#trying to draw more while the iron is hot!!

[birbwizard]

blaze doodle ft. weird colouring lmao

[nanaslutt]

Are the JJK men into their nipples being played with?

incl: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso

contains: fem reader, established relationships, multiple positions, dirty talk, nipple play, teasing, hand jobs, overstimulation, masturbation, spanking, unprotected sex, fingering, dry humping, fluff, domesticness, comfort, Choso's is so soft

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo: Yes. Every part of his body is freakishly sensitive it even shocks Gojo himself at times.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The first time he discovered he could feel stimulation from his nipples was with you. You were on top of him, riding his cock like no tomorrow, the white-haired man groaning and spitting filth underneath you--when your hands came down to steady yourself on his pecs.

His breath hitched when your hands started rubbing back and forth along his pecs from your grinding, his nipples being stimulated in the process. It was a warm feeling, a feeling that blossomed throughout his whole body, one that traveled up to his brain and made him go dumb. He needed you to touch them more or he was going to lose it.

Gojo knew his nipples were sensitive, but more in an annoying way. He would sometimes notice the irritating feeling when he would pull on a shirt, or when the too-pressurized water stream of the showerhead assaulted the sensitive skin. But this was worlds different from that feeling.

"Fuck, baby- baby, need you to do something for me." He almost whined underneath you, nodding at you when he spoke. You continued bouncing on his cock, relishing in the feeling of his fat tip slamming into your sweet spot as you waited for him to speak. "Need you to play with my nipples baby, just h-how I do for you." He instructed, his tone coming out more desperate when his dick thrust inside you particularly hard, making your body jolt forward, your hands sliding across his chest simultaneously.

"Yeah?" You asked, your eyebrows raising at his surprising words. Gojo was always up for trying something new in bed, and this was a fairly normal request, you were shocked the two of you hadn't tried it before. Especially when you took his hard nipple between his fingers and pinched the little bud, going between rolling it around and circling his areola teasingly, which had Gojo gripping the sheets.

"Ohh fuck- nghhh- mama don't stop, d-don't fucking stop I'm gonna cum-" Gojo said, his face scrunched in overwhelming pleasure as desperate whines and moans spilled from his lips. His body jerked forward every time you pinched the pink buds between your fingers, making you blush at how sensitive your usually domineering boyfriend was from getting his nipples played with.

"You gonna cum from a little nipple play? hmm?" You asked teasingly, bringing one of your hands down to rub your clit in small quick circles, the sight of your boyfriend shaking and jerking against the sheets to arousing to stand. Gojo's jaw was slack as he nodded, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he tipped his head back, letting his body move in any way it needed while you gave him this insane pleasure.

The combination of you now grinding on his cock instead of bouncing, how tight you got around his dick when you played with your clit, your dirty words and mean fingers pinching his nipples; which were sure to be sore later; was all too much for Gojo. His hands grabbed your hips in an iron grip, his nails digging into your skin painfully, almost drawing blood, as the first ropes of his hot cum shot inside of you.

"Oh shit mama- so tight- fuck-" He groaned when he felt your high come right after his. Your walls constricted his cock as he came inside of you, your cunt greedily milking him and drinking up all his cum deep inside you. You collapsed on his chest with a sigh, his arms wrapping themselves around your back comfortingly as his dick twitched inside you in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Holy fuck." Gojo sighed exasperatedly. "Yeah.." You responded, breathing heavily on top of the large man. It took a while for Gojo to feel like his soul after such an intense orgasm. You were about to sit up and slide his cock out of you so the two of you could clean up and get to sleep, but his dick had other plans. "Toru.. why are you still hard even after cumming so much?" You asked, keeping your head on his heart, scared for his answer. "Started thinkin' about you suckin' on my nipples." He giggled, scratching your back lightly, "Wanna give it a try?"

—

Geto: Absolutely yes. I think he figured it out on his own. He was scrolling through a Twitter porn account and saw a video of a handsome guy jerking off while also playing with his nipples. He thought it looked enticing and Geto was willing to try everything in bed once, so he thought, why not? He was already jerking off, why not spice it up?

When he finished in record time after touching his nipples, he had to bring it up to you immediately. He needed to know how it felt with someone else's hands, so why not his beautiful girlfriend's? And of course, you were more than receptive to his proposition...

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Fuck- suck harder, a little harder," Geto begged, his face screwed in pleasure. You were lying on the side of his body, your leg thrown over his thighs as you leaned over his chest a bit to lick and suck on his sensitive nipple, your hand rapidly stroking his hard cock as you did so. Geto's grip on your hair was so tight that the tingling sensation on your scalp was becoming more familiar and numb from how long he had been gripping it.

You listened to his words, suckling his stiff nipple harder into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it. Geto took a breath in through his teeth, trying to prevent himself from whimpering. "Fuuuuuuuck." He groaned, his head tipping back against the pillows.

His body jerked when you giggled around the bud, the noise sending vibrations through his chest, making his cock twitch in the process. "God I knew you fucking got me, baby, knew you would make me feel so f-fucking good." He praised, his chin tipped down to watch you suck on his chest, his eyes darting over to your hand soon after to stare at your wrist that rotated and twisted over his sensitive tip.

You moaned in response, acknowledging his words, and making his body jerk forward once more. "Think I'm gonna cum soon b-baby, keep sucking for me." He moaned, quickly pressing his lips together to prevent a pathetic whine that threatened to slip out of his mouth.

Geto brought his other hand down to yours, which was wrapped around your cock, and encased his hand over yours. "Need more... a l-little more." He said, gripping his hand tightly over yours, jerking himself off using your hand. He was squeezing it so tight, your hand was being crushed, you wondered how his iron grip didnt hurt his cock.

You moaned around him when you felt him help you jerk him off. Tightening your leg over his thighs more, you subtly started grinding your cunt on his thigh, trying to give yourself a little relief. Geto felt the ball of his impending orgasm grow tighter when he felt your cunt rub against him, your not so subtly show of your arousal at the situation made him feel dizzy; he wasn't the only one enjoying this.

"Oh fuck, this turning you on baby?" He asked, biting his lip when you nodded and moaned against his nipple, your lips popping off the bud briefly to circle his areola with your tongue. "Shit- gonna fuck you so good after this- gonna- gonna make sure you cum all over my cock for making me feel so good." He groaned, his words getting interrupted by lewd moans as he approached his high.

You felt yourself grow wetter at his words, excited for the promise of getting fucked into the sheets after he finished. "Fuck- It's coming, I'm coming, don't stop don't stop don't-" Geto's grip stayed at the same tightness in his cock, but his ability to jerk himself off was growing weaker as you worked him up to his high. He largely relied on your hand to keep jerking him off as he was tipped off the edge.

"Nghhhh- Fuck- Fuck- Baby ohmygod-" Geto babbled moans of your name, his body jerking, and eyes rolling back in his head while the waves of his orgasm washed over him. You mumbled 'mhm,mhm's' on his sensitive bud, making his orgasm even more intense with the nipple stimulation.

You never let up your fist, white ropes of cum spraying out of his big cock and landing all over your hands, creating lewd squelching noises as you jerked him through the aftershocks of his high. "I fucking love you so much.. hahh.. fuck." Geto moaned, his glossy eyes staring at the ceiling as his body twitched, his breath hitching through the attempts to suck down as much air as he could into his lungs.

You wasted no time popping off his nipple with a cute 'ahhh' sound and sliding your body to sit on top of his. You pulled your panties to the side and lined up his still-hard cock with your unprepped entrance before he could even register what was happening. His hands shot to grab your waist in alarm when you sat down fully on his sensitive cock with no warning, making his body curl in on itself.

"H-hold on gotta give me a second baby, I just came-" You cut him off before he could continue his protests. "Need it now Sugu, can't wait." And with that you placed your hands on his chest and took his swollen nippled between your fingers, pinching the other one simultaneously as you rode his cock, making incoherent please and whines spill from the dark-haired man's lips as he was fucked into overstimulation.

—

Nanami: unfortunately, I don't think he has a lot of feeling in his nipples, but he wouldn't be opposed to you playing with them or sucking on them if you really wanted to. He is in love with you after all, whatever you want, you get.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You walk into the kitchen with tired eyes, rubbing the sleep from them using the back of your hand. Immediately, the smell of bacon and eggs fills your nose, making you salivate. What makes you salivate even more is the gorgeous view of your husband standing in front of the stove, shirtless.

Angry red scratches litter his pale back from the night before, making you blush. The sun is shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating his hair appear like little strands of gold. You walk up behind Nanami, adorned in only one of his house T-shirts, and wrap your arms around his torso, your hands finding home on his toned midsection.

"Good morning my love, did you sleep alright? I kept you up pretty late last night, sorry about that." Nanami voiced, smiling slightly at his own words. You hum into his back, starting to feel up his body under your hands, feeling in between the indents of his abs, "Slept so good Kento." You purred.

He laughed, briefly looking away from the stove to look down at your hands, groping his body slowly. "Good." He replied, looking back to the stove, and flipping the eggs. "Are you enjoying yourself?" He added when he felt your hands slide up to his pecs, massaging them the way he always did for you.

"Mhmm.. I love your body Kento, you're so strong." You whisper, your face pressed to his back making your words vibrate through his skin. Your words make him blush, he was thankful he was faced away from you or you would've teased him for sure. "I'm glad, It's all you sweetheart." He responded, making you blush in turn.

You bit your lip, nuzzling your head into his back, your hair tickling his skin. An idea popped into your head as you felt up his chest when your fingers briefly brushed over his nipples, so you decided to act on it. With a smirk, you found his nipples with both of your fingers and with a featherlight touch, you started to tease around his nipples, "Even these?" You asked, referring to his earlier statement of his body being yours.

Nanami turned off the heat of the stove, covering the eggs with the lid of the pan before he looked down with a slightly open mouth, watching you play with his nipples. His abs clenched at the unexpected feeling when you pinched them between your fingers--not because it felt good per se... It just felt like you were pinching his skin, not bad just... well he didnt really feel much, to be honest.

He smiled when you continued, clearly wanting a reaction out of him. "Yes, even those." He laughed, his breathing and words still infuriatingly even and calm. "Kento, does this not feel good?" You asked, going back to rubbing your fingers around his arolas, waiting for him to respond.

He took a second to find his words before he responded, you were obviously enjoying yourself so he didnt want to deter you or crush your spirits too much. "It's not that, I just don't really feel much there." He replied, covering your hands with his larger ones, interlacing your fingers with his, and stopping your movements.

"I've tried to touch them myself when I was... ahem, I found out then that I couldn't feel anything there. Which is a bummer, seeing as how you go a bit crazy when I touch yours." He laughed softly. "Must feel good, huh?" You sighed against his back, obvious disappointment in your breathing.

"I'm sorry my love." He said, releasing your hands to turn around and hold you in his embrace, his warm body radiating into your skin, making you relax as you shut your eyes and let his body engulf yours, the man slowly rocking back and forth. "It's okay Kento, just thought you would have some cute reaction." You said. You felt his chest shake against your head, the man giving a soft laugh at your words. "Ughhhh, why does your body hate meee." You sighed dramatically, pouting your bottom lip out.

"I assure you my body doesn't hate you." He said, pulling away he held your cheeks in his hands, his deep eyes looking into yours as he spoke. "Need I remind you how we ended up all over each other for hours last night? Hm?" He said, tilting his head at you and furrowing his eyebrows together.

You blushed deeply at his words. The two of you were shopping for dinner, when a little boy came up behind you, taking on the calf of your pants. The boy had gotten lost in the supermarket, and with a crying face, he had asked you to help him find his mom. The way you knelt down to speak to the child, the way your hand engulfed his little one, the way you held him, Nanami couldn't stop thinking about how good you were with the child. Which led him to pounding you into the sheets as he whispered in your ear how much he wanted to give you his babies.

You looked away from his face, he was right after all. Nanami got aroused whenever you looked in his general direction for christ's sake, how could his body hate you? "O..okay.. I guess I'll let it go this time." You said, still looking away from his face in embarrassment.

Nanami laughed, leaning down he pressed a long kiss to your forehead before pulling away, his hands tucking your straw strands of hair behind your ear. "Let's eat now alright? After breakfast, if you still need a little reminder of how much my body loves you, I'll be happy to show you as well." You were left a blushing mess when Nanami turned around to grab the plates, setting up the food. Maybe you should tease him more if this was going to be the result.

—

Toji: I think his chest is sensitive, but he doesn't like it when you touch his chest for that same reason. He's too sensitive. Toji likes being in charge and of course he wants you to be happy no matter what, but he cannot stand being teased; which is exactly what you would do if you got the chance to touch his nipples.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Toji always looked so good in his compression shirt. The tight article of clothing makes every single muscle on Toji's large frame stand out too well. You have to stop yourself from drooling every time he wears it.

One day, Toji was working out in the home gym the two of you had built, and you walked in to ask him what he wanted for dinner when you saw him. He was bench-pressing a shocking amount of weight, lying on his back with his legs spread. His bulge was very obvious through his sweats, the sight making your mouth water.

Along with that sight though, as you got closer you could see Toji's nipples were hard through his shirt, the little buds just aching to be sucked on. When you got within Toji's eyesight he turned his head over to you, not stopping his workout as he spoke to you slightly out of breath, "What's up doll, come to workout with me?" He asked, smirking.

"I'd rather just watch you." You said, leaning against the equipment next to him, your eyes shamelessly raking over his body and taking in his impressive frame. He laughed, pausing his set he leaned up, sitting on the edge of the bench, his legs spread. "Cmere pretty." He asked, waiting for you to take your place between his thighs.

He held his hands out when you got close, his large hands wrapping around your waist when you got within range, his strong arms pulling you into his lap. You had no idea how he had barely even broken a sweat, you swear you worked out for thirty seconds and you needed to change shirts.

You wrapped your arms over his shoulders, his hands sliding down to grab your ass as he pulled you into him, making you sit right on top of his crotch--you could feel his bulge right under you, making you feel a new type of need. "Whachu need pretty girl?" Toji asked, raising his eyebrows before he leaned in to kiss your neck, peppering his lips all over your skin.

You sighed at the feeling, your breath picking up while he continued teasing you. You pressed the back of his head into your neck, your other hand still wrapped around his neck. "Mmm, wanted to know what you wanted for d-diner." You whispered, tipping your head back to give him more access. Your breath hitched when he sunk his teeth into your skin, his tongue licking over the spot to soothe the sting afterward.

He pulled back, his lips a bit red and glossy from the assault on your neck. "You." He said with a smirk. You could feel your cunt throbbing from his kisses, and his words and hands groping your ass was not making that any better. "Baby~" You drawled, holding his sweaty face in your hands, his dark eyes staring into yours.

With a sigh and a pat on your ass he shrugged, "I don't care, you pick. As long as you're desert." He winked, making you burst into giggles, he could be so corny sometimes. "Alright baby, up, gotta finish this set then you can sit on me all you want." He said, leaning back down to lay on the bench, his hips thrusting up as he got into position, making his dick press right against your clit.

