. “Let me clean and wrap that up for you. I think I have just enough bandages left.”

“Your worst nightmare came true,” you joke. “I was bitten after all.”

Aemond doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s long after nightfall and you and Aegon are keeping watch just outside the Winnebago Spirit, slumped in folding camping chairs people once told their legends from: scary stories, workplace grievances, familial mythology. In the firepit, logs split and pop, and embers glow a bloody red. You’re waiting for the Tahoe to return and trying not to think about the possibility it might not.

“These suck,” Aegon says, garbled by a mouthful of Cheddar Whales, grimacing at the bright blue box. “Why do you and Rio eat these? They’re like…dodgy Goldfish.”

“Are you kidding?! They’re way better than Goldfish! Goldfish don’t taste like anything.”

“And Cheddar Whales taste like salty cardboard. The American Dream.” Aegon passes the box back to you. “They better come back with some SpaghettiOs or Rice-A-Roni or something. I can’t survive on Cregan’s overcooked fish.” He lights a Marlboro Gold cigarette by sticking it into the fire and takes a deep drag, looking up at the stars. Aemond gave him the last of the morphine before he left, and Aegon is floating on a feathery, narcotic cloud.

You say after at last working up the nerve: “So you’re a slut, right?”

He snickers, firelight dancing on his sunburned face. “Slut, loser, you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a slut. Why?”

“Have you ever had trouble…” Your hands flail around aimlessly; it’s so awkward to say out loud. “You know…getting it in?”

“No, not really. But I’m hung like a hamster.” He looks over at you, curious shimmering stoned blue eyes. “Technical difficulties, Chip And Dip? Not enough dipping going on?”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re probably just nervous. Aemond’s a doctor, he’d be able to tell if you had something wonky down there, like those chicks who are born without a vagina. Or with two vaginas. Jesus Christ, can you imagine the possibilities? Why can’t I meet someone like that?”

You stare into the fire, discouraged. “I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Aemond will assume it’s his fault. He thinks everything is his fault.”

Through the darkness, you spot headlights bobbing as the Tahoe approaches on bumpy dirt roads. “Oh, thank God. They’re back.”

“About time. If Rio didn’t find me a new golf club, I’m going to drown him in the lake.”

“He could break you in half.”

“But he wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“Because he likes me too much.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you like me too,” Aegon says as he exhales smoke, his glazed eyes listing to you, his grin crooked and drowsy. “Just a little bit.”

You smile reluctantly. “I might.”

“Cool.” He beams up at the stars, and then says again: “Cool.”

As the massive SUV rolls to a halt, the headlights cascading over you and so bright they’re nearly blinding, you notice the red letters on the grill: GMC. “That’s not the Tahoe,” you say, panicked.

“What? Then who is it?”

“I don’t know.” You stand up, instinctively reaching for one of your M9s; but they’re both empty. All the guns are. Your hand drops to your side.

Aegon, unable to rise on his own, remains in his chair and grips the armrests tightly. He whispers: “Should we go inside…?!”

“They’ve already seen us. But they don’t know who’s in the RV.” Rhaena, Baela, Helaena. With a shiver like a bolt of cold lightning, you recall what Aemond said at the bowling alley back in Shenandoah, Ohio: I don’t want them to know we have women with us.

The GMC Yukon is still running when two men step out, the headlights disorientingly bright. They are both armed, you see immediately, pistols that you’d guess are Colts. Aegon’s hand juts out and closes around your forearm as the strangers approach. They are both young, maybe twenty, and wearing jeans, camo jackets, and baseball hats like they’re going hunting. They stand in the yellow-white glow of the headlights as they watch you.

“Hi,” you say congenially, forcing a smile.

The men glance at each other, then one greets you with a nod. “Howdy.”

“We’re set up here,” you say. “But it’s a big campground. You’re welcome to any of the other spots.”

The man who spoke earlier chuckles and scratches at his short beard. You steal a glimpse back at Aegon: his eyes are huge and horrified.

“It’s real quiet on the lake,” you continue. “We haven’t had any problems, and we’ve been here a few days. It’s a good place. We’re happy to share it. We don’t…” You deliberate what words to use. “We aren’t interested in making trouble. We just want to be left alone.”

The man replies: “I camped here every single summer growing up, learned to fish here, swam in the water with my cousins, brought my girlfriends here to fuck. And now you’re inviting me to stay? You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent. This is my backyard. You’re the one who should be asking for permission.”

Aegon is making a low, whimpering sound; his fingernails are digging into the defenseless, downy underside of your forearm. “We don’t have anything of value,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Uh huh.” The stranger’s gaze flicks to the Winnebago.

“We found it. There’s no gas, no keys. Two of the tires are flat. It’s just shelter.”

“Who else is in the RV?”

“No one.”

The second man is squinting at Aegon. “Is he a cripple?”

“He was burned. That’s why we’re resting here for a while, so he can heal.”

The first man points to the bandage on your wrist. “Did you try to kill yourself? My neighbor did that when her kid got eaten. Slit her veins open out in the middle of the street. Bad scene.”

“I got mauled by a fish,” you reply numbly.

He laughs, a slow, rolling, mocking sort of sound, not taking his eyes off you. Then they drop to the Beretta M9s you have holstered at your waist. “Are those loaded?”

“Yes.”

He signals to the nearest Kentucky coffeetree. “Prove it. Shoot that tree.” You stare at its trunk, stark in the headlights of the strangers’ SUV. Long seconds tick by, the only sound the idling of the engine and the crackling of the firepit. “You can’t,” the man says, grinning. “Because you’re out of bullets. But I’m not.”

He raises his pistol and fires, a thunderclap, a mechanical roar. A small circular wound appears in the tree. Aegon shrieks and tries to stand; he tumbles to the earth when the raw, weeping flesh beneath his bandages betrays him. The RV door flies open and Daeron is the first one out, clutching his compound bow but still blinking his way out of the dreams he was jolted from. He won’t be able to nock one of his makeshift arrows before they shoot him.

“What the hell’s going on—?!”

“Drop it!” the stranger shouts, and both he and his companion aim their pistols at Daeron. He freezes. Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena exit the RV and begin screaming, clinging to each other.

“Do what they ask,” you tell Daeron, trying to remain calm. With great hesitancy, he sets his bow on the earth and puts his empty palms in the air. There are hunting knives inside the RV, you think. Where did we store them? In a drawer, in a cabinet?

The men are now herding you all into the RV, jabbing the barrels of their pistols against your backs and bellies. “Let’s go, everybody in,” the first one says. The second man hooks an arm forcefully under one of Aegon’s and drags him through the threshold, Aegon yowling as his burned leg smacks against the doorframe. The second man forces Aegon and Daeron to kneel on the floor at the front of the RV near the driver’s seat; the other one arranges the women at gunpoint, instructing you to squeeze together to sit in a row on the floral couch. Helaena—farthest from you and closest to the kitchenette booth—is sobbing and covering her ears. Rhaena appears to be hyperventilating. Baela’s head is held high, her face furious and defiant.

Aemond, Rio, Cregan, please come back…

“Now this is interesting,” the first man is saying to his friend. He uses his pistol to indicate to each of you. “We’ve got G.I. Jane, this delicate little sweetheart, a pregnant lady, and Cinderella. Where should we begin…?”

You glance at Rhaena, catch her wide frenzied eyes, then look meaningfully at the drawers across the aisle near the kitchenette stove and sink. Knife? you mouth.

It takes her a moment to realize what you mean, then she inclines her head, an elusive nod. She remembers where they are, where they were stored once she cleaned them this afternoon in the lake water. That’s good; but in order for Rhaena to grab a large serrated hunting knife, the men will need to be distracted.

“There’s a bed in the back,” the second man is saying. “I can see it from here, down the hallway…”

Your gaze is darting around the Winnebago. Aegon is yelling something; the second man pistol-whips him, fortunately not hard enough to fracture his skull.

“Don’t worry,” the first man tells Aegon, background noise you try to ignore as you search for an opportunity. “You’ll get to watch…”

Helaena is trying to get your attention, staring at you with her wide, gleaming blue eyes. You furrow your brow at her, not understanding…and then you see the burlap strap she’s looped around her wrist. Her messenger bag must be in the kitchenette booth beside her. And as you watch, and only for a second, she arranges her fingers in the shape of a gun.

The Ruger, you realize, amazed, that tiny revolver she was always so repelled by. Helaena never used it, but she still has it. And it’s loaded.

Baela is arguing with the men, words you tune out. Helaena points to you, but you shake your head. There’s no way for her to get the Ruger to you without them seeing. You mouth to Helaena, your face severe: You have to do it. Then you look to the first man, presently waving his pistol in Baela’s face.

“I’d like to go first,” you say casually, and all the noise stops.

“No, no, no, I’ll do it,” Aegon tells the men. “You want a blowjob? You want to fuck me in the ass? I’m down. I’m not scared of no dick. I experimented in college.”

Both strangers burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s a mighty generous offer,” the second one says, swiping a tear from his eye. “But that’s not the team we’re on, is it, Wesley?”

The first man, Wesley, is smiling down at you. His gaze sweeps over your body, from your bare feet to your eyes, calm and level. “Why do you want to go first, darling?”

Shoot him, Helaena. Shoot him right now. “I’ve never done it before. I figure I should give it a try before it’s too late.”

Helaena whips the Ruger out of her burlap messenger bag and opens fire. She winces each time it goes off, and her aim is terrible; bullets pierce the ceiling and the walls, striking nowhere near Wesley or his accomplice, but their panicked ducking buys valuable seconds. Daeron and Aegon tackle the man closest to them and wrestle the pistol from his hands. Aegon presses the barrel to his skull, pulls the trigger, kills him instantly. Rhaena flies to one of the drawers and yanks out a hunting knife ten inches long. She buries it in Wesley’s throat, the blade disappearing until the hilt rests on his collarbone. When she rips it free, scarlet blood jets from his severed carotid artery, spraying you, soaking you. Blood is in your eyes and nostrils, hot coppery carnage; when you scream, you can taste it in your mouth.