"Hold on.." You mumbled, leaning your hands on his chest. Toji was about to reach up for the bar when he watched you duck underneath it and lean onto his chest. He thought you were hugging him, but when he felt your fingers flick over his covered nipples, followed by a shock that ran through his entire body and straight to his cock, he froze in place.

You flicked your fingers back and forth over the buds quickly, trying to test his sensitivity there. Toji's face scrunched in pleasure, his jaw muscles bulging under the weight of his teeth as he bit down hard, a shaky moan coming through his nose. You looked up, watching his face contort into pleasure, one of his eyes shut as he grimaced trying to fight off the pleasure when you pinched his left nipple, rolling it between your fingers.

You smiled in surprise, feeling his cock harden underneath you, the two of your crotches pressed firmly against one another. "Didn't know you were sensitive here." You laughed, "Just wanted to fuck around, but you're really reacting to this." Toji's mouth opened when your other hand mimicked your ministrations and pinched his nipple, hard.

The next thing Toji did made both of you freeze in place. Toji let out a loud whimper. Not a groan, not a whine, a high-pitched, loud, whimper. You didnt even know that kind of sound could come out of Toji, the sound immediately making your face flush, his hips jerking into yours at the same time the whimper slipped out.

A blush spread across Toji's face before his eyes shot open, staring into yours. His hands imediately came down to grab your wrists, pulling them away from his chest in an iron grip god himself couldn't get out of. After a brief moment of silence, save for the heavy breathing, you spoke. "Did you just-" Before you could even get your words out you were being grabbed in Toji's strong grip.

The man was standing in an instant, throwing you over his shoulder, your ass poking out next to his face. He walked quickly and angrily towards the exit of the gym that let back into the house, where Toji was about to throw you over the couch in the foyer and fuck the shit out of you. You knew you fucked up with how quiet he was being, not a work from his lips since the whimper.

"Toji-" You started, once again your words immediately being cut off when he landed a heavy smack against your ass, the sting making whine, one of your hands coming to cover your ass so he couldn't hit you again. "Think It's fun to humiliate me like that?" He growled, pulling open the gym door in one swift movement, leaving it open behind him as he stormed through it.

"Toji don't be embarrassed, It just means you felt good- Ahh!" You whined, your hand being swatted out of the way so he could land another harsh smack against the fat of your ass. It was disorienting in the way he threw you off of his shoulder and spun you around, bending you over the back of the couch.

He grabbed your hips in his large hands, and soon after you felt his rock-hard-clothed cock rub against your folds, making you press your legs together. "Don't give me that shit, saw the way you were smilin', fuckin' brat," Toji growled, spanking your ass once more before he yanked your pants midway down your thighs, spreading your cheeks apart so he could get a good look at you.

Toji was glad you were facing away from him, his face was still so red from embarrassing himself in front of you like that, his nipples still buzzing with the feeling of where your fingers once were. "Gonna fuck you till you're crying like a little bitch, and don't say you can't take it because you will." Toji spat down onto your spread ass, the glob of spit rolling down your puckered hole to mix with your wetness, Toji's finger soon coming down to rub the wetness around there, preparing you for what was to come.

You might die from his cock, but the mental recording you had of Toji whimpering from his nipples, was so fucking worth it.

—

Choso: I think they're moderately sensitive, but nothing like Geto or Gojo's. Believe it or not, he wishes they were more sensitive. He has made you cum from playing with your nipples, and dry humping you. You made it look a fucking treat, but no matter how hard he tries, it never feels as good as it looks like yours do.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"C'mon Cho, close your eyes, you can do it." You whispered, slowly grinding on his clothed dick, his nipples being tweaked between your fingers. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the feeling of your warm panty-clad cunt rubbing along the length of his stiff cock.

You had tried circling around them, sucking them, pinching and rubbing them, and he just wasn't reciprocating any of it, it was making him so frustrated that it was almost hard to enjoy. He held his breath, hearing somewhere that asphyxiation can heighten arousal... and of course, he had no luck.

He groaned, cracking his eyes open he looked up at you with a pout, looking like he was going to cry. "I.. I can't cum like this." He said defiantly, making you cease your actions. His nipples were sore at his point, the hardened buds hot and throbbing now that you had stopped. Choso looked away from you, embarrassed he couldn't even manage to do this when it was so easy for you.

"Choso," You said, placing your hands on his abs, stopping your grinding on top of his still-hard cock. "Choso." You repeated, forcefully turning his head to look at you. He looked over at you with a red face, disappointment obvious on his features. "All bodies are different, I just happen to be more sensitive up there. You're not, and that's okay," you said, caressing his face. Choso leaned into your touch like a cat, sighing heavily.

"It's just frustrating. I want to feel good like you do too." He said, his eyes locking onto yours finally. You smiled, rubbing your thumb across his cheek. "I know, but you can feel good in so many other ways. And we can keep trying." You said softly. "Overtime, the more you play with them, your sensitivity will get more intense, so maybe one day you'll be able to finish from touching your chest alone." You reassure.

That actually did make him feel better, his disappointment slightly fading away at your words--but now he was left with another dilemma plaguing his mind, the atmosphere was a lot different now from having to take a break to console him. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he looked away from your eyes again. "I.. I ruined the moon didnt I?" He asked, feeling childish for getting upset at such a moment at what seemed like such a small thing.

Your giggle brought his eyes back to you as he looked at you curiously. "Choso no! Absolutely not!" You reassured. "If you ever need to take a break for any reason during a moment like this, that's more than okay." He looked down, not seeming totally convinced as he took in your words.

"Don't believe me?" You asked challengingly. Taking your hand you grabbed his, pulling it down to where you sat on top of him. You slid your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to his blushing face. He watched with a slacked jaw as you pressed his fingers against your pussy, making him feel how wet you are. "You feel that?" You asked, holding his wrist to make him rub you back and forth.

He nodded, looking between your eyes and his hand you were using to touch yourself. "Still think you ruined the mood? Hmm?" You ask breathily. Choso takes control over his own hand again, his cock twitching back to life after softening slightly. He rubbed his fingers through your folds, catching the tip of his thick finger on the entrance of your cunt he slowly pressed on it, his finger sliding in with ease.

"Fuckk.." You gasped, feeling the girth of his finger slip inside you. The warmth and tightness of your cunt made him forget all of his doubts and worries in an instant. "You're so wet.." He mumbled, slowly thrusting his finger in and out of you, making sure to curl it upwards, rubbing against your sweet spot.

"All for you Cho, all cos of you." You said, watching his hand work inside of you, his heavy palm rubbing your clit perfectly as he fingered you on top of him. Your hands came down to rub at his boxers, your fingers teasing his clothed tip before you pulled the cloth down, exposing his insanely large and dripping length.

He watched with bated breath as you took him in your hands and stroked him up and down, using his precum to aid the slide. "Want me to show you how much of a mood I'm still in?" You giggled, rubbing his frenulum teasingly. Choso gulped, hard. "I love you." He mumbled, the words spilling from his lips like the most natural thing in the world. Your eyebrows raised in shock before you laughed, pausing your minstrations on his cock.

You leaned down, stroking his dick softly until your lips met his ear, giving him a soft kiss on his neck before you uttered the words, "I love you too."

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part two part two cw: dubcon/noncon, blood, mild injury, manhandling, forced orgasm, referenced animal death/butchering forthcoming cw: more dubcon, forced marriage, breeding kink, body horror a/n: vibes. part one | masterlist 🦢

The knife is small, but the task feels impossible. You are unaccustomed to such labor. Meals once came easily, just a bend of your neck to pull up pondweed and milfoil—tadpoles, the occasional fish.

Not this. Not the lump in your hand with its rough, textured skin. Pulling a blade across it, releasing that musty, earthy scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

Your fingers inevitably slip.

Pain flares, sharp and foreign. You flinch hard, watching in mute horror as the first bead of blood wells up, then another, crimson blooming across the underside of your finger. The sound escapes unbidden—jarring, ugly—growing louder as the sting takes hold.

Heavy footsteps thump against the earth outside, and the door flies open, rattling on its hinges. John steps inside, shoulders heaving, mitts already stained from the doe hanging outside.

The sight of him shrinks the scream in your throat to a wordless, panicked whine.

The smell of iron clings to him. Fur, fat, something that once had a heartbeat. His hands crease as they flex at his sides. 

His eyes flick to your trembling hand, then to the knife still clutched in the other. He wipes his palms on his trousers, messily and imperfectly scrubbing away the gore of your eventual supper. As if he needs clean hands to touch you.

(You doubt they ever were.)

He exhales hard through his nose. His words tinged with exasperation.

"Gave you one job…"

Then he's on you.

The change is swift, inborn. The pendulum of your emotions swings violently from panic to rage. Fear, the constant.

You hiss, teeth snapping as he crowds you against the table, your spine meeting his chest. A half-peeled potato rolls off the edge, thudding to the floor while blood drips from your finger, a bright spot on the wood.

You twist, raising the little knife in your good hand, but he is faster—a solid grip clamps around your wrist, squeezing until your fingers betray you and the blade clatters. You squeal at the sharp twist of your arm, but his mouth is already at your ear, hot, shushing.

"Quit strugglin'," he says, pressing closer, draping his weight over your back. The wall of him, unrelenting. The force alone stills you, allowing him to bend and pin you over the table. Your cheek presses into it, a curl of potato skin sticking damp to your face.

You turn your head, teeth gritted, and glare, eyes full of fury you have no way to unleash.

"That's better," he lifts your hand, smearing blood. "Now, let's see what you've done to yourself."

John takes his time assessing the small cut. Long enough that the anger inside you fizzles into an embarrassed frustration. You told him. You told him you did not know how to do this. Any of this. To which he'd calmly replied he'd teach you every little thing you needed to know.

But now, here you are, cringing as he inspects the wound, dripping onto him, and it's shameful. Tears well and threaten to fall, held at bay by sheer will. Then he shifts, and your concentration breaks.

You realize how treacherously high your plain dress bunches on your hips at this angle. And through the fabric, there's a warmth. A steady heat that passes from him into you, inescapable. It seeps through where his body pins yours, through the calloused hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

Then, as if he's arrived at the same realization in that instant, John moves.

He grinds his pelvis into the small of your back. Subtly. Or as subtly as he cares to try. The length between his legs fattening.

"See now?" he murmurs, almost gentle. "Ain't so bad if you just hold still."

He releases your injured hand, planting his own on the table to steady himself. Then, apparently indulging an impulse, he hooks his chin over your shoulder, drawing closer, whiskers scraping your cheek. The bulk of him snug at your back. "It'll be alright. We have enough for dinner, anyway."

John cleans your cut with you seated unnecessarily on his thigh. Too close to the bulge you are intent on ignoring. You don't protest, the rage building inside too deep for words. Instead, you fix your gaze on the window, seething at the sun as it pours in.

When he finishes, he kisses your palm, thumb grazing over the fine, downy feathers on your wrist. You flinch at the contact, but he only lifts your hand higher, inhaling deeply, dragging his nose along the tiny feathers.

"Said I'd take care of you."

That night, John insists you share the bed. That there's no harm in it if he intends to make good on his promise and make you his missus.

He gives you no quarter, wrangling you to bed, ignoring your squawking. Against every bit of resistance in your body, your muscles betray you the moment you land. After weeks of sleeping curled on the floor out of your own volition, the bed is a reprieve. Even if it feels wrong.

You fold inward, facing the wall, determined to keep the distance.

In the dark, the room grows silent, save for the rhythm of his breathing. You keep your body tense, refusing to give in, but his warmth bridges the small gap between you and, with it, an insidious pull. 

Your stubbornness abates. Muscles loosening, mind drifting. Before you know it, it's dawn.

You wake, disoriented by slivers of sunlight, a hairy chest pressed to your back, a thick arm banded around your waist. Breath tickling your neck. A hand low on your belly.

The second you try to move, it glides south.

You gasp as it curls under the hem of your dress, slowly hoisting it up.

"John—" His name slips from your lips, strained, a barely audible squeak. 

It's the first time you've said it. The shift behind you is unmistakable—he likes it. His arm tightens around you, possessive, and your breath catches in spite of yourself. 

The length of him twitches against your backside.

"Hush, Shy, don't fight me today," he rasps, voice heavy with sleep and tenderness. He kisses your nape, his lips sending a shiver down your spine. "Let me be nice to you."

His calloused fingers find the swath of feathers between your legs, and he hums. He ventures further, dragging over your seam, a sleepy chuckle rumbling from his chest and through your back at the sound you make. The finger strokes again, and your hips jerk.

"That feel good? So soft here."

John doesn't wait for a response to cup your sex and wedge a knee into the crux of your thighs.

He pries you open, petting at your clit, and prodding at your folds. The pads of his fingers burn hot, like coals, the cherries of his cigars. His touch sears your mind clean. Burns the frayed edges of your senses, fusing them like waxed thread. Everything slows, each sensation doubling in intensity.

With some persistence, he coaxes some bitterly forfeited arousal and teases a thick finger at your hole. You shudder, breath hiccuping, one hand digging into the muscle of his forearm, the other cramming into your mouth to stifle a whimper.

You gnaw at your bandaged finger, teeth worrying the cloth until it gives. The wound opens, blood welling up fresh and hot. Iron coats your tongue, rising through your nose as if a fire's been lit in your mouth.

It's no use after minutes of him toying with you, rubbing at your clit in small, gentle circles—you become silt. Soft and wet, warm and perfect for him to sink into.

He tucks two fingers into your sex and groans, loosing a string of curses that make your cheeks scorch. Borderline hellish when he grinds his palm against your clit, scattering stars across your vision just to yank them down when he leisurely pumps his fingers in once, twice. Deep as they'll go into your cunt—and keeps going.

You clench around him helplessly, hatefully. Plugged up tight and choking, muscles contracting without permission as he crushes your notions of keeping something, anything from him under the heel of his hand. Better than his boot, but you might've preferred it.

Your attention is torn between the blood you're sucking into your mouth and the mess gushing over his fingers, and hardly notice when he starts rutting against your bottom. It knocks a pitchy noise out of your throat, realizing how thin the flannel is between you and him. He must like it, because his mouth suctions to your neck and breaks a moan.

"C'mon, darling. Give it."

It feels as though you're a young cygnet again, caught in a summer storm and hurtled far and away from everything you know. 

The room thick and crackling with heat and electricity. John wrapped around you, his intent heavy and aching, pulsing short of where it wants to strike. Every nerve buzzes under his touch, alive and restless as if the very air he puffs over your shoulder pulls at your core and twists it. A force that batters and uproots, tearing at you with each crook of his fingers. Caught in the whirl of him. Wild, lost, and undone.

It hurts when you come, drawing up so tight and shattering into pieces.

It hurts more when John drags it out with his digits sunk to the hilt and thumb resting on your clit. 

When he pulls them out, his fingers glisten. He holds them in front of your face for you to see, his smile apparent when hums. Pleased.

You don't realize you're crying until he rolls you onto your back, his face a hazy blur.

John sighs, long and slow, like a man well-versed in this ritual. He shifts, pulling you close as if you aren't unraveling in his arms.

"You're wearin' yourself out," he whispers with tired amusement, smoothing up and down your back. "Ain't got enough in you to be cryin' this hard."