People are reaching for you and telling you to calm down, that they’ll help you, but you can’t wait. You use your t-shirt to mop as much of the blood as you can from your face and bolt through the door of the RV, running towards the lake. You drop to your knees on the sand and splash yourself, cool moonlit rivulets that wash the blood away. You’re trembling, you’re crying, and when somebody grabs you by the arm you scream and strike out at them, clawing like an animal.

“It’s me,” Aemond says, and only then do you get a good look at him, blood and lake water beading on your eyelashes. He’s wiping blood off your face with his palms, he’s inspecting you for fresh wounds. “Don’t fight, it’s me, it’s me, whose blood is this, what happened—?!”

“You were right,” Baela says to Aemond from where she stands on the sand, a hand resting on her belly. Drifting from the RV are the voices of the others who have just returned: Rio, Cregan, Luke. “We’re not safe here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, rain falls as you lie entangled with Aemond in the attic bedroom of a ranch house in Red Desert, Wyoming, flashing lightning and flickering candles illuminating bare skin. You are kissing feverishly, your hands all over each other, and Aemond is pushing himself into you; or, rather, he is trying to. There is pain, and you can feel your body turning treasonous, rejecting him, shrinking away from him, fearing that you’ll never be able to satisfy him.

No, no no no…

His voice is hushed and gentle as his lips brush your ear. “Hey, you’re shaking, why are you shaking?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine, keep going.” And then, when he stops: “No, Aemond, don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You have to. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Instead, he lies down beside you and turns your face to his, fingerprints on the slope of your jaw. He asks again, more firmly: “Why are you shaking?”

All the walls and arches of you collapse, stones tumbling to crack against the earth. You are suddenly fighting tears. Your words come out in a whisper. “I want this to be real.”

He studies your face, distressed. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to lose you. I never thought I’d have something like this and now I’m so afraid of fucking it up.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what Jace thought.”

Aemond pulls you against his chest and holds you as you sink through him into dark, cold, watery dreams, and doesn’t make any more promises he can’t keep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What time is it on the East Coast right now?” you ask Rio. It’s May and almost a hundred degrees every day in Djibouti City—arid, rainless, sun glare and dust that sting your eyes—so the Navy has you building at night when they won’t have to deal with quite so many Seabees dropping over from heatstroke. Outside the day is turning to a soft lavender dusk and your shift will begin soon. You are dressed—sand-colored t-shirt, camo pants, work boots—and toweling off your hair, still wet from the shower.

Rio is sprawled across the floor of your room, taking up almost all of it; housing at Camp Lemonnier consists of converted shipping containers, each outfitted with its own perpetually whirring air conditioning unit. He is reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. “Like seven hours behind here, so early afternoon, I guess.” Then he looks up at you, suspicious. “Why?”

“I should probably call.”

“Should you really?”

“I want to. I’ll feel guilty if I don’t.”

Rio shakes his head and returns his attention to his reading material. “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“You love telling me what to do.”

“I wish you loved listening.” He flips a page, puzzled. “Why the fuck does Sophie like this book so much…?”

You open Facebook Messenger on your phone and make a call. The wifi isn’t good for videos, but old-fashioned audio calls usually work okay. There is an answer on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?” she says, and you can hear the entire house when she turns on speakerphone: the squeaking of the recliner, the droning of a talk show, indistinct speech and chuckling from other people, glass—cups, bottles, baking dishes, ashtrays—clinking sharply.

“Hi, Mama! Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Aw, ain’t you sweet to call.” And you are testing her voice like water from a tap, icy cold, hot enough to scald. At the moment, Mama sounds perfectly lukewarm. “I didn’t count on hearing from you. I know how busy you are.”

That’s a landmine that you step gingerly around. “We definitely have a lot going on here, and there’s the time difference and everything…but I wanted to make sure to say hi, even if I can’t talk for long. What are you up to today?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You hear her smoking: breathe in, breathe out, a cunning sort of pause as she decides how to proceed. Of course there were no extravagant festivities planned. Nothing ever felt like a real holiday at home: Mama getting sloshed and burning the turkey on Thanksgiving, Christmas presents that had to be returned for grocery and gas money, fistfights and doors ripped off hinges on New Year’s Eve. You had decided years ago that Hallmark channel magic was pure fiction…but sometimes you get glimpses of it now. Thanksgiving dinner in some unceremonious chow hall with Rio and your other friends feels more like a holiday than anything else you’ve ever known. “You still in Africa?”

“It’s Djibouti, Mama, I told you. It’s on the Horn. Across the sea is Yemen and Saudi Arabia.”

“Why can’t they put y’all to work in your own goddamn country?”

“Well, we do that too sometimes.” You stall, listening to her smoking. Rio glances up at you from where he’s still reading on the floor. “They have some incredible beaches here. Yesterday morning we went down to the water and there were all these cute kids playing, and they only spoke French but Rio showed them how to play tic-tac-toe by drawing a board in the sand—”

“I like the beach,” she says, and you know you’ve made a mistake. “You remember that?”

Deflated now: “Yeah, Mama. I remember. Are the boys going to take you to Virginia Beach this summer?”

She scoffs. “We’ll see, but I doubt it. It’s expensive, girl.”

You sigh deeply. Rio was right. I shouldn’t have called. “We talked about this. I need to be saving up to get my own house one day, and my own car, and all those things I’ll need to have a life when I get out of the Navy—”

“And what about my house?!” Mama cries, damn near wails. “I’m gonna lose it! I can’t make the payments!”

You reply calmly: “Mama, that’s your house. That’s your business. And you’ve got more than one kid still living at home long after they’ve turned eighteen, so they need to be the people you’re asking to help, not me.”

“You’re gonna let your Mama be homeless? Is that what you called to tell me on Mother’s Day? What the hell kind of daughter are you?”

“I got out!” you shout into the phone, and Rio is scrambling off the floor to rush to you. “I’m learning things and I’m making money and I’m building schools and hospitals on the other side of the fucking planet, and you can’t be proud of me because you think it means you’ve failed, but the truth is that you could have gotten out too! All of you could have! But you didn’t, it was me, it was just me, and now you hate me for it!”

“You need to come home now,” Mama says. “You gotta take care of me, take care of your Mama. You only got one and she needs you, so you gotta heed me. That’s what’s right.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life watching you get wasted in that filthy house, and I’d work where, at the Dollar General? At Arby’s? And get knocked up by the first guy who shows any interest?”

“You’re giving me heart palpitations. I’m gonna have to go to the emergency room and it’s all your fault.”

Rio is whispering into your other ear, one of his massive palms resting on the back of your neck: “Just hang up. It’s not worth it. You can hang up, just hang up…”

“I want things to be normal,” you tell Mama, you plead, tears stinging in your eyes. “I’ve tried so hard to get along with everyone, and help you as much as I can, but no matter what I do it’s not enough, and you’re always mad at me, and you’re always fighting with me—”

“You’re damn right I’m fighting with you, because you’re a spiteful, selfish child.”

“Hang up,” Rio is murmuring. “Hang up, hang up, hang up…”

“Mama,” you say, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

“When I’m homeless, you know you got no one but yourself to blame—”

You hit the red button to end the call, throw your phone down onto the bed, stare at the wall and swallow noisily, choking back sobs. You won’t let yourself cry. You’ve cried enough for them already. You have to keep moving forward. The only way out is through. “You were right,” you say to Rio at last, quiet and raspy. Your hands are trembling. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Hey.” He grabs your face roughly, forces you to look at him with your miserable shimmering eyes, grins hugely. “I’m your mom now, bitch.”

You laugh as tears spill down your cheeks, let him bury you in one of his smothering bear hugs, cling to him like a life raft in a storm.

[thehistoriccemetery]

Companions reacting to Tav sleeping completely naked!!!! Please

BG3 Companions Find Out Tav Sleeps Naked (18+)

I really thought I was just gonna start writing this one real quick (I had an idea for Karlach) and three hours later here I am.

This asker was literally the only one to request this one so this is largely self-indulgent, as I do and always have slept naked, even in this -4 degree weather.

Also I’m really trying to incorporate the drow language into Minthara’s portion, but I’m like 70% sure I failed and it just sounds mildly cringy and incredibly ill-informed.

Anyway this is all our favorite ladies (Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, and Jaheira) finding out Tav sleeps naked.

(18+ for possible sexual themes)

Shadowheart

One morning, when she’s feeling particularly mischievous, Shadowheart decides she’s going to drop by your room and wake you up herself.

You’re certainly not the last one up, but Shadowheart, Jaheira, and Minthara have all been up making breakfast for a little while now, and she’s finding their company a little stale.

She sneaks over to your bed, grabbing the blankets and pulling them off of you in one swift move.

She’s typically a lot nicer and gentler when she wakes you up, but her aforementioned mischievousness has her feeling a little playful this morning.

“What the hell?” You groan grumpily, “put it back on I’m cold.”

She stares at you aghast. She was not expecting you to be completely naked, splayed out face down on the mattress.

“Fine, but I’m coming with it,” she says. She wraps the blanket around her shoulders and crawls on top of you.

“Much better,” you smirk, joyed to have such delightful company so early in the morning.

She kisses your bare shoulder. “I suppose I should apologize, I hadn’t expected you to be… unadorned.”

You chuckle. “You gotta problem with me sleeping in the nude?”

“Not a one,” she corrects. “I actually find it oddly… charming, I think. Plus then I can do this.”

She starts to trail slow kisses down your spine. You smirk, trying to turn around and face her, but she pins your wrists down, keeping you splayed out on the mattress.

“Be still for a moment, love,” she kisses the middle of your back before sitting up, astride your hips. “I feel like I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“My back?” You question. She’s certainly seen your bare back before. But she really seems to be enamored with it now. It was nothing special, you thought. Aside from a couple scars, it was just… a back.

She dragged her nails gently up your back. “I like the view. I’d like to see you like this more often.” She bends over until her chest is flush against you and whispers softly in your ear. “Perhaps tonight?”

You feel a rush of heat between your legs, closing your eyes and audibly exhaling.