You hiccup against his chest, breath shuddering, hands mindlessly grabbing at his shoulder and bicep like you hate him, like you need him. Maybe both.

He sighs again, presses a kiss into your hairline, lingers there. "There, now. You're alright. Just tired, huh?" His voice softens. "You'll feel better after a nap."

He slips away as sleep pulls you back under, the bed creaking, door hinges groaning as he steps outside to himself in hand.

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist for any fic

[yandere-sins]

Love so toxic, it burns.

In where Diluc (my beloved) realizes he cannot endure one more day apart from you.

[Continuation of this]

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Diluc x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con turning into Dub-Con, Nipple teasing, Fondling, Bareback Sex, Creampie, Being dominated, Light dirty talk), Forced Relationship, Obsessive Love, Kidnapping, Long Post Prompt: @sintember I love you - I do I do I do I do I do.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

Your back hit the mattress, the most luxurious softness money could buy enveloping you while the grip of the most deranged, unstable mind you knew around your wrists tightened, drawing you back to reality. It felt like a fever dream, a nightmare. Finding your captor, the bane of your existence, in your room—your closet of all places—was bad enough. Cock strutting from his loosely opened pants, squirting hot semen all over your freshly washed body, was nothing short of the most horrifying experience you could have ever imagined.

And it didn't stop there.

Awfully aware of the bareness of your skin, shame in the form of heat pooled inside your head, making you burn from the inside out. You'd underestimated Diluc, thought him to be prim and proper, when really, you should have realized a long time ago what kind of beast he was. A force to be reckoned with, an animal waiting to pounce. All this time, you deemed him mad but harmless. You, on the other hand, had always been vulnerable, helpless, and exposed to his desires. You had chosen to be ignorant.

Oh, how wrong you had been.

"Let me go!" you demanded, and although ashamed, you looked Diluc straight into his eyes. There wasn't much besides a fiery glow, the red resembling rubies, smothered in flames and fueled by a sickening affection. Even when you strained your wrists in his grasp, his fingers tightening every time you freed an inch from his hold, he didn't seem to hear you, perhaps ignoring you deliberately.

You watched him swallow hard, the most recognition you had received until now, yet he didn't move. Didn't say a word. His tongue appeared between his lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you, so you reflexively turned your head away. But instead, his head lowered to your chest, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth.

Jolting, you arched your back, your body pressing upwards. Your breast molded against Diluc's face, and he moaned into it, your whole ribcage shuddering from the sound. He slipped one hand off your wrists and captured the mound from below, sucking on your nipple with even better access. And you hit back, your now free palm slamming into his shoulder repeatedly, trying to pry him off.

When his teeth found hold, you stilled in shock, gasping.

The slamming of your hand turned into nails digging into Diluc's exposed neck, clawing red marks into his skin to the point it broke. Diluc moaned, using his tongue to tease you. You hated it, you hated every one of his caresses. So why. Why, when he let go of your other hand, too, driving his own down your body, over your stomach, your hips, and between your legs, did he find wetness stuck to your skin? Allowing him to easily slip through your folds, pry at your clit that throbbed impatiently?

Had it been so long since you've been touched with something other than the dutiful skill of the personnel that dwelled in this house, that your body craved the intimacy? Did you perhaps find yourself fond of the teasing and the desire of your captor? You had avoided him so much, ignored and scorned him; you didn't even remember parts of his features, but new ones were burned into your mind now. Like the awkwardness of his tongue as it tried to taste and play with your breast at the same time, greedily lapping, or the slight shiver from his hand between your legs as it found purchase where you didn't want it.

Diluc tried to push past your entrance, and you bit your lip in a mix of disgust and desire, hard enough to taste iron on your tongue. But he hesitated, retreating and allowing you to snap your legs shut, the spreading wetness only mildly reminding you of your failure to protect yourself from him.

Tearing away from your breast, you watched as he stretched his back, standing tall before you and staring at your juices coating most of his hand. Said hand tentatively raised to his face, and with a shuddering breath, he seemed to lose all composure, licking square over his palm like a thirsty dog. You watched in horrifying awe as he groaned, head falling to the side, a distant look on his face as he cast his gaze downwards.

Yours followed, unable to look away.

Spreading his hand wide open, you saw the strings of juices and drool netting in the gaps between his fingers, yet he enveloped his cock in it without hesitation, mixing your juices on top of the bopping, eager monstrosity impatiently waiting for its turn. It seemed like a rough jerk as he pumped his hand up and down, but you soon heard the squelching of wet skin, involuntarily making you clasp your legs together even tighter, your core filling with warmth.

You had to get away.

Fear filled you, unfiltered, pure panic rising. There was a slowly rising sense of desire clawing its way out of the depths you put it in, but no matter how much you pushed back, it grew bigger and stronger with every stroke of Diluc's hand on his cock. Adrenaline flooded your blood, and you could feel every muscle tense to the point of almost snapping apart. You had to do something—kick, punch, scream! Anything to make him stop.

Diluc had said nothing and didn't make his intention clear verbally. But as you watched him vigorously stroke his cock while looking at the triangle formed by your pussy and legs, you knew exactly what was going to happen.

Your body was already maltreated, bitten, licked, and touched in ways you didn't want to be. Diluc had already made you miserable with his passion, flooded your senses with jolts of joy that weren't his to induce. You owed this man nothing. He was a pitiful piece of shit. He didn't deserve to see or give you pleasure—much less join you in it. And you couldn't continue to let him treat you this way.

Treat you as if you belonged to him.

But instead of kicking, only your eyes widened as he sunk to his knees, cock still tightly gripped in his hand, and for the first time since this assault started, he looked up at you, saw you. Recognized the fear, anger, and anxiety raging inside of you. But instead of regret and sorrow like usually—the reluctance he showed even though he wanted to be with you—all you saw in his expression was the unwavering determination of a man that was sure of what he was doing. Someone who had made up his mind. The most dangerous beast of them all.

"Open your legs," he demanded, placing a threatening hand on one of your knees. "Show me how wet you are. That you are ready for me."

He'd never spoken to you like this in all the time you've been with him. You'd never heard him order you for his own pleasure—or perhaps he always had, and you simply ignored it. But this time, it made you shiver. Shiver like only someone expecting to have sex would. A pang of betrayal of your own body went through you, forcing a shuddering breath from your lips that was met with a sigh from Diluc's. And then, for just a moment, Diluc broke the mesmerizing spell as he added a miserable, "Please."

Please tell me you're ready. Please let me fuck you. Please end my suffering.

One word, so many meanings, and you wondered why you'd even considered for a moment doing it. To avoid the fight? Get your own needs met? Feel something for a change instead of the daily, monotonous boredom you had long made peace with?

"Why would I?" you returned the question, and you saw his determination falter, the moment ruined as was the mood. Usually, that would be enough to break his spirit, put Diluc back in his place, and remind him of what kind of person he was.

But not this time.

"Because otherwise, I will pry them open, bruise your beautiful skin if I must to get what I want. I will own you tonight. Will make you mine, so every time I come into this room from today onwards, you'll be reminded of what I did to you tonight. So that you'll be wet forever more, desperate to feel me inside again."

He gulped, his own words registering in his mind. "I'll make you love me tonight, so you know what it's like to crave someone to the point it makes you mad. And you will enjoy it, so don't make me repeat it again. Open your legs."

A battle ensued inside of you, a war so ferocious and unkind between your need to stay in control and the want to let go of it. Here was someone devoted, obsessed with you, ready to fulfill your every need despite the horrors he made you endure daily. You could use him, enjoy it, and perhaps gain some will to live afterward if the longing for human touch and love was finally soothed. But could you live with the shame? Remembering his hands, his mouth, his cock? Could your mental health withstand the presence of your captor burned into your mind?

Did it make a difference which one you chose?

You'd be miserable either way. He'd not stop even if you didn't obey. He'd not vanish, whether it meant taking you willingly or unwillingly. His presence would still be burned inside your mind, still eat at your table, still try to make small talk even if you didn't answer him. You'd not be better off just because you kept your dignity. Pride meant nothing in this house where no one recognized you as a free, self-owned person.

You'd long been defeated, you simply didn't want to recognize it.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you slowly unfurled your clasped legs, Diluc's shameless gaze falling to his place of desire. You caught him sniffing the air before he groaned, the pumping of his hand below your line of sight getting even more vicious. You fell back into the mattress, sobbing behind your hand, muffling the sound. Still, the misery that threatened to overtake you was cut down violently by the pleasure your compliance brought.

Diluc surged forward, burying his head between your legs. You felt all of his face nestled against the hot, sensitive skin of your pussy, lips trembling against yours while his breath burned away your own heat. His nose was stuck at the top of your folds, clashing with your clit ever so often as he let his jaw slack, tongue starting roaming from the very bottom to the top, slurping up all the leakage he could reach.

You were torn from your defeat when Diluc's mouth found the pleasure of wrapping around your clit, sucking it in. He didn't need teeth nor tongue to make your fingers grasp for his hair; didn't need support as you arched your back. Yet he grabbed your waist with the devotion of a lover and pleasured you once he found the holy grail of sensitivity between your legs.

By the time your feet curled and breathless moans and shrieks escaped you, those legs were wrapped around his head, his breath now matching the heat from your pussy, and his worshipping forcing an explosion. It was a high you were reluctant to come down from. But thanks to Diluc, the crash wasn't a crash at all. It was a slowly drawn-out symphony that got quieter the longer he directed it until it faded with a pleasant tingle left behind.

Your eyes met as he rose above you, staring down at your undone form. Your chests were heaving with the severity of what had just happened, the chemistry you'd denied so long having served its purpose. Sometimes, you feared, it was true that fucking your enemy was the one unforgivable sin that gave more than it took. There was only one thing left now. One eager, lonely thing.

When Diluc hoisted your legs back over his shoulders, grabbing your midriff to move you further up the bed, you didn't move an inch, didn't help him. What he wanted, he needed to earn. If he wanted to have you so badly, he had to do the work for it. And he did. Never grumbling, never complaining while he left trails of kisses behind as he hovered above you, positioning the tip of his cock to your entrance.

The moment you did move, did struggle was as he pressed forward, burying himself inside of you in a long, dragging motion. You'd just come, your sensitivity tightening everything, and his cock, on the other hand, was an underestimated mass invading you. A feeling of fullness, paired with the moans from both of your mouths, was something you'd never again forget. The way he was bulging you out from inside, the throb as his cock threatened to explode right then and there, and the desperate wrapping of your walls to keep yourself sane and safe from the overstimulation.

It was all etched inside of you now, whether you wanted it.

This would be the only dick you could ever have. A burning hot rod of love. Dragging his hips back caused you to cry out and Diluc to groan, but all sounds vanished as he snapped it back in place, sinking every inch into you. You may have hated this man, but you had been wrong not to believe him when he said he'd make you remember this every time you'd see him.

How could you possibly forget?

"I love you!" he grunted, slamming his shaft back inside. "I love you! I love you!"

With every confession, his pace quickened, words of adoration raining down on you while his cock forged its shape into your pussy. The heat was unbearable, desire stoking flames and sending them straight to your core that buzzed with delight. Your orgasm was so close, but so was his. The man you hated more than anything ever in your life had now burned his place inside you and made sure to keep all his promises.

You were his now, for however long this moment was to last.

He came to own your body and, with the second orgasm, also your mind.

Making you forever remember the feeling of his hot seed spurting inside you as he held you tightly against him, your spasms only driving his cock further inside.

You screamed and rejoiced, laughed and choked on your own sobs at the same time. It was sad. The joy, the pleasure, and the sounds of ecstasy were sad reminders of how Diluc had won. How his disgusting, abusive love had spread like venom through you. He didn't move from you for a long time, but when he did, the feeling of his jizz running down your legs felt like poison—like pure toxin—against your skin.

Toxin that had befuddled your mind by making you crave pleasure—crave the feeling of being loved. Diluc was kissing you over and over, even as his cock slipped out of you while he tried to cover more of your body with his own, pressing you against himself with a sort of desperation. As if he had to feel as much as possible, or else he might regret not getting his fill of you.

But everywhere your skin touched his, it burned. The heat of his body, the tongue working inside your mouth, his cock rubbing over your tender, exposed pussy. You were increasingly convinced he was secreting some kind of toxin, perhaps his pheromones or simply his love for you.

Because you let him.

That night, you let him do as he pleased, kiss what he wanted, fuck you as much as he desired. As if you had lost your mind.

Because just this once, you craved it. Craved his attention, his devotion, the way he allowed you to let go and forget the awful situation you were in just for one night. You had allowed him to show you how to crave him in the same way he longed for you. And although you'd regret it in the morning, you didn't let him leave your bed that night—leave you.

Even though you knew his flames—his love—would burn you alive one day as you stoked the fire again and again.

[lorelune]

(minors & ageless blogs dni. a piece for @ainescribe for helping me with my theme 💓 cw: predator/prey, hints of dubcon)

"i'll give you a head start."

jing yuan tells you this with a pleasant, easy smile and his hands behind his back. and no context. you cock your head at him from across the little table you share, and take a sip of your cold tea.

"come again, dear?" you knock your ankle against his under the table.

"i'm giving you a five minute head start." jing yuan leans closer and rests his chin his palm. his eyes take on a cat-like glint. "i've already started counting. i'd get going if i were you, sweetling."

you only want more of it.

your chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"jing yuan—"

"i won't be going easy on you." his smile verges on smug as he leans forward. "and i would advise to take full advantage of this time. i think you'll need it."

he leans away from you and tilts his head. it would be cute if you couldn't see the rapidly darkening mischief in his gaze. you jolt up from your little table, clattering your chair on the cobbled walkway. he eyes you up and down like a big cat sizing up its next meal as you step backwards, nearly stumbling.

something in your gut twists, like a hot iron.

you turn on a heel and walk as fast as you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. weaving around the late-night crowds and ducking around street vendors and their burning latterns, your heart pounds. faster and faster.

this had been your idea originally. you just hadn't expected jing yuan to entertain it (though on some level, he entertains all of your ideas.) this desire of yours seemed too risky, too innately... unlike him. at least to you.

this game had been a fantasy. one you'd confessed your interest in a few weeks prior, while luxuriating in a pleasantly steaming bath together. you shared a glass of wine, passed between sips after a slow, tender evening. you'd playfully started a conversation about things to try in the bedroom, and somehow, the Divine Foresight and honey wine managed to wring a few previously unspoken desires out of you.

this is the result, you suppose, as you stumble around a corner, toward jing yuan's estate.

you should've known that jing yuan would spring this fantasy on your unexpectedly. that was part of the allure. the hunt, the chase— you're just prey now, with no time to prepare or plan. the innate helplessness has already stirred something in you, even though jing yuan hasn't done anymore than send you hungry looks and promises.

you're sure five minutes have passed. you're positive that the man is trailing you, even if you can't hear or see him. you don't have the military prowess that he does, you're just a civilian. your footfalls are loud as you break into a run near his estate and its towering walls.

your hands shake as you hold your jade abacus to its lock. the slow 'clunk' of gears opening the gates feels like it goes on forever. your heart is pounding in your ears, like a drum that won't stop. you're out of breath, but force yourself to sprint the moment the door swings open.

you hide in one of his gardens.

jing yuan has many green spaces on his estate. it's situated on a large enough space to allow for a small stream running through the largest garden into the front yard. ponds gurgle nearby, filled with fat, sleepy fish. you wake them as you dash around the greenery and shrubs, uncaring of the dirt that is staining your shoes. the bottom of your outer most garment must be getting torn as it snags on the brush below.

the gate of the estate opens and closes once more, somewhere not far behind you. your heart lurches, your stomach feels cold and hollow and you run.

jing yuan knows his estate better than you, clearly. you don't know where is safe, but in his largest garden, there are large gingko trees and stones that seem okay to hide behind. maybe. you are too anxious, too out of your fucking mind, to use sound logic at this point. you scramble behind a smooth quartz boulder and lay a hand on your chest. panting. tears sting your the corners eyes as you desperately try to catch your breath.

you listen the best you can to see if you can hear him follow you. it's hard to pick up every little sound, breeze shakes the tree branchers into a late-evening song. cicadas chirp to disguise any potential footfalls. it would probably be best to hide somewhere on the edge of the garden. you're in the center of it, not far from the stream. you don't dare peak out from your hiding spot, but you should move— you feel so exposed—

a floorboard creaks nearby. you freeze.

the wind almost stills with the sound. you can't breathe as you strain to hear more. it came from the west, where you know there's an entrance to this garden. you think. probably. your heart pounds so loudly, you can barely hear anything over the roar.

you do another sound, though. the sound of a boot fall, onto stone. there's a path laid with them not far from where you are.

something white-hot, old and feral burst in your chest.

you need to fucking run.

with a burst of energy that makes you feel light-headed, you push off the ground and throw yourself over the rock you were hiding behind, away from the sounds that are surely jing yuan stalking you.

your feet hit the ground and you run. run, run, run—

you swear you can feel more footfalls than just your own, but you can't look behind you. all of your focus is on weaving through the gardens trees and shrubbery, to gain and sort of ground.

you stumble, eventually. it's inevitable that you lose. the game is set up that way.

you trip over your own feet as you near the little stream that cuts the garden and gurgles. your momentum ruins you; you can't right yourself fast enough.

a hand catches the back of your collar and pulls. your breath catches, caught in your throat by the pressure. an arm, his arm, bundle you up at the waist and slams your body into his. your back to his front. the force of it knocks the air out of you.

you still scramble, you can't help it. squirming and kicking, you fight against the unyielding grip he has on you. he's hot against your back, scalding even. the metal bits of his armor and belts dig into your as your struggle fruitlessly.

"what's this?" jing yuan says into your ear, soft and curling. "i thought you would do a little better than this."

you whine. your stomach feels cold.

jing yuan laughs then, rich and low like he always does. but there's a darker edge to it now. you can feel it spread down the back of your neck, your spine, drenching you down to your toes. he squeezes you, and you feel yourself get wet.

(you're fucked.)

"you'll have to try harder next time." jing yuan says. "maybe i did go a little easy on you."

"s-sure you did—"

jing yuan nips your ear. "what was that? i didn't realize prey animals were capable of speech."

you crane your neck, ready to snap at him, but you don't get the chance too.

in a single motion, jing yuan has you thrown over his shoulder. blood rushes too quickly to all of the places it shouldn't be. you feel dizzy with it and whine and sputter with it.

jing yuan doesn't yield, only laughs again, and gives your bottom a few firm (very firm) pats. you gulp.

(lucidly remembering the other details you revealed to jing yuan in the bath that night. all of the filthiest bits of your fantasies. jing yuan hardly had to ply you for them.)

and jing yuan is a strategist. you should have known he would use this new information advantageously against you in such a way.

as you enter his manor, heart still pounding, palms clammy, and feeling like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion, you feel foolish and turned on all once. jing yuan so easily catches you off guard when he chooses. he so easily undoes you, puts you in a place of his choosing and let's you fester there just enough that he can remedy it— either with sweetness or, as he now so adeptly showing you, with something an edge darker.

you gulp, light-headed.

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[dollfacefantasy]

Teddy Bear 🧸

pairing: chris redfield x fem!reader

summary: you cuddle with your boyfriend to stay warm during the night, but being so close to you gets him worked up even in his sleep

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, somnophilia, daddy kink, cockwarming

word count: 2.1k

a/n: i’m cold and tired and this is the result 😔 comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus

You’re fast asleep in the cold darkness of your bedroom. The light of the street lamp outside leaks in through your window, streaming over your bed. You have the plush gray comforter draped over your body and your pale pink throw blanket tangled around your legs.

Though, the main source keeping you warm tonight is your space heater of a boyfriend lying next to you. Chris always ran hot in his sleep. His bicep was currently radiating heat through your head from its position beneath your cheek. He was on his back right now, mostly uncovered since you had the blankets.

You’re sleeping peacefully, soft breaths coming out in little puffs from between your lips. You stir when you feel the mattress shift as your boyfriend rolls over. Suddenly, you’re engulfed by his muscular form. His chest presses against your back, and his arm that’s not acting as your pillow wraps around your waist and snakes under your shirt.

You mumble some sleep-addled nonsense as he pulls you even closer and nuzzles his face in your hair. Your sleepy eyes crack open. With some slow blinks, you’re awake just enough to walk the line between consciousness and sleep. His relaxing warmth kept you trapped in that hazy state, unable to wake up fully.

He holds you like you’re his own little teddy bear. You squirm slightly, trying to adjust yourself as best you can, but it was difficult when his body kept you locked in that comfy position. A sleepy whine leaves your mouth as Chris nestles you deeper against his body. He grumbles softly at the noise but doesn’t wake.

Your presence was seeping into his unconscious mind. The faint sound of your whimpering combined with the pressure of your half-assed wriggling began to infiltrate his innocent dreams and transform them into something more explicit. Suddenly, you were all he could smell, all he could feel, and he wanted more. A craving for you began blooming the pit of his belly as the soft flesh of your ass brushed against his length.

By this point, you had basically acclimated to the snug position and begun falling asleep again. You were out of it enough to the point that you didn’t feel his cock start to grow stiff against your ass.

You had gone still, but it was his turn to move now. His hips gently rut against you in his sleep. He leans against your smaller form to get some more pressure on his dick. He mumbles something against your ear, his hot breath fanning over the side of your head.

“Baby, baby, baby…” he murmurs into your hair.

He continues rolling himself against you, getting harder with each small motion. He breathes deeper as his arousal continues to blossom, inhaling your scent as much as he can. It just makes his dreams more realistic. Makes him feel like he’s really got you folded in half beneath him while balls deep in your pussy.

His rocking movements aren’t enough to rouse you. What does wake you is when he starts messing with your blankets. He was still sleeping, only pushing them away out of a subconscious desire to have more of you. Haphazardly, he shoves the coverings down your legs and leaves your hips exposed to the cold air. He groans deeply once more of you is available to him. He could feel the warmth of your ass against the outline of his cock.

All you had worn to bed was a skimpy pair of panties and one of his shirts. It didn’t give you much insulation or coverage, so the cold air surrounding you was enough to draw you out of sleep and back into that dreamy middle ground.

“Chris…” you whine and squirm. You pointlessly tug on the covers to try and get them back, but they’re all tangled up between your legs.

While your noises come from a place of discomfort, they don’t register that way in your boyfriend’s unconscious mind. Almost as if you’re triggering some sort of prey drive, the delicate whimpering and fidgeting only boosts the primal urge within him.

“Good girl… daddy’s got you,” he mumbles. 

Even in your dreamy state, that phrase ignites your desire for him. And to make matters worse, or maybe better in your case, his hand snakes under the faded gray fabric of your shirt and finds its place on one of your tits. At first he gently kneads it, but after only a few squeezes, his hot palm settles on your breast. It was almost like he did it for comfort, just something soft to hold while he pleasured himself with the mere feeling of your curves.

You shift your thighs together, searching for some friction. The increased movement has Chris shifting further on top of you and pushing you into the mattress.

His face rests in the crook of your neck, and you can sense he’s starting to wake up, the sensations growing too intense for him to stay completely unaware. His breaths become more shallow and less rhythmic. His grip on your tit tightens. You really couldn’t move him off now, his larger frame boxing you in.

“Chris,” you whimper again.

“Hm?” you hear his sleepy hum. His hips don’t stop moving.

“You’re crushing me,” you whine.

“‘M sorry, baby bear,” he mutters. 

Despite his apology, he makes no move to get off you. It’s ok though. It doesn’t bother you as much as it would have because he called you that. One of your favorite things to hear. Those two words, baby bear. Always just made you feel so docile and content.

“Feel so fucking good,” he grumbles.

He keeps humping your ass. A small wet patch had formed on the front of his boxers from the precum leaking out of the swollen head of his cock. His fingers weakly massage your breast and lightly pinch and pull at your nipple.

“I wanna feel you too,” you say as slick begins collecting between your thighs.

He moans quietly and kisses your neck a bit. “Have I been neglecting my sweet girl? My baby needs some relief too, doesn’t she?” he tiredly coos.

“Mhm,” you whimper.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy’s gonna make it better,” he grunts.

He’s reluctant to stop the constant stream of pleasure he gets from rutting against you, but he forces himself to pull away just so he can shove his boxers down. He pumps his cock a few times before tugging your underwear aside and slotting himself between your folds.

He doesn’t push inside of you yet. He just rocks back and forth, enjoying how your arousal coats his shaft. It feels like he’s holding you tighter as he does this, but that could be due to the condition you’re in, drowsy with lust.

Both of you have your eyes closed, softly panting and moaning as you just feel the other. The tip of his cock slides over your clit multiple times, and each time his tummy flutters at the little whine you release.

“You’re so wet, baby. Did I wake you up or do you dream about me too?” he asks. He wasn’t too sleepy to tease. That was for sure.

“You woke me up,” you whine. You, on the other hand, were too tired to come up with any kind of witty response.

“Oh, ‘m sorry, baby. Not my fault though. Can’t help popping a boner cause you’re so fucking perfect. My dick knows it even when I’m passed out,” he says.

“Put inside, ‘m tired,” you whimper, not in the mood to tease while you were so sleepy.

“I know you are, baby bear. You’re being such a good girl for me. Letting daddy use you even when you’re so tired,” he mutters and plants some kisses on your face.

After what seems like an eternity, he finally angles himself to enter your warm hole. His hips move forward. He’s buried inside you before you can even comprehend the tip stretching you out.  Your fingers clutch your pillow as you whine. Your legs squirm around a bit, but Chris makes sure you’re positioned how he wants.

“Good baby. I know you love that tight fit,” he whispers, “Are you feeling good? Getting what you need too?”

You nod mindlessly, simply happy to be full.

“Daddy…” you whimper. But this time it’s not a whimper of impatience or command. He hears the shift in cadence. Your little noise comes from a place of pure love. The need for him to hold you close and keep you safe.

“I’m here, baby,” he responds. 

He starts rocking his hips, dragging his cock between your slippery walls. He lets out a deep groan and takes in a shaky inhale. Wet noises sound from your lower bodies connecting. His hand not on your breast slides down your body to find your clit and swipe at it through your slick.

“You’re so fucking wet. You love me using you like a toy. Humping you like you’re a little doll,” he murmurs.

“Mhm,” you whine. Your hips jerk as the rough pad of his middle finger swirls on your sensitive bundle of nerves, “Like when daddy’s needy.”

That makes him laugh a little. 

“Yeah? Needy just like you, hm?” he teases.

You nod with a sweet smile on your face. He continues thrusting, motions becoming languid as he continues on. You’re both breathy and whimpering at different points, clinging to each other. You weren’t cold at all anymore despite the lack of blankets. Everything felt soft and warm now, comfortable and hazy.

It just felt so nice. You were pretty sure you would’ve fallen asleep again if not for Chris’s finger playing with your clit. The sparks of euphoria become more frequent and make you twitch and writhe in his grasp. You felt your peak approaching and he did too. He pushes down a little harder, in turn, causing your cunt to flutter around his cock as it slides in and out.

“Know you’re gonna sleep good after this, precious,” he murmurs as he tries to stroke even deeper, “You’re always knocked out after I fuck you good.”

“You’re gonna pass out too, probably gonna crush me again,” you whine.

“Of course, I will. Gotta keep my baby bear close. Make sure you stay warm,” he says.

His breathing gets ragged, and now he’s definitely holding you tighter. You know he’s definitely reaching the finish line as his finger spasm on your clit. The sharp movement nearly makes you cum, but you hang on for a little longer.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Get you nice and full so you can rest like you deserve,” he whispers.

His hips slap against your ass harder as he barrels towards his release. He’s grunting into your neck, holding you tight as your body bounces from the constant movements. He’s panting and you’re whining when, finally, his limbs lock around you and a long moan comes from his throat.

He starts spilling his cum inside you, making good on his word. He’s stuffing you full. His hips keep thrusting, ensuring it gets deep, completely flooding you. You shudder at the feeling and melt in front of him. As he starts to come down, he works his fingers faster, getting you to your own high. Just as he’s settling down, you reach the high. You jerk and twitch, eyes rolling back and hips bucking forward. He whines from the overstimulation of you contracting around his spent cock, but he pleasures you through it till you’re definitely finished.

The two of you lie there, both unwilling to disconnect from each other. You’re sinking into the mattress, already slipping back into the sweet depths of sleep. His hand falls from your breast and rises from your cunt to meet in the middle and hold you close by your waist. Lazy kisses land on your neck.

“Sorry I woke you up, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” you say.

“Guess not,” he chuckles and pecks you a few more times.

He stays inside you, keeping you wrapped around his now soft cock. It was comforting, soothing in a weird way. Gave you that sense of security you were always craving. You don’t want him to pull out. As if he can read your mind, he whispers in your ear.

“Get some sleep, baby. I’m staying right here. Gonna keep you full while you sleep, make sure this pretty pussy knows who she belongs to.”

You nod and nestle yourself into your pillows to drift off.

“I’ll keep you warm. You won’t even need to hoard all of the blankets now,” he teases before shutting his eyes and starting to drift off himself.

[satrs]

𝐈'���� 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝☆.｡

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ;° 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; Shidou Ryusei. Barou Shoei. Michael Kaiser. Alexis Ness. 

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 1.2k

Tags; !NSFW CONTENT MDNI! riding (duh). unprotected sex. dirty talk. teasing. cockwarming(?). size kink(Barou). overstim. nicknames (baby, good girl, darling, princess). edging (Ness).  nipple play (kaiser).

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP! // NOT PROOFREAD!

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

“Keep goin’”, he egged you on, motivating you too increase your speed. Thighs burning from the rentless movement of your hips, wishing for just at least a little bit of Ryusei’s support. 

He on the other hand, laid back, both of his hands positioned on the back of his head, enjoying the show.

 “Please, Ryu! Can’t do it alone!” Your mewls caused him to throb inside of you, lustful smirk adoring his handsome face. “C’mon baby, you can do it. Your a big girl, hmm?“ 

You couldn’t handle the teasing anymore, pleading and begging him too take over and stop his teasing antics.