Before you can even fully enjoy the sensation, she’s off of you, standing next to the bed with her hand out. “Come on, the others will be waiting.”

You take her hand and pull yourself out of bed. She certainly was feeling some type of playful this morning.

Lae’zel

“Hmm. This choice of sleepwear feels… inadequate,” Lae’zel spits.

You nearly jump out of bed with the scare she gives you. You were sleeping and not expecting such abrupt company.

With a simple fire spell, you light the candle on your bedside and point it towards the Githyanki.

“Lae’zel?” You ask, very confused. “What are you doing in here? What time is it? It can’t be morning already.”

You sigh. You were still so tired, you really hoped she was not here to wake you up for the day.

“No,” she growled. “The animal has been scratching at your door. It seems he has tired of Karlach’s snoring and would like to stay in here instead.”

With that, Scratch jumps onto your bed and curls up at your feet. The animals usually slept in Karlach’s room.

“But, back to your choice of sleepwear,” she says. “It seems ill-advised to be covered by do little in your most vulnerable state.”

You cock your head. You had never seen sleeping naked as a safety hazard. “Lae’zel, you’re not sleeping in your armor… are you?”

“Chk, no,” she says, gesturing to her own sleep outfit.

“What more protection does that give you than this?” You gesture at her body and then your own.

“It’s sleek, form fitting, ergonomic, and, most importantly, it covers my most intimate areas.”

You stifle a laugh. The comment sounded ridiculous to you but you would accept her clothes as superior if it meant she’d let you go back to sleep.

“Okay, Lae’zel. Goodnight.” You blow out the candle and close your eyes.

Moments later you feel Lae’zel carefully crawl into bed on top of your blankets.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“If you insist on sleeping in such a state, I must sleep here too. To ensure your safety.”

Karlach

Lets be honest: Karlach is at most sleeping in her underwear most nights.

But she puts on some trousers at least to pad over to your room and ask for a cuddle.

You wake up in your typical sleeping position: on your stomach with your hair flying all over the place.

You swipe the hair from your eyes to see a sweet little (7ft tall) tiefling holding her teddy bear and anxiously smiling.

“Hey love,” you say, groggy but still soft and sweet. “What can I do for ya?”

“I was just wondering if I could… um… maybe have a cuddle?” She requests, anxiously shifting her weight around.

You giggle, using your arm to lift up on side of the blanket. “Of course, darling. Please it is freezing in here.”

Her eyes go wide as you expose your full chest in lifting the blanket, then she smiles and crawls under.

As she makes contact with your skin, it’s immediately apparent that you truly are wearing nothing.

“Oh so you sleep naked. Like naked naked,” she remarks.

“As the day I was born,” you quip. “Any objections?”

She giggles and twists excitedly. “None at all my darling. In fact, I think I might like to join you.”

“Get those trousers out of here!” You joke. “No trousers allowed in the bed!”She removes what’s left of her clothes and settles into bed.

Karlach sleeps on her back, leaving you sort of half stacked on top of her with her arm swung lazily around your back. Your legs are semi-intertwined, alternating between yours and hers.

You prop your chin up against her chest to look her in the eyes. “I guess it’s kinda inconvenient that neither of us sleep on our side, huh? We’re just kinda stacked chest to chest.”

“I suppose I can be on top and we can try to go back to back,” she teases. “But I’d probably suffocate you, face down into the mattress.”

You laugh at the thought and teasingly mess up her hair. “You’re hilarious. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, darling,” she says, craning up to kiss your forehead.

For as awkward and sloppy as it looks, you both actually find the position quite comfortable.

Naturally, you wake up with your ass fully on display from where you both kicked off the blankets in the middle of the night.

Minthara

Minthara is awake, as usual, when you step into her room. Her red eyes almost glow in the pitch black.

“Can I help you?” She asks passively.

“Can I sleep in here? My room is frigid,” you ask from the doorway, clearly shaking under a blanket.

She sighs, but motions for you to come join her on the bed. “As you wish, ssin.”

Minthara had attempted to teach you a small bit of her language. The words came off unfamiliar and hissy on your tongue. From what you knew, the term she occasionally used for you, “ssin”, wasn’t an actual word. You assumed it was used as a pet name derived from the drow words “ssinssrigg” (passion, lust, greed, love) and “alurissin” (a deep loving connection.)

You close the door softly and crawl into her bed. You get on at the bottom and squirm your way up until your head pokes out the blankets.

She looks at you, both amused and appalled by your abnormal behavior. She supposed that was one way to “crawl” into bed. If you were taking the phrase literally.

“You are terribly odd sometimes, my dear,” she said laying her hand on your back, surprised to find no fabric under the blanket.

“Are you not wearing any clothes?” She asks. This wasn’t the first time the two of you had shared a bed, but the previous times you had fallen asleep naked after sex. She hadn’t thought you did that every night.

You shook your head against her chest.

“Straj, in that case I think I discovered the source of your temperature issue.” She rubbed her forehead, reminding herself of all the reasons she actually valued you at all.

Gods how did the sleeping races ever survive the nights? Did everyone sleep like this or was this just a you thing? She didn’t think she’d be surprised either way.