Deciding to put an end to your endless pleas, he placed both of his hands on either side of your hips, holding them in place. 

Before you could start to protest, he snapped his hips up into you rapidly, ripping out a loud moan off your lips. Ryusei let out a fereal groan as he felt your pussy clench thighly around him. “Fuckkkk, just like that”, he breathed out.

You soon felt the familiar knot at the pit of your stomach, high pitched moan errupting out of you, tears forming at your underlashes from the sheer amount pleasure he was giving you, blurring your vision.

“Shit, you close baby?”, he questioned, strong rythm of his hips never once stopping. You were quick to nod your head frantically, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you closely aproached your high.

“Me too, baby. Give it too me- fuck! Cum ‘round my dick”, his voiced laced in immense lust, low moans leaving his mouth - you just feel too good around him.

It only took you one more of his sharp thursts too fall over the edge, face twisting at the euphoric feeling, babbling cries of his name over and over.

“Fuck- take it baby, take it all”, he moaned out, fluids painting your velvet walls. Your body dissapointing your mind, falling on top of Shidou out of exhaustion. 

You felt his hot breath against your neck, peppering kisses on your neck. His hard grip on your hips letting go, thumb drawing soft circles onto your hip.

“You can give me one more, right baby?”

BAROU SHOEI.

It was so overwhelming - taking in his great size, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Taking me like a champ. What a good girl”, he mumbled under his breath, big hands roughly taking ahold of your rear, giving it a firm squeeze.

 “’s so good, so good, Sho’.” Your mind was filled with lust, needily grinding your hips down onto his dick. You choked on a moan as his hips stuttered up into yours in need. 

Growing more needy with every second passing, you began too moving up and down on him, skin smacking against each other. He began too melt like putty in your hands, throwing the back of his hand onto his face while thightly shutting his eyes, other hand having an iron grip on your hip in an attempt to slow down your forceful movements.

“I’ll cum if you keep fuckin’ me like - shittt, like that, princess.” Barou’s mind was no longer able to think straight, only thing on his mind being your walls milking his cock so good.

“Mhm, me too Sho’! I’m so, so close, baby”, your moans echoing through the room, only edging him nearer too his anticipating high.

With the next roll of your hips, the both of you fell apart, waves of pleasure crashing over you in a forceful wave. 

After you both came down from your high, panting while trying to catch your breaths, Barou let out an almost animalistic growl, startling you.

“Again baby, please, one more time”, Barou whined, out of breath, cock hardening inside of you again. 

You couldn’t help but moan out at the sight of his desperate state - hair messily laying around his head, pants leaving his mouth and eyebrows knitted together in lust, features drenched in desire. 

You couldn’t possibly deny the pleas of your king, could you?

MICHAEL KAISER.

You didn’t know how long the both you were at it at this point, your mind a complete mess, only being able to focus on Kaiser hitting every pleasurable spot inside of you, causing your toes too curl.

“N-no more! I-I can’t-”, your words were cut off with a particulary sharp thurst from him, causing you too fall forward, hands clinging onto his broad shoulders, sighs and moans driving out of you. 

“Oh? No more you say? Alright then.” A smirk displayed on his lips as he slowed down his hips until completely halting, grinning at the whines leaving your lips.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted ‘no more’?”, he cooed in a teasing manner, causing you too groan in frustration, not sure what you want yourself.

“You know what I meant”, you mumbled earing a low chuckle from the male. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you use your mouth and tell me?”

 You couldn’t stand the teasing any longer, your hands softly gliding along his upper arm, traveling down to the hands placed on your hips, tearing them off your body and pinning them down onto both sides of his head.

“Actions speak louder than words, right?”, you innocently questioned him, gaze not wavering from his eyes as you slowly began too rock your hips, leading his hand to your breast, urging him to squeeze it.

Your moans filled his mind, making him feel dizzy. “Yes they do, f-fuck”, he let out a satified sigh, placing his unoccupied had onto your ass, setting a steady rythm for you.

You threw your head back in ecstasy, as he leaned up to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it harshly.

As your moans increased, you let your gaze wander down, searching for his eyes, only to find him looking up right back at you, hand on your ass letting go to place a hard slap onto it, getting back to grabbing it harshly, fat of your ass spilling out off the sides of his grip.

You knew that the both of you were far from done, the real show starting now. 

ALEXIS NESS.

“You’re doing so well for me, Ness”, you let out a soft sigh, firmly grinding your hips down onto his, earning a needy whine from him. 

“Gosh, please, slow down Y/N, I don’t wanna’ cum yet!”, Ness mewled out, too fucked out and drowing in pleasure to possibly wanting to stop now, wanting to never leave this euphoria, the delicious feeling of your creamy pussy around him. 

“Can’t do, baby. I’m so close, wanna’ cum”, you breathed out, tight coil in your stomach threatening too snap in two, desperatly wanting to reach your high.

“Please. Don’t want it to end just yet- fuck!”, Ness begged and pleaded you, too no avail. You greedily rocked up and down, moans driving an octave higher, leaning down too swallow your lover’s moans.

But the high you desperatly chased never arriving, Ness suddenly taking ahold of your hips, holding them in place firmly. “I told you, not yet, darling,” Ness’ deep voice echoing through the room. 

“No! Nonono I was so close, Ness! So close!”, you cried out, desperatly trying to break free of his firm grip. 

“Patience, darling”, Ness purred, leaning his head forwards too your head, claiming your lips in a sensual and soft kiss, hand kneading your tit sensually,  leaving you in the pure bliss of the moment. 

His hips snapped up into yours in an torturously slow pace, leaving you just at the edge of you anticipating pleasurable high, causing tears of frustration to come forward at your lashline.

The sight of your tears filled Ness with an odd but pleasurable sensation, his dick twitching inside of you in response, letting out a low moan.

“Just a little more alright? I’ll give it to you. I promise.”

ᵃˡˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ ©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎

[hellsburners]

you got me

summary: marc finds you wearing his shirt and a pair of short shorts pairing: marc spector x male reader word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ warning, kinky marc, bottom!reader, marc hates short shorts (secretly loves it) a/n: thanks to this lovely prompt (also i might make one for jake and steven too if i have the time)

masterlist | more moon knight

Marc came home to a quiet apartment. It was clean, as always, with all of Steven’s books arranged on the desk and Jake’s favorite clothes ironed on the clothes rack. He couldn’t help but smile, dating you was probably the best thing that could happen to them. 

“Baby?” he called. “You home?” 

“Yeah, I’m here!” you said, carrying folded clothes to Marc’s closet. He took off his coat, dropping it on the couch. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine,” he stretched his back muscles and cracked his neck, the fatigue weighing in. “Just need a drink that’s all.”

You came out of his room, wearing his shirt and shorts too short. Marc’s thick eyebrows furrowed as you walked to the kitchen trying to get a wine glass for him. 

You felt a finger on the back of your thigh, running up your skin till it reached the hem of your shorts. “Where’d you get this?” he whispered. 

You grab the glass from the cabinet, leaving it on the counter. Marc’s eyes follow your movement, his hands snaking around your waist. “Get what?”

“These shorts,” he said, palming your ass through the cloth. “They’re a little—provocative?” 

“It was very hot today,” you said. “And I cleaned the whole flat!” 

“And you’re wearing my shirt,” Marc whispered, smelling himself on you. He pressed a kiss on your nape, sniffing on the base of your neck, his arms toying with the barrier between your skin and the shorts. 

“Go sit on the couch I’ll bring the wine,” you smirked. 

Marc sat on the couch, manspreading while holding the empty wine glass. He bit his lips, the sight was downright obscene. As you reached for the wine on the top shelf, your shirt would lift to the point that he could see the garter of your underwear. Marc’s cock turned in his seat.

“Come sit on my lap,” he said, pulling you to his lap before you poured the wine. You cheered before taking a sip, the bitter liquid burning your throat. 

Marc’s hands snaked all over your smooth legs, he lifted your leg from your ankles to place kisses all over your legs. You squirmed under his embrace, burying your face on his neck. 

“Marc—” you whimpered. He made you straddle him, his ass practically slapping your ass. 

“I’m gonna fucking rip these shorts off you,” he said, kissing you in the process. He held your chin, his other hand going under your shorts. “Your legs are so pretty—and that fucking ass,” slapping your ass again making you shudder. 

“I didn’t know it would have this much of an effect on you,” you wail, “I could’ve worn something shorter.”

“Try me.”

“I’m pretty sure Steven liked it when I wore these shorts.”

“Oh he liked it very much,” he said, his hands reaching under your shirt finding your nipples, he toys with them, eliciting a whimper under your breath. 

You grind on his lap trying to give his growing erection some friction, a groan leaves his lips. Your hands rest on his chest, using it to stabilize your body as your hips roll on his cock. 

Marc bites his lip almost drawing blood trying to stifle his moans. He grips on the hem of your shorts pulling them down to nearly expose your ass as he leaves hickeys all over your neck. 

“I’m gonna rip this off you,” he declares. 

“Marc—”

You unbuttoned his trousers, palming his dick through his boxers. His hands linger on your neck, running through your hair as you release his cock from its confines. 

It was already leaking with precum, you use the wetness as lube for your hand, stroking his thick shaft. Marc takes his jacket off, his body already warming up, sweat dripping on his forehead. 

“Can I ride it?” you pout.

“No, baby,” he said. “You’re bending over for me tonight. Go to the bed, on your hands and knees.”

“Oh.”

“And keep your clothes on.”

You did what you were told, waiting in the room staring at the stark wall waiting for him. You hear the door creak he is silent, but you hear his belt jingle as he walks. You feel the warmth of his hand on your back, pressing it down so your ass was pointing towards him, your shirt pooling on your shoulders leaving your back bare. 

His fingers reach under the hem of your waist, simultaneously pulling with so much force tearing the thin cloth and splitting it into two pieces—the fabric rips like the sound of thunder behind you. Marc does the same to your underwear. 

“Marc!”

“Now that it’s out of the way,” he said. “I’m gonna play with this all night,” massaging your ass before he dives right in, licking and sucking on your hole drawing whimpers from your mouth. 

He spits on your hole, using his fingers to enter it. He curls his fingers to play with your prostate, the sheer amount of pleasure made your legs wobbly. He takes a moment to nibble on the fatty mound on your rear, leaving hickeys as his fingers continue to play with your hole. His other hand finds your erection, stroking it.

You continue to writhe and whimper under him, your mouth dripping with saliva, your eyes rolling back into your skull, pure ecstasy enveloping your being. Your hands grip tightly on the sheets, leaving dents on your palms. Marc smacks your ass from the continued assault. 

You could hear Marc stroke his cock, the wet sounds were so lewd it led to your cock ache even more. You wanted him to use you, to draw out all the moans, to punish you for offending him. 

“You’re so hot baby,” Marc uttered. “Need this every day.”

“Please—I need you already.”

“Need me, how?”

“Inside me—please.”

That does it for Marc. He teases your hole with the tip of his cock, tracing it around with its wetness. He presses in, the tight muscle enveloping it. Your back aches but he persists, pressing deeper until it’s fully sheathed inside you.

The two of you let out guttural moans, tears welling under your eyes. Marc bends down to grab onto your hair, pulling at his hips to push in. There was a rough side to him that you know, but maybe it was the shorts or the fatigue, but tonight he was rougher, his grip on you tighter. 

“So fuckin’ tight—”

He thrusts, over and over. The sound of skin slapping and your cries are the only things your neighbors would hear. His hand pushed you down the bed, his other hand at your side for support. 

You stroke your cock, practically leaking onto the sheets. Marc whispers sweet nothings to your ear, and a drop of the wetness on his lips drips down your ear. He nibbles your ear, your hands still gripping onto the sheets. 

He flips you around so that you’re facing him, placing your legs on his shoulders. He thrusts back again into you, the base of his cock hitting your ass on each stroke of his hips. The veins on his hand bulge as they sit tightly on your wrists, pinning them above your head. 

Precum leaks from your tip, pooling on your abdomen. Marc takes some with his index finger, scraping it up from your belly button to your chest, and brings it to your lips. You lick your essence from his fingers, the salty bitterness on your tongue. He bends down to share your wetness with a kiss. 

“It tastes good, yeah?” 

You nod, your eyes scrunched up from all the stimulation. You could feel your core tighten, the heat pouring through your veins. Marc leaves light kisses all over your skin down to your collarbone. All you wanted to do was take him in your embrace.

You pull him in, your nails digging into his skin leaving red marks down his back. His dark curls tickle your face, his head buried in the corner of your neck. He ruts into you faster, harder, more forcefully. You let out cries that break through the hot atmosphere. 

“Babe—I’m close,” you whine. 

“I know baby, I know,” he coos, caressing your cheeks. “You gotta be patient though, –need you to wait for me.”

“I’ll try—” the tears blurring your vision. The pleasure coming from Marc’s cock was intoxicating, the heat of our muscle combined with his thrusts almost drove him to the edge, teetering for release. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight you’re gonna make me cum so hard.”

“Can you cum inside me?” you begged. You held his face in your palms, relishing his beauty as he fucked you. His long lashes and his thick brows scrunched all over. It was adorable. 

“If you want me to,” he groans. “Anything for you.”

Marc moved his hips with such grace and power it was finally the time for release. He kissed your lips, moaning from the moment the two of you reached your climax. Marc, thrusting erratically, as you stroke your erection one last time. Your wetness shoots all over your torsos, his cum filling inside you leaving a warmth fullness. 

He pulls back from this kiss, staring down at you with dark eyes. He pushes your hair back, caressing your cheek with his thumb. Your breaths heave trying to catch some air. 

“My pretty boy,” he lets out. “Wear those shorts again and I’m fucking your brains out.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing: dbf!ellaria sand x plus size!f!reader x oberyn martell, ellaria sand x oberyn martell

genre: smut, modern au, hurt/comfort, minors dni

word count: 7.2k

summary: Wanting to get away from it all for a while, your dad suggests that you go and stay with his friend in the city; Ellaria Sand. It's been a hot while since you last saw her and you must admit, you have a bit of a crush on the older woman. What you don't expect, however, is to find an equally charming stranger staying with her as well.

warnings: threesome, age gap (reader being in her late twenties), weed use, dirty talking, body insecurities (weight related), piv, oral sex (male and female), praise kink, light bdsm dynamics, subdrop, aftercare, squirting (but like very non explicit squirting as ironic as that sounds dfvdv), use of petnames (little one, pet, good girl), no use of y/n, both ellaria and oberyn are mentioned to be polyamourus, edging

a/n: this is hella indulgent and an idea I've had since September but never actually gotten around writing it. However, while I was taking a nap the idea suddenly consumed me and I had to pause everything else to sit down and write it. Enjoy the filth, there's so much going on ❤️‍🔥

**dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

You’re anxious as you wait for the door to open in front of you. It’s been a rough couple of months—years, actually. You feel suffocated by the world around you and yourself. Every day is another battle. You hate to admit it but you’re just so tired of fighting. There’s a constant weight on your chest that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do. Which led you to the doorsteps of your dad’s friend, Ellaria Sand.  

The idea had came from your dad. Noticing your troubles fitting in, he recommended you go and visit her. You were more than eager to oblige. You loved her company, she had an aura about her that just made you feel welcome. Talking to her came easy since she did most of it, and when you had something to say, she would actually listen. 

While you’re thinking about all of this, you’re trying very hard to ignore the fact that you might have a teeny-tiny crush on the older woman. However you’re ready to make the argument that it’s not your fault, she was just too charming—who wouldn’t have a crush on her? 

Ellaria’s excitement mimics your own as she opens the door. With a wide smile, she wraps her arms around you and drags you inside. 

“How was the trip?” she asks excitedly. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“Of course not, I like traveling,” you answer. “Thank you for having me by the way. How are you?” 

“Oh, pretty much the same. Nothing new.” she helps you with your luggage and you follow her to the spare bedroom. “Also I forgot to mention on the phone but a friend of mine will be visiting and staying with us as well. Is that okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be,” you say with a leveled voice. “Does the mystery guest have a name?” 

As you step into the room, she turns to you, still smiling.

“His name is Oberyn.” 

For your first night, you weren’t expecting to get high on the couch with Ellaria, yet here you are, your chest full of cannabis as your head rests over her lap. 

“So who is this guy?” you ask as she places the joint between your lips. You feel the warmth of her fingers. “A boyfriend or something?” 

“Or something.” 

You draw your brows together, confused, “What does that mean?”

“It means my sweet flower,” she answers slowly, dragging her knuckles up your heated cheek. “We’re together but we both agree that the pleasure of the world is too many to limit ourselves to one person.” 

“You’re in an open relationship?” you take a deep drag from the joint, your lungs expanding with smoke. 

“We’re both polyamorous.” 

“Wow, lucky,” you say with an envious tone. She quirks an eyebrow yet her smile continues on to be a humorful one. You stammer with your words. “I-I mean, it’s lucky that you found each other. Must be nice having the same ideals as someone.” 

She nods, placing the blunt back between her lips, “It is.” 

“Is he nice to you?” 

You’re not quite sure what prompts you to as that. First of all, it feels way too personal of a question to be asking your father’s friend. Even though Ellaria has spoken about her sexual relationships before, it still feels like your might be crossing an invisible line. A fog settles over your mind, loosening your tongue. You’re fascinated by functioning relationships. You’re fascinated by the idea of two people actually being understanding and caring towards each other—as ridiculous as that may sound. You haven’t had the best experiences when it came to partners, most of them going into it with hopes of changing who you are, so anytime you see two people actually liking each other’s company you can’t help but want to pull out a camera and record everything. 

Ellaria blows smoke toward your face, the warmth of it ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze. 

“He is. I wouldn’t really be with him if he wasn’t.” she pinches your cheek. “You have a weird look on your face.” 

“Oh,” you answer dumbly. “Sorry.” 

“I’m just worried. Your father didn’t really say anything other than you really needed a break.” 

“I guess I’m just a bit lonely.” 

“Well,” she says and reaches towards the ashtray to snuff out the blunt. “If that’s the case you came to the right place. You can stay as long as you want to.” before you can say anything, she starts rolling another one and a loud knock echoes across the dimly lit apartment. 

“Ah, that must be Oberyn.” 

Begrudgingly, you remove yourself away from her lap and watch Ellaria make her way toward the door. She’s wearing an orange dress, the color warming her skin. You can’t help the way your gaze drops to her behind, the soft fabric hugging her curves delicately. 

With a noise, you hurriedly snap your eyes away. It’s not the time to be ogling her like a piece of meat. 

No matter how good she looks. 

You weakly attempt to collect yourself when Ellaria returns with a tall man in tow. As you get up, you stagger a bit but manage to immediately keep yourself upright by holding on to Oberyn’s outstretched hand. His smile is kind, and the kindness reaches the depth of his eyes. Though you also see a hint of curiosity in them. His palm is searing against yours and his fingers are long and nice-looking, you spot a stylish golden ring on his thumb. 

A bit scared, and a bit excited, you meet his gaze. He’s quite handsome. In fact, you believe you might be in the presence of the most attractive two people in the city. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, framing his jawline which in return gives it an even more sharper look. 

While you two remain hand in hand, Ellaria makes the introductions. Oberyn’s thumb smooths down your inner writs. A shiver rolls down your spine. “It is very lovely to meet you,” he says earnestly. 

“Likewise.” 

Oberyn picks up the unlit joint Ellaria had left on the coffee table before she went to greet him. You see a faint sparkle in his eyes. “You two were smoking?” he asks, turning to Ellaria. 

“To relax the nerves, my love,” she answers with a playful smile. “Help yourselves, I’ll be back in a minute.” 

You feel as if someone poured cold water over your head, “Maybe I can help?” you take a step forward, intent on following her to wherever she was going—which you assume is the kitchen. But she stops you with the raise of her hand. 

“Please, I’ll be right back. In the meanwhile you two get acquainted.” 

A second later it’s just you and Oberyn alone in the living room. He seems unbothered and lights the joint as he takes a seat. There’s a certain air of expertise and elegance in whatever he does. He pats the cushion next to him, “Sit.”

You sigh softly, collapsing next to him. He flicks the lighter and leans towards the tiny flame, his eyes fixed on the empty threshold. He takes two quick exhales, the tip of the joint burning a bright orange. Smoke pours from the corners of his lips. You’re mesmerized by the sight of him. Shadows dance over his face, giving him a dark look. 

“How do you two know each other?” he asks, snapping you away from your thoughts. 

You blink, momentarily lost in his gaze, before extending your hand to take another drag from the joint. Your fingers feel slightly numb as you bring it to your lips. "She's a friend of my dad's," you explain, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've known each other for a while."

Oberyn nods, his fingers gently brushing the back of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself leaning closer to him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“What about you?” you ask, hating the way your voice trembled.

A soft smile plays on his lips. His thumbs continue their soothing caress on the back of your neck, tracing delicate patterns that send a shiver of pleasure through your body. 

"She walked into my lecture one day," Oberyn begins, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "I was talking about the ancient civilizations of Essos, and there she was, her eyes filled with curiosity. After the lecture, she approached me with such confidence, asking questions that sparked my own curiosity. I learned that she was an artist and she was lacking inspiration. She thought a trip to the past would spark something in her." he says blissfully. “And spark it did.” 

“You’re a professor?” 

He hums, elevated by your intrigue, “Yes, but I do prefer excavating and traveling to new sites.” he explains, his voice tinged with a hint of longing. "It's much more freeing, rather than being trapped between four walls." 

His words wash over you like a gentle caress, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of his warmth. The joint burns low between your fingers, forgotten for a moment. With a jolt of panic, you extend it back to him. 

Oberyn's voice lowers even further, a velvet murmur that tickles your ear. "She's a remarkable woman, isn't she? So full of life and passion."

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you find yourself nodding, captivated by the combination of his words and the tender touch of his thumbs on your skin. "Yes, she is," you reply. 

“You like her,” Oberyn says, a statement, rather than a question. You’re horrified by the implication of it. Your lips part and close, words failing to come out. His sudden burst of laughter makes you jump. “Do not look so worried, I’m not here to judge you. I appreciate anyone who sees her for the gorgeous woman that she is.” 

His fingers find purchase under your chin, he lifts your gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. You forget how to breathe. With a soft smile, Oberyn brings the joint to his lips and takes a deep inhale, You can hear the sizzle of it, and feel the heat that radiates from the crimson tip. Your lips part by instinct, he leans closer. 

Oberyn fills your lungs with delicious smoke. Your lips never touch, yet you swear you can feel them pressed together. He breathes life into you and when it’s all done, he licks himself deep into your mouth. Pressing deeper, Oberyn flattens his tongue against yours and nips your bottom lip. Sweat drips from your spine and gathers at your tailbone. His hands affectionately cradle your face, inhaling you one last time, he breaks the kiss. 

You’re a panting mess, your lips tingling for more. 

“Take off your clothes.” 

Your eyes go wide, “I—Excuse me what?” slightly inching forward, you stare into his eyes. “Ellaria is right down the hall, wouldn’t it be. . . rude?” 

That sparks an amused chuckle from him. “You’re adorable,” he muses. “I promise you that she wants this as much as I do.” 

“She. . . does?” 

“Ellaria adores you. She also enjoys sharing her favorite things with the one’s that she cares for,” his fingers curl around your throat and you swallow. Oberyn tilts your head to the side. “Now, let me see you.” 

And this is the part where your insecurities make an ugly appearance. You avert your gaze, hugging yourself while Oberyn continues to stare. You want to do this. You absolutely do, if the slick gathering in your underwear is any indication, but it’s still hard for you to believe that he wants to. 

You feel the bite of his nails and bring your gaze back to him. You’re not sure what does it, but you find yourself scrambling off of the couch. You don’t see not one ounce of a lie in those eyes—you only see lust and intrigue. Besides, you came here to loosen up, what better way is there to do that than making out with a handsome stranger? 

When you’re left only in your bra and underwear, Oberny pulls you to his lap and you let out a soft gasp. He unclasps your bra and throws it over the small pile of clothes you had left behind, leaving you only in your, visibly soaked, panties. 

“Oberyn. . .” 

You jolt at the soft lilt of Ellaria’s voice. You stiffen over the older man’s lap, not knowing what to do. With a smile, he draws soothing circles over your thighs. 

Ellaria takes a seat next to you two. You’re too flustered to look at her but despite not looking, you see the delicate curl of her lips. 

“She’s too beautiful not to touch,” Oberyn drags his nose down your neck, and you smile giddily. Your heart beating a mile a minute. “Don’t you agree with me, Ellaria?” 

Her tongue swiping over her bottom lip, she reaches out and holds your breast, weighing it with her palm. She brushes a thumb over your pebbled nipple, a soft whine parts your lips. “I do.” 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

“Of course, love. Why would I not think you are beautiful?” 

You grow silent. Ellaria’s fingers dances along your arm and heat settles in your core. Oberyn, with a curious gaze and a half smile, drags his thumbs down to the soft contours of your stomach rolls and gently pinches. You whine, sticking your bottom lip out, you look away from them both. 

“I think I have an idea why she thinks like that,” he hums. Ellaria’s gaze drops to where Oberyn’s hands rest, meaning your stomach. Your cheeks burn. Her eyebrows raised, you feel the weight of her gaze locked onto your face, but still, you refuse to look at her. Or him. “She lives in a cruel world that makes her think she’s anything but desirable. But we see her for what she is.” 

“And what’s that?” you mutter, embarrassed to be read so easily. He was right, you never thought of yourself as being desirable, even if you desperately wanted to. There were mornings you just woke up hating yourself, staring into the mirror and poking endlessly at your face and observing every imperfection. You’re tired of it. Tired of thinking of yourself as less. Which is one of the reasons why you came here. Why your dad wanted you to spend time with Ellaria, he knew the woman had ways of making you feel better. 

Oberyn's firm yet gentle grasp on your chin draws your attention, anchoring your gaze and shifting your focus solely to him. His smile is wide and predatory, like a snake. You tremble as his hands slide from your stomach to your waist, their scorching touch and commanding presence stirring a primal reaction within you.

“You’re a gorgeous girl,” he answers with a melodic lilt from his sinful tongue. “The type of girl we want to ravish for as long as you’re staying here.” 

“If you want to, of course,” Ellaria adds, playfully pinching your nipple. Your eyes flutter closed. The sudden mixture of pleasure and pain makes your skin tingle pleasantly. “Do you, little one?” 

You nod. Everything that’s happening feels like a fever dream. The scent of cannabis is still heavy in the air, making you feel soft and slow like molasses. Ellaria’s fingers dance along your nape, nimble fingers sliding into the roots of your hair, she gently tugs. Meanwhile, Oberyn nips at the soft skin of your neck. 

“Words, love.” Ellaria commands. 

“Yes,” you breathe out, voice shaking. “I want to. . . if you guys want to.” 

Oberyn whispers, “Good girl,” against your skin, and a wave of dizziness engulfs you. The two devour with the ways they touch and bite. Ellaria’s lips melt into your own as Oberyn cups both your breasts, kneading the soft mounds. 

Kissing Ellaria had been a fantasy you frequently indulged in over the years and you’re pleasantly surprised to realize she tastes like cherries and roses. You have endless memories of slipping your hand between your legs as soon as you were in the privacy of your room. You always had a feeling that she knew. Her gaze too observant, too cunning not to see the thoughts lingering in your head. 

Oberyn lowers his head and lifts your breasts to his mouth. He laves his tongue over your nipples hungrily. A wanton moan echoes in the back of your throat, your head falls as you part away from Ellaria. You hear her chuckle. “You taste sweet,” she comments, making you keen. “Despite the smoke Oberyn blew into your lungs.” 

“You saw that?” 

“You two weren’t exactly being discreet.” 

You’re hot all over, embarrassment pouring over you like summer rain. Oberyn doesn’t seem to care, consumed with the taste of your flesh. Your underwear sticks to your folds and you squirm over his lap. The man groans when you brush his length, you feel him twitch through the soft fabric of his sweats. The blood rush is loud in your ears. 

He feels. . . big. 

“Shit,” you mumble, delving your fingers into his short locks. You tug him closer to your chest and sloppily grind on top of him. You feel the sharpness of his teeth and then—

He bites you. 

With a sharp cry you jerk away, your gaze instantly finding Oberyn’s. The man is grinning from ear to ear. Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage. “What was that for?” you gasp, chest heaving. 

“It was an affectionate bite,” he teases, then presses his lips over the tiny dents. “Did it hurt?” 

“No . . .” you answer, sounding uncertain. “I was just surprised.” 

Ellaria rolls her eyes and tugs Oberyn towards her. The man goes willingly, his wicked smile never fading as she crashes their lips together. You see the pink of Ellaria’s tongue slip between Oberyn’s lips. His hands drop, his thumbs digging into the crease between your thighs and hips. You watch wide-eyed at the way the two devour each other. They’re so earnest, so hungry. It makes you ache between your legs and a bit in your heart. While Ellaria licks herself deeper into his mouth, Oberyn guides the roll of your hips. 

Suddenly struggling about where to put your hands, you place them on his chest. The fabric of his shirt bunches underneath your fingers. Your eyes roll at the delicious caress of his clothed cock. You want to feel more. 

When they part, a string of saliva connects them still. Oberyn grins at her and tilts his head toward you. “She likes the show it seems,” he states. 

With a soft smile, Ellaria turns to you. She cups your cheek and smooths her thumb over your heated skin. Your heart soars. She’s so tender, so soft with you. It makes you dizzy. You never thought someone like her would be interested. And you don’t only say this because of your physical insecurities, you just always felt like she would find you too inexperienced. Too young. You always had this unnecessary fear of sounding dumb when you talked with her. 

“What are you thinking?” she whispers, coming closer. Her hot breath fans your skin as Oberyn flattens his tongue over your neck, dragging the wet muscle up until his nose is firmly pressed against your jaw. 

“I’m thinking that this must be a dream,” you answer. “And I’m thinking how intoxicating you two are.” 

Oberyn’s smile is wide as he pulls away, his eyebrows raised. “Look at that, she found her tongue. How delightful.” 