She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but you were already comfortably asleep against her chest.

She sighed and gently stroked your bare back in defeat. How in the hells had she fallen so hard for this adorable little fool.

Jaheira

After a particularly long day, you decide to skip all the extra steps of running your own bath and decide to just bathe in Jaheira’s room.

Her tub was already full, fresh with herbs and such from her own bath.

You rinse off quickly, eager to crawl into bed. “Can I just stay in here tonight?” You ask politely from the tub.

“That is fine. But don’t get disappointed if I fall asleep immediately,” Jaheira explains. “I’m no, spring chicken, as they say.”

You get out of the tub and dry yourself off. “Oh trust me, after today I could fall asleep on one of those god awful bedrolls again.”

She laughs. “Well then it sounds like we’re on the same page, yes?”

She gets in bed, careful to leave one side fully open to you. You step towards the bed, and lift the blanket to get in.

“Put on your sleeping clothes, it is too cold.” She commands.

You look around. You don’t have any sleeping clothes. You always sleep like this.

As you explain this to her she clicks her tongue. She gets out of bed and starts rooting through her wardrobe.

“This was Khalid’s. It will swallow you up, but it will keep you warm.”

You take the heavy fur robe into your hands. You didn’t know how to feel about being offered her late husband’s clothes.

She could see the weariness on your face and soothed you with a gentle hand on the cheek.

“He would be happy I have you, you know?” She says with a somber chuckle. “I think the two of you would’ve gotten on all too well.”

You rubbed your hand against the soft fur. I was jet black, like a panther. It reminded you of Jaheira. You softly thank her before putting on the robe. It was, indeed, very warm and way too big.

Jaheira made her way back to bed, and you followed shortly thereafter. She wrapped her arms around you, pressing her chest against the warm fur.

You have never felt so safe as you did in that moment: swaddled in a massive robe, wrapped in the arms of your lover.

She kisses the back of your head. “Goodnight, my cub.”

[leighsartworks216]

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog

[forgeofthenine]

How do you think things would play out if insecure human Tav had feelings for Dammon, but she mistakenly thought he was hitting on Karlach all those times he helped her with her heart? With Tav being oblivious and mistakes that it’s because she is human and that Karlach is a tiefling that he has no interest in her, but in reality he does. How do you think Dammon would respond if there’s a little comment like: “I know it’s Karlach you were hoping to see.”

I'm not sure if I leaned too into the insecure descriptor in the prompt, especially after not doing any writing for so long, but I hope everyone's able to enjoy. I missed my main man so much <3

She isn't you

"I know it's Karlach you were hoping to see."

You can see the whites of Dammons eyes grow as soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, shock washing over him. It's something you'd tiptoed around for months. The way Dammon looks at Karlach, how he gravitates towards her, how that kills you inside. No one could blame you for falling for the sweet blacksmith with his easy smile and firm confidence.

He'd spent these past months giving your companion the gift of touch back, laughing at her raunchy remarks and looking at her like she'd hung the moon and stars. Hours were spent in his forge fixing her heart, idle chatter between the three of you the only real entertainment. Hours of inadvertently third wheeling them all because of your own unrequited crush. Karlach was your friend though, and if they were happy then you weren't going to interfere.

His lips part slowly. Beautiful, chapped lips you so desperately want to kiss but know you never will. Soon, Dammon finds his voice again. He seems so genuinely confused, as if he can't understand where you got that idea.

"Why would I want Karlach when you're here?"

A long tail flicks behind him, nearly taking out a table leg. A concerned look covers the blacksmiths face as he leans in, hands spreading over his workbench. "Not that Karlach isn't lovely, she is, but I'd prefer to have you here." Dammon clarifies carefully.

It's your own turn to gawk now, looking at the teifling standing there in the firelight. You'd never expected this, to have him so quickly disagree with something you were so certain of. "But... Aren't you and Karlach..." You trail off, unsure of how to word things, picking at your nails.

"Aren't we... what? Seeing each other?" Dammon asks, rounding his work bench with a small chuckle, the wooden floor creaking under steady steps. "Is that assumption what's held you back?" His calloused hand takes yours, smoothing a thumb over your skin as the tiefling draws in your gaze. Blue eyes crinkle at the corners with a small grin, a teasing smile appearing on the blacksmiths face.

"Well, isn't it true?" You gape, gripping his hand. The new brazenness draws a full laugh from the tiefling, topped off with a shake of his head. It's a dumbfounding revelation, after months of near torture watching the two of them only to find out none of your assumptions were true. "Stop laughing, I'm being serious-" You insist, a small frown growing on your face.

Dammon calms himself, still grinning down at your pout. "I know, and I'm sorry." His voice is lower now, missing that teasing lilt you love so much. "There's nothing happening between Karlach and I, promise. I did ask her for some advice, though." He adds, gently squeezing the hand enveloped in his.

You cock your head, wondering whatever advice he could've gotten from Karlach. Something to do with Avernus or leaving the hells? Something tiefling related? The visible confusion almost makes Dammon laugh again, but he contains himself. Instead, a firm tail snakes it's way around your leg, winding around you with a firm pressure.