Ellaria kisses the right corner of your lips and addresses Oberyn. “You’ll scare her, she’s fragile.” 

“I’m not fragile,” you pout. With a laugh, she presses her lips against your jutted lip. “I’m just nervous. . . you know my experiences haven’t been—” You clear your throat, suddenly aware of Oberyn’s eyes on you. “Great.” 

“I know, baby. I know.” 

Obeyn chimes in, his gaze moving to Ellaria, “What does that mean?” 

“Poor girl never came from another hand but her own.” 

“Ellaria!”  

“Oh?” Oberyn’s eyes bore into your own. It’s so intense that you can’t look away, and honestly, you’re not sure that you want to. He pulls down your bottom lip, dipping his thumb into the seam. “You won’t have to worry about that with us, sweet creature.” 

“I’m sure,” you hum, a coy smile playing on your lips. “So can we uh. . . can we take this to the bedroom? I’m not that comfortable on the couch. If that’s okay?” 

“Of course,” Ellaria answers. “Besides I hate how this fabric feels against my skin. So the bed is definitely preferred.” 

Oberyn, without saying a word, nuzzles your neck before pulling you to your feet. You falter, still a bit dazed. Yet, his arm catches you, keeping you from falling. 

“Careful,” he tuts, lips touching your forehead. 

Oberyn’s arm never leaves your waist as Ellaria guides the two of you through the hallway of her home. A route you don’t doubt Oberyn has taken many times before.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you enter Ellaria’s room. It’s quite neat, the bed quite big, which doesn’t surprise you in the least. 

Ellaria looks at you with a smile, curling her fingers around the elastic of your underwear, she tugs you close. Oberyn looms right behind you, he hadn’t closed the door as he entered. His cock hard and aching, resting between the crease of your clothed ass cheeks. His palms caress the soft mounds, his breath warm and wet against your nape. 

You’re suddenly highly aware that you’re the only one practically naked. Noticing this, heat crawls up your chest and curls around your neck. At any moment you expect to wake up in the familiar setting of the guest room, none of this seems real.

“Lay down, Oberyn,” Ellaria’s voice breaks the silence, her eyes never leaving yours as she addresses her lover. “We’ll join you shortly.” 

“Hmm,” he kisses your neck, your legs shake in response. “Should I take off my clothes?” 

“Yes.” 

Oberyn smiles, gives your ass one last firm squeeze, and retreats. And as much as you want to stare at the man in his full naked glory, it’s hard to pull your gaze away from Ellaria. You hear the bed creaking under the man’s weight. Still, you don’t turn to look. Ellaria kneels before you, tugging your underwear along with her. Her hands, despite not being large as Oberyn’s, feels all consuming. They languidly slide above your calves and thighs as she raises to stand on her feet once more. 

When she stands, you make a move to take off her garments but she gently pushes your hands back. “You watch,” she says, pulling off the straps of her dress and allowing it to pool at her ankles. 

You touch her like art. Soft and slow. Almost as if she wasn’t there. You cup her waist and skim your palm until you reach the side of her breast, in which you hold tenderly under your hand. A soft gasp leaves her and you look at her with shock and amazement. You bend forward, closing your lips around the tender nipple. You swirl your tongue around the areola, her eyes fluttering as she lets out a sigh. 

“That’s nice,” she says, looking at you between heavy eyelids. “You don’t need to be shy with us.” 

If it were anyone else saying that you wouldn’t have believed them, “I think you’re right,” you whisper, more to yourself rather than her. “You’re sure you don’t mind me being. . . timid?” 

Her brows furrow with confusion, her gaze searching your own as your thumb continues to dance over the darker patch of skin. Then you see it, the recognition flashing in her eyes. She might’ve forgotten, but you remember her talking about how much of a bore it was to be with unsure people. Timid, as she had put it. Which is something you’re being right now—you think.  

Your eyes find Oberyn’s from above her shoulder. It’s a fleeting moment. But he seems to be eating you both with the darkness of his eyes. Your heart skips a beat. Ellaria’s hand cradles the back of your neck, gently tightening her grip. When your gaze moves back to her, you see that she’s smiling. 

“I didn’t mean you when I said that,” she answers. “You lack confidence, there’s a difference. And I doubt you’ll be holding yourself back after regaining it.” 

“You don’t think I’m boring?” 

“I don’t,” leaning in, she drags her nose over yours, soft lips only an inch away. “Let’s not keep Oberyn waiting.” 

When you both turn, you see that Oberyn is softly touching himself. Fingers teasingly moving up and down his impressive length. You clench your teeth, arousal overwhelming every orifice of your body. “How should we do this?” he asks, eyes on Ellaria. 

Grinning, she gently nudges your shoulder with her own, you can’t stop staring at Oberyn however. He’s all lean muscle, the extra padding making him look fit. The coarse dark hairs lead a path from his softened stomach to his pulsing cock. Noticing your gaze, he wraps a hand around himself and starts to fuck his fist with hard strokes. He watches with delight at the way you lick your lips when a bead of precome appears on the tip. 

“Would you want to taste him?” Ellaria’s lips touch your ear. 

An awkward chuckle bubbles from your chest, “Am I being that obvious?” 

“Only slightly.” 

She guides you to the bed, and you take your place between Oberyn’s legs while Ellaria is more to the side. His hand instantly finds the side of your face, thumb tugging at the corner of your lips as he stares at you with a softened gaze. 

“Needy,” he murmurs. “I’m going to enjoy playing with you, little one.” 

You feel your pupils physically expanding. Ellaria drags her nails down your scalp, you purr at the sensation. “He likes it when you go slow,” she informs. “Start at the tip and drag your tongue down, he likes being teased.” 

With an urge to please, you do exactly as she says. First, you swirl your tongue around the bulbous head, his thighs stiffen, then you flatten your tongue and move down. The moan that comes from him is unfiltered and loud. Slick gushes between your legs. 

“Good girl,” he gasps. “You too.” 

It takes you a while to understand what Oberyn means. You only become aware that he was addressing Ellaria when the other joins you, licking a stripe up the other side of his length. You moan as you take the head between your lips, meanwhile, Ellaria closes her lips around the base, sucking the delicate skin. A choked out moan parts his lips, not being able to keep still, his hips stutter, forcing you to take more of him. His width spreads your lips wide. Your eyes water and you feel Ellaria’s tongue as she kisses the skin right under your eye. 

She replaces your lips with her own. You watch in a dazed manner as she takes Oberyn down her throat with practiced ease. His fingers tangle into her curls when she hollows her cheeks, forcing her head down. The sight alone makes you drip for them both. Now feeling even bold, you meet Ellaria’s lips while she’s sucking on the tip. You swear you see a ghost of a grin when she slips her tongue into your mouth. You taste a mixture of them in your mouth, and your head spins. Not wanting to part away, both of you lower yourselves, taking Oberyn between your lips as your tongues struggle to meet around his cock. 

“Fuuuck,” he groans, cock twitching between the pair of lips. You feel his rough fingers moving along your cheek. “You’re doing so well—both of you are,” Ellaria pulls away and winks at you before turning to Oberyn. You take him halfway into your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat. He makes a sound, burying his head further into the pillows. “If you continue doing that I’m going to come.” 

The sound of his voice lights a flame in you, the strokes of your tongue becoming more wild and eager. You swallow around him, over and over, until Ellaria pulls you away. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you choke out, eyes flitting between the two. “I want you to come,” you then add, jerking him. 

“Oh it is,” he answers with a sly smile. “But before that, I want to see you come undone on my tongue. And my cock.” 

Ellaria feels you shudder as she traces the line of your spine, “Get on all fours,” she says barely in a whisper. 

You do as you’re told. Arousal coils tightly in your stomach, your body burning from the inside out. You’re over-excited. Your breathing coming out in short, rushed pants. Oberyn gets behind you as Ellaria takes Oberyn’s place and pulls you between her delicate thighs. Your one arm instantly curls around one leg as you brace yourself with the other by flattening your palm over the mattress. 

Oberyn’s fingers languidly slide down the curve of your ass and slip two of them into your soaking heat with ease. You melt into the touch, your elbow immediately giving way and falling. Without thinking much you kiss the inside of Ellaria’s thighs, sucking and nipping her ample flesh. Oberyn begins to thrust his fingers in and out. Your walls flutter around the digits, your body growing tenses. 

“So wet,” he approves. “You must be very excited.” 

“F-Fuck, I am,” you whimper, attempting to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

He scissors his fingers and curls them, applying pressure to a delicate spot deep inside. A jolt of electricity rushes over you. Your body engulfed in a crackling heat. 

“Taste her,” he says. “Aren’t you curious?” 

Instead of answering, you meet Ellaria’s gaze before pressing your lips into her cunt. You moan into her, and she draws up her legs, bracketing you between the inside of her thighs. She cradles the back of your head with both hands, guiding you as you drag your tongue between her folds. She tastes fucking delicious. You love this, love giving her pleasure. With a hum, you close your lips around her aching clit and suck. Hard. 

Her body jolts, the bed underneath creaking. Oberyn swears from underneath his breath, and you imagine him staring at Ellaria’s debouched face. You bet she looks beautiful. Nudging the bundle of nerves with the curve of your nose, you tease her entrance with your tongue, slowly pushing in. 

“And you worried you would be timid,” she croaks out, her back arching as she tugs you closer. “Look at you now, my sweet girl doing such a good job in pleasing us.” 

Oberyn’s fingers are replaced with his sinful tongue, heat drips from your spine. Without wanting to, you pull away from Ellaria, moaning loudly between her legs. His tongue delves deeper, kissing your folds and lapping at everything you have to offer. He grazes his teeth and you writhe against him, your lips moving sloppily along the apex of her thighs as you attempt to kiss her. 

His tongue feels too damn long. . . he pushes the soft muscle inside, the mild stretch making your stomach roll. Oberyn is much better at this than you are. No doubt about it. Ellaria only watches as the most sinful sounds escape your throat. He fucks you with his tongue and between thrusts, he manages to flick your clit with the pointed tip. It makes you feral. You’re not even sure what you’re doing anymore. You continue to taste Ellaria, albeit much more sloppily compared to before. You catch her gaze whenever the fog in your head lifts, her lips are parted, eyes half-lidded. 

“I think you’re ready to take me,” Oberyn says, his voice hoarse. 

Before you can answer, Ellaria cups your cheeks, pulling you away from her core. Your chest heaves. She swipes her thumb over your lips, spreading the wetness caused by her cunt. “I want you to pick a word, love.” 

“A word?” you cringe internally at how out of it you sound. They haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already a mess. 

“A safeword,” Oberyn explains Ellaria’s words further. His hands grip your love handles and squeeze them tenderly, he pulls you back and you feel the warmth of his cock heavy on your ass. 

You think for a minute, your eyes darting around Ellaria’s face and the wall behind her. Your mind is completely empty. Blank. Not even one word comes to mind. 

Oberyn licks his lips, “How about that stoplight system? Green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for stop?” 

Ellaria’s gaze searches your own, and you nod, “That sounds good.” 

“Alright then,” Oberyn purrs, etching closer. He slides his cock between your folds, his hands skimming up your waist. Ellaria continues to hold your face, watching your every expression with interest. Your eyes widen— is she waiting to see your expression when Oberyn enters you? Fuck. Heat blossoms in your chest. “What is your color now?” he asks, hand cupping the back of your neck. 

“Green,” you say with a whimper. 

Oberyn pushes in inch by inch. He stretches you beautifully, only a hint of pain following while he fills you. Ellaria smiles as your eyes roll back, your lips parting with a guttural sound. He feels so good. So deep. When he’s fully sheathed inside, he waits for you to adjust to his size. Your legs shake. You’re barely keeping yourself together. Ellaria slips her thumb into your mouth and you wrap your lips around her diligently.  She hums with approval. 

“Does she feel good?” Ellaria asks Oberyn. 

“Yes. She feels like she was made for me. Such a perfect hole to fill.” 

You shudder, dripping down his cock and the inside of your thighs. “Oh god—” you choke out, your voice thick. 

Ellaria releases you when Oberyn rocks his hips impatiently. Your cheek drops to her thigh and with a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to her cunt, slowly slipping two of them inside. You know she wasn’t expecting it when her head snaps back. You can’t help the little smile that graces your lips. Her heat consumes you. Oberyn’s thrusts become faster, harder, sinking deep into your cunt. And with every stroke of his cock, your fingers go deeper into Ellaria. 

It’s a beautiful mess. 

You’re not sure how thin the walls are, you hope that they’re thick. You mentally apologize to the neighbors if not because none of you are making an effort to keep quiet. Ellaria grinds to meet your fingers, meanwhile, Oberyn’s cock is splitting you into two. His pace is brutal, you feel your skin rippling as his hips snap into you. Honestly, you’re not even trying to move your hand anymore, it’s all Oberyn—So technically, he’s fucking two people at once. 

Suddenly you find yourself being shoved into Ellaria’s delectable cunt, Oberyn pushes you down, blunt nails biting into your scalp. With a groan, you once again close your lips around her clit and suck. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves, then gently —almost fearfully due to the harsh grind of Oberyn’s hips— you graze your teeth. 

Ellaria cries out, a sound that takes you by surprise. Between wet eyelashes, you watch as her face contorts in pleasure, her walls squeezing your fingers tight. Her clit throbs against your tongue and just like that, she’s gushing heavily into your mouth. Oberyn’s movements slow, his brutal pace becoming a lazy one as his cock massages your walls. You have a feeling he’s watching her as well. 

Noticing that she’s crying out both your names, your pulse quickens. 

You pull out your fingers and hold her hips, wet streaks glisten on top of her sun-kissed skin. Burying your mouth deep within her folds, you allow your tongue to lick the remains. Another, more gentle, orgasm washes over her, the cries from before becoming sighs of languid pleasure. 

“Good girl,” Oberyn growls, his hand becomes a necklace around your neck and he hauls you up. He shoves his lips against your ear, the tremor of his voice making you tremble. “You know, I’ve never seen her come quite that hard with the others. She must like you a lot, pet.”

fuckfuckfuck 

The way he rolls his tongue as he says it, pet—you don’t expect it to affect you that much but it does, your entire body tenses, his cock easing in and out of you even faster thanks to the way you gush around him. 

“You like that?” 

Shit, he noticed. 

“I—I—” 

He grabs your chin and clashes your lips in a bruising kiss. Oberyn leaves you breathless, your lungs convulse, burning with the lack of oxygen. You taste a hint of yourself on his tongue. 

“Our sweet pet,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re stunning like this, all fucked out.” 

Oberyn kisses you once more then turns to Ellaria with a smile, “I can still taste you on her tongue.” 

“I would think so. She was quite thorough,” she teases, her gaze fixed on you. 

Ellaria touches herself slowly as Oberyn resumes his brutal pace. Wet noises flood the dimly lit room, Oberyn buries his face where your neck meets your shoulder. You feel the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth. Your loins burn. 

Oberyn dangles you on the edge of a cliff. Every time you’re close to your release, he slows his hips into a gentle roll, only to build you up again. Ellaria simply watches, gently drawing tender circles while Oberyn toys with you. Their pet. 

“Please,” you beg. “I want to come.” 