"I wanted to know how best to ask one of her friends out."

[thetriumphantpanda]

i'm not the only one | joel & tommy miller

Summary | You have your baby. You have your family. But can you really have everything you want? Can you really have your cake and eat it too?

Warnings | Fluff, mentions of breastfeeding, small children (in my world they need to come with a warning because ew), let's say it one more time for old times sake: TOMMY GETTING CUCKED BECAUSE HE LOVES IT, dirty talk, fingering (f) and allusions to other smut.

Word Count | 1.9k

Authors Note | Wow. I just wanted to take some time to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read and supported me through this little fic. What started as a filthy little one-shot has become something super special to me. I'm so proud with how this turned out and I really hope that you love this ending as much as I do. I need to say a massive thank you to the JFC - @cavillscurls @dinsdjrn @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers for continuously losing their mind over this fic with me and helping me come up with the ending where no-one gets their heart broken, I love you girls more than I can express 🧡 Thank you to each and every person who has read this, has given me their love, interacted with me and generally just made me the happiest girl for deciding to come back to fic writing. You're all awesome and I love each and every one of you. Please let me know what you thought of this, either by commenting, reblogging or sending me some love in my ask box, and if you'd like to support me with a donation, you can do so over on Ko-Fi.

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The late September sun is still warm, even as it begins dipping below the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful mix of pink and orange. The beer in your bottle is lukewarm, but you finish it off anyway, attention dropping to your son, sat on your knee, as you bounce it up and down to keep him occupied at the table. He’s just turned two and is a much better table companion at Joel’s birthday cook-out than he had been last year. He’s starting to show a little personality, babbling along when Sarah tried to talk to him, teasing Tommy when he hands his son a toy, throwing it to the ground because he already knows he’ll pick it right back up and play along. 

Everyone else has long gone by this point in the evening. This year’s celebration of Joel’s birthday being held at your house because he’s having his garden landscaped. It’s just the five of you, the people who matter most to you in life, sat around, finishing drinks and just enjoying each other’s company. Sarah yawns to your left, the day finally catching up with her. 

“You tired, bug?” Joel asks, smoothing a hand over her hair. 

“I’m not tired.” But she yawns again, chuckles erupting from the table. 

You poke at her arm, “Your room is ready whenever you are.” It had already been agreed that Sarah and Joel would stay here tonight, so he could have a drink and enjoy his birthday without worrying about driving home. 

To her credit, she lasts another hour sat at the table, but once Joshua starts fussing as well, it’s clear it’s time for everyone to call it a night. Joel kisses Sarah on the forehead, wishing her a goodnight as she heads inside. Tommy takes Joshua from your arms and presses a kiss to the top of your head, leaving you and Joel together for the first time that evening. You reach out your arm across the table, palm up to the darkening sky, Joel’s own, much larger hand, slipping into it. 

“Shall we go?” You ask, the smile across your face mirroring his own. 

“I think we should.” 

As you’re walking through the neighbourhood your mind drags back to this time last year and the conversation with Tommy as Joel’s birthday loomed on the horizon. 

“What do you think we should get him for his birthday?” Tommy asked, flipping through the catalogue of construction gear that comes through the letterbox every few months, “He was saying his toolbox is too small these days, maybe we can get him a bigger one?” 

Joshua is cradled against your chest, suckling as you feed him. You’d always wondered how the other women you knew could multitask before he’d been born. One of your best friends could breastfeed her child, cook dinner and talk to her older daughter all at the same time. Now, standing in the kitchen feeding your son, two pans on the stovetop as you cook, holding a conversation with Tommy, you realise it just came naturally. 

“I mean, we can,” You throw over your shoulder, “But I think that man deserves more than a toolbox for his birthday.” 

Once Joshua has finished feeding, you hand him to Tommy, along with placing a rag over his shoulder – you fed him, Tommy gets to burp him, that’s the deal. 

“I just feel bad,” You comment, going back to pushing the steak around the pan, “Do you not feel like you’ve kinda just abandoned him a little?” 

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks, patting his son on the back. 

You sigh, trying to focus on cooking as you speak, “I just mean that he did this for us, gave us this life we have now, and what are we going to do to thank him? Give him a toolbox? Just seems like we don’t care.” 

“Well, what would you suggest?” He asks, you're quiet in response, trying to think of how best to put this, "You miss him, don't you?" He finally asks.

You turn around, leaning against the counter to the side of the stove, “I do miss him,” You say simply, not afraid to admit it, “You said before Joshua was born that you understood the connection we have, I just want to give him something good.” 

Tommy has Joshua cradled in his arms now, trying to get him to go to sleep so he can lie him down and enjoy dinner with you in peace, "You wanna fuck him for his birthday?" There's a smirk on his lips, just like there was when you'd needed Joel before Joshua was born.

“Hey, language!” You chastise, pointing to his son in his arms, “Don’t say it like that either, you know you come first, you always have, I love you Tommy, but can’t we just give him one time, once a year, where I can really show him how grateful I am for what he gave us?” 

You can see him mull it over in his mind as he bounces his son in his arms before he relents, “Okay,” He’s smiling, and it reaches his eyes, so you know he really means it, “If that’s what you want, I’m happy.” 

You smile, walking over to kiss him, “I don’t deserve you,” You murmur against his lips, “I love you so very much, Tommy Miller.” 

Joel thinks, as he walks hand in hand with you back to his home, that he really didn’t need this. He didn’t need thanking for what he’d done. He remembers walking into your hospital room with Sarah after Joshua had been born – she’d insisted on picking the biggest and brightest bouquet of flowers for you and had been so excited to finally meet her nephew. He’d pushed open the door for her that day and had been overcome with a strange sense of satisfaction. 

You were propped up in bed, Joshua cradled in your arms, his tiny hand clutched around one of your fingers, Tommy stood, hand brushing your hair as he looked down at the both of you with pure adoration. He knew he’d given you everything in that moment, that he’d managed to make the two of you the happiest people ever, and that was enough. A fleeting moment in time between you and him, that had created the most beautiful baby boy he’d ever laid eyes on, he’d been happy to let it lie, to wait and see if you wanted more and came back to him down the line. 

He hadn’t expected that on his birthday last year, you’d have cornered him and kissed him with such passion that he wasn’t sure he’d survive once he pulled away from you. Then you explained, one night a year, he could choose when, where you could show him how thankful you were to him. A night just to yourselves, without Tommy’s eyes trailing over you both. Secret and sacred between the two of you. 

Once Joel has unlocked his front door and brought you inside, he wastes no time. He craves this, has spent the last year thinking of the moment he gets to fuse his lips with yours. It’s soft, as his mouth opens against yours, slow as your tongues meet, he doesn’t have to rush with you anymore, he gets you to himself for the whole night. He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Hey.” You smile softly. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” He’s smiling, palms resting at your hips, “You want me to take you upstairs? 

You bite at your bottom lip and breathe out, “Yes.” 

He leads you up the stairs, your hand clutched in his own, through the threshold of his bedroom. He settles himself on top of his sheets, head propped up on his pillows as he motions you to join him. You clamber onto the bed, crawling up his body on your hands and knees until you’re straddling his hips with your mouth back on his. 

As you grind your hips down onto him, his hands coming to cup your ass under your dress, you can feel him growing hard for you. All you want is to strip him down and put your mouth on him, but it seems he has other ideas, and since this is all for him, you let him take the lead. He slips his hands under the waistband of your panties, warm hands on your flesh as he pulls them down as far as they’ll go in this position. 

“Lie down for me, babygirl.” He whispers against your lips, you oblige, settling yourself down on your back as he pulls your underwear off fully, shucking the hem of your dress up to your hips. 

He’s got one of his arms under your head, his lips at your ear as you spread your legs for him, letting his fingers slip through your folds to gather the slick that has slowly been gathering there all evening as you both watched each other, knowing what was coming. 

“So wet for me, pretty girl,” He breathes into your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth to nibble as he slips two of his fingers into your tight pussy, “Been thinking about me?” 

He drags those fingers from your core, up to your clit where he begins to play soft circles across it, it’s so gentle that your breath catches in your throat as you arch yourself into his hand, “Couldn’t stop,” You admit, turning your face to kiss his lips, “Thought about you all day.” 

He dips his fingers back into your cunt as he kisses you, you can feel him smirk against your lips when you grind down to meet his fingers, “I’ve been thinking about you all year, hot mama, couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.” 

He brings his slick fingers back up to your swollen bundle of nerves, showering it with attention as you whimper for him, arching your back and bucking your hips, fingers gripping at his arm as he works you to the crest. You come for him, moaning into his mouth as he kisses you, his fingers making sure they work you for every ounce of your orgasm. 

Joel has you more times than he can count that night. He brings you over the edge over and over again until you can do nothing but sob, beg for a reprieve but beg him not to stop. You let him put you in positions you didn’t know possible, his cock thick and heavy inside you, brushing that spot within you that makes you sing and scream for him. He fills you up with his cum, protected by the pill you take each morning, and then, when the sun is rising and the beginnings of the day break through his drawn curtains, you lie on his chest, fingers drawing patterns on his skin, slick with sweat. You’re both sore, both spent, and both happy, most importantly. You know that within the hour you’ll have to start the walk back to your own home and it’ll be like nothing ever happened. Sarah will think her dad slept on your couch and you were in your rightful place, in bed next to Tommy, and that's how it will continue to be for another year, happy with the man you love, but safe in the knowledge that you still have this slice of heaven each year. The play will continue for another year – the doting uncle and niece, the happy family with their growing son, and you’ll be happy, because this is all you’ve ever needed. 

“I love you.” Joel whispers, lips pressing a kiss to your forehead as he brushes the sweat slicked hair from your face, his eyes mapping every inch of you, claiming this scene as his own, committing it to memory so he has one thing he can think of, in the depths of his nights, when he feels the loneliest. To remind him that he’s not lonely at all, because even if he can only have you once a year, at least he can have you. He’s a simple man and he’s happy to take this one moment with you, until you decide you want more from him, if that’s ever the case. 

“I love you too Joel.”