You sound teary and embarrassed. Oberyn kisses your neck. “You have been good,” he murmurs, eyes moving to Ellaria. “What do you say?” 

“Let her come,” she sighs, smiling. “Make it feel good for her, Oberyn.” 

Oberyn makes a sound of eager approval. His one hand slips between your legs as the other grasp your breast, keeping your sweat-soaked body flush against him. His fingers draw tight, quick circles around your clit as he presses into you, hips smacking against your flesh over and over. 

It doesn’t take you long after that. 

Your orgasm hits you like a truck—hell, it hits you like a train. It’s violent, intense. Every muscle grows taut and your skin tingles as if it’s burned. You can’t even cry out properly, your mouth wide in a silent scream. Something warm trickles down your thighs, and if it wasn’t for Oberyn’s constant, steady praise in your ear you would’ve been embarrassed. But instead, you just slump against him. Your body feeling limp as if you might never be able to stand again. He rolls his hips, and each time waves of pleasure wash over you, it’s not as intense, but it feels amazing. 

“That’s it,” he rasps. “I’m going to pull out now, okay?” 

Your nod is followed by a hiss when he does, the sudden lack of him making you feel empty, and frankly, a little bit sad. However, you don’t get the chance to linger on the feeling as Oberyn guides you toward the empty spot next to Ellaria. 

She holds you in a tight embrace, whispering praise into your hair. Oberyn shuffles until he’s behind her, his arm draped over her waist. His cock is still hard and heavy between his legs, glistening with your slick. 

You ask weakly to Oberyn, “What about you?” 

“Always so thoughtful,” Ellaria purrs. She throws her arm back, pulling Oberyn close by the neck. He kisses a delicate path up that follows the curve of her neck. “You don’t need to worry about him. Just relax. . . and enjoy yourself.” 

When Oberyn sinks into her, you understand why Ellaria was so eager to watch your expression. 

You stare into the small bathroom mirror above the sink, the light irritating your eyes. You’re fresh out of the shower, naked, still dripping, the drops warm as it slides down your skin. Ellaria’s reflection comes into view, also naked, her hands delicately moving over your body, examing to see if you’re hurt anywhere. 

“How do you feel?” she asks, satisfied with her examination. 

“I’m fine,” you answer dismissively, still staring at your reflection. You feel detached, your limbs slow and tenderly aching. 

Oberyn squeezes a tub of minty toothpaste over the bristles of your brush and holds your chin. Instinctively, you turn to him. He gently pinches your jaw. You open your mouth. 

He starts to brush your teeth. This man you just met, this man who just railed the ever-living shit out of you. . . is tenderly brushing your teeth. You taste the mint and without meaning to, you wrinkle your nose. He laughs. 

“It’ll be over soon.” 

The thing that makes you tear up is how delicate they are with you. It’s unexpected. They don't think you’re invincible just from your looks. They see that you’re broken, see that you want to be taken care of.  And they humor you, treating you as you wish to be treated, without you having to say so. 

They touch you as if you are a glass rose. It makes your chest ache. 

“I think I have ointment somewhere,” Ellaria mutters to herself, turning on her heel and looking over the shelves. “It will soothe your skin.” 

The small sniffle you make goes unnoticed by Ellaria but not Oberyn. With a raised eyebrow, he pulls out the toothbrush. “Rinse,” he says simply. He turns on the faucet for you and you fill your mouth with water. You swish it around. Then look to him before doing anything else. “Spit.” 

You watch as the foamy water goes down the drain. You straighten back up, watching the reflections that dance in the mirror once more. You feel his eyes on you but you’re too flustered to answer his gaze. Ellaria holds a small container of ointment, when she sees your expression her brows furrow. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you mumble, not truly knowing the answer yourself. Oberyn opens the faucet again and rinses the toothbrush. After placing it back, he brushes his lips over yours, the gesture sparking life back into your body. “I don’t know,” you then say. “It just feels all so nice, I’m not used to. . . I don’t know, sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ellaria says, opening the small container. She takes a hefty amount with two fingers and rubs it into the tender skin of your asscheeks. “It’s normal. You haven’t been feeling well lately, and it’s common to feel a bit of a drop after.” 

“Is it really?” you ask. 

Oberyn answers you instead, “It is. You’ll feel much better when we’re back in bed when you’re between us.” 

Ellaria nods and you manage to smile. With a soft chuckle, you shake your head. “You two are too nice to me.” 

“The bare minimum shouldn’t be surprising you this much,” Oberyn’s gaze softens. “But we’ll fix that.” 

As the two guide you back to the bedroom, you believe they will. 

[flowerandblood]

Pride | Promise | Price

[ modern! • Aemond x stepsister! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, sexual tension, angst, smut, kind of incest but not really, brat taming, violence, swearing ]

[ description: After their joint decision to be together, Aemond and his stepsister try to arrange everything to create as normal relationship as possible. The problem arises when Criston begins to suspect that his sweet little daughter has a boyfriend. The power of angst, ironic, protective, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

Part 1 − Rage | Revenge | Relief Part 2 − Guilt | Greed | Grace Part 4 − Blame | Betray | Bliss

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had no idea what had crossed his mind to ask her if she would become his girlfriend − it seemed to him to be the most embarrassing and desperate question one could ask the opposite sex, but yet in that moment, as she lay in his embrace, his nose pressed against her hair, their hands and legs entwined together, he thought that he didn't give a shit.

That he really wanted her to be his.

His little girl.

Her answer and her complete lack of hesitation surprised him as much as the question he asked her; he couldn't get out of his awe at how lightly she approached it, that even if she was afraid of the consequences she enjoyed being in a relationship with him, and what's more, just like him she wasn't going to stop.

He was unable to understand why certain things came naturally to them − he figured that the fact that she wasn't forcing anything on him, that she wasn't putting perpetual expectations on him made him finally open up to what he himself wanted, and by some miracle their needs began to coincide.

Above all, neither of them talked about their choice, simply recognising that they had already decided and there was no reason to explain anything further.

He watched with satisfaction as he drove her to her classes how she greeted her friends knowing that none of them would touch her again because she was fucking his.

His little sister.

At that thought a dangerous grimace appeared on his lips that terrified him as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror; he drove off with a squeal of tyres, certain that she had turned over her shoulder to look at him.

What surprised him most was that he was focused on his lectures like never before − neither of them disturbed each other during their classes with messages with only a few exceptions when they were figuring out what they were going to do in the evening.

Her gentle, cheerful, warm character suited him.

She didn't run after him seeking his attention all the time.

She accepted when he needed to study in silence or just sleep off a day full of activities.

When they passed each other in the corridor, came across in the kitchen or the living room and there was no one around but them, he would draw her to him, hugging her waist and clinging to her lips, uniting with her in a warm, moist kiss − she would then throw her arms around his neck while the tips of their tongues teased and licked each other with a quiet click.

Usually that was enough to make him completely hard, and it was usually just then that they heard someone's footsteps, so they pulled away from each other, looking at one another with this type of gaze he had never shared with anyone before, filled with desire, heat and longing.

They fucked whenever they could, in his car, in his living room, in his kitchen, once in his bed and once in hers, waiting patiently for his mother and Criston to fall asleep; they would visit and throw themselves into each other's arms, exhausted from waiting all day to touch each other, experiencing hot, sticky, intense pleasure together.

Afterwards, they stroked their naked, sweaty bodies, kissed each other and involuntarily fell asleep, forced to part before dawn, before anyone realised either of them was not in their room.

On the one hand it was exhausting and drove him mad, on the other it made him want her more and more every day.

It made him miss her, even though she was in the next room.

They wrote to each other when they were at home almost all the time even when they were sitting at the dinner table together; they commented on what was going on, told each other stories, sent each other memes or decided what they were going to do in the evening.

Sometimes they would play games together or watch movies on his laptop and lock the door from his room so no one would accidentally see them lying down and embracing.

However, in his eyes, the turning point for him was the day he told her about Alys.

The subject was completely different at first − his stepsister was telling him about how she dealt with Criston's arguments with her mother, that she would leave the house for hours and have nothing to do with herself, hanging around the nearby park and reading books, not wanting to return home to a house filled with their perpetual resentments feeling that there was nowhere for her to go.

He never confided in anyone about what he had done.

"At first it was supposed to be a one-night stand. Just to do something against the will of my mother, with whom as a child I went to mass every Sunday and prayed nicely before going to bed like a little good boy." He snorted, shrugging his shoulders.

"But, I don't know, when I came back here I always felt that she was looking at me with those eyes begging for forgiveness, that she would fall to her knees in front of me if she could, but I don't want her apology. I just wish she wasn't a fucking hypocrite.

So I ran away, to Alys, and fucked her in every possible way you can imagine, the kind that I'm ashamed of now. I think I took it out on her in some ways." He muttered thoughtfully, running a trembling hand over his chin.

He was afraid to look at her.

He was afraid of what he would see in her gaze.

He shuddered when he felt her lay her head on his chest so that he could nestle his cheek against her hair, her hands embraced him instantly − he wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back with trembling fingers.

He knew she could feel how fast his heart was pounding.

"My dad believes I'm an angel too. He's convinced that I've probably never kissed a boy before. I know I'll be a disappointment to him, another one in his life, when he finds out." She mumbled, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, his hand slipping into her hair, his lips kissing the top of her head.

"We don't live to fulfil our parents' expectations." He whispered and she lifted her sad, warm gaze to him, her fingers brushing his cheek before their lips joined in a slow, loud, sticky kiss.

He took her that night lying with her on her side, her thigh set high on his hip, her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He was rooting into her in a quiet, steady pace, teasing the spot inside her from which a sigh of bliss escaped her lips, their hands trailing over their naked bodies, stroking each other's shoulders, hair, necks, cheeks.

They kissed with their eyes closed, sucking and licking each other's lips, running their noses over the hot skin of each other's faces before their mouths connected anew with a wet click, his length stretching her throbbing, moist entrance with each of his deep thrusts.

He was horrified by what was happening to him then, how helpless and vulnerable he was, how much he needed her tenderness, acceptance and understanding, what relief he felt when she gave him more than he could ever hope for.

At last someone saw and wanted him as he really was.

That's why instead of being bored with her, their relationship went from being hilarious and ironic to something serious and surprisingly real.

He licked his lower lip feeling his cock throbbing hard as he read her last message.

While she never sent him naked pictures of herself like Alys did, she drove him crazy with pics of herself when she was dressed so that he could almost see her panties, buttocks or bare breasts.

It was only his pride that made him not beg her to send them to him more often, and apart from that he didn't want to sit with a swollen erection all the time.

He let out a loud breath, tightening his lips, feeling his cock get completely hard at the sight of her in the long, light-coloured sweatshirt and high woollen socks he loved to fuck her in, certain that she was now wearing no bra or panties.

Fuck.

He looked at his screen, but no more answer appeared on it. He licked his lower lip and, with a dangerous grin, left his room quietly, walking down the corridor past their parents' bedroom.

He walked inside her room without warning, locking the door behind him, staring at her for a moment − his stepsister was lying on her bed with a book in her hand, one of her knees raised, looking up at him with those big, warm eyes of hers.

He reached for the belt buckle of his trousers, looking at her like an animal watching its prey; he could see in her gaze that she knew what was about to happen.

"Take off everything except those slutty socks." He ordered coolly; he saw her swallow loudly as she put the book aside and with trembling hands pulled her sweatshirt over her head, with neither bra nor panties underneath, placing her hands on either side of her head. He chuckled at the sight, undoing the button and zipper of his trousers.

"Fucking knew it."

He walked over to her and knelt in front of her on her bed, taking her thighs in his hands, spreading them wide to the sides. She made no resistance to him, looking up at him with misty gaze, her pink lips parted slightly in quickened breath, puffy and glistening in the light of her bedside lamp.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? For your brother to come and teach you a lesson?" He asked dryly running his thumb over her hot, throbbing womanhood, sticky with her moisture, her whole body trembling − she nodded shyly at his words, as if she was ashamed.

"You're leaking, kid. Tsk-tsk." He shook his head disapprovingly, his hand with a sure, rough, short movement slapping her between her thighs − she flinched and squealed, but pressed her lips together immediately when she saw him furrow his brow.

"Quiet. Understood?" He asked coolly, and she nodded quickly.

"− I'm sorry −" She mumbled quietly. He sighed feeling that he wouldn't be able to hold out for too long, his fingers trailing around her puffy clit, not giving her what she needed.

"− good you're sorry − fucking brat − you've been looking at me all day with those big eyes of yours begging me to fuck you − yes or no? −" He growled and slapped her again, harder and louder, she stifled her moan and nodded her head quickly.

"− y-yes − please −" She babbled with difficulty, her breasts rising and falling in accelerated, raspy breaths, her hands clenched on her pillow on either side of her head, in her gaze the heat and pleading he loved, his heart pounding like mad, his fingers teasing her slit.

"− please, what? −" He hissed warningly and she swallowed loudly, already having obvious problems putting full sentences together, her thighs twitching before him.

"− please, big brother − I want you inside me −" She mewled writhing in front of him in impatience − he licked his lips looking at her in satisfaction and hummed under his breath, spreading her moisture over her folds.

"− good girl − come here − yeah, there you go −" He murmured, turning her onto her stomach and lifting her buttocks higher so that she hugged her cheek to the pillow, bucking her hips towards him, her entrance pink and throbbing, glistening from her juices.

He leaned over her and ran his tongue over her clit slipping his trousers lower, a quiet groan of delight came from his throat at how good she tasted − he knew she must have taken a bath before he came, her whole body smelling of feminine shower gel.

He saw her press her face against her pillow and stifled her loud moan with it, her hands clenched tightly on its material. He chuckled under his breath as he saw her state, squeezing himself several times with his hand in a quick motion, enjoying the view.

"− desperate? −" He sneered with amusement and she nodded, her whole body tensing as he guided the head of his cock against her slit − he pushed into her meeting resistance, her tight walls clamped down on him greedily, he could feel she was close to orgasm.

"− no − take it − all of it − that's right, there you go −" He exhaled with a sigh of relief, with a determined thrust of his hips forcing himself into her as deeply as he could, filling her whole, his hands clenched on her trembling hips.

He couldn't stop himself, he began to slam into her with quick, sure, sharp movements, his thighs slapping loudly against her buttocks − he could hear her quiet cries and sobs muffled by the fabric of the pillow she pressed her lips to.

"− be fucking quiet −" He growled low after a moment fucking her with all his strength, fast, brutal, loud − they were both panting involuntarily, they didn't stop even when they heard the door in the next room open, that someone had turned on the bathroom light.

He felt like they both sped up their pace even more at the thought that they might be caught, her hips responded greedily to his every thrust, her hot muscles clenched painfully hard against his cock wanting to keep him inside.

He clenched his eyes cursing in his mind, knowing he wouldn't last long, her muffled moans with each of his thrusts brought him closer to his orgasm.

"− baby − oh God −" He mumbled softly feeling the sudden fulfilment shake her body, she writhed and quivered beneath him like an animal, breathing loudly, her fleshy, hot wall sucking him inside.

He tilted his head back closing his eyes and just cum inside her, falling on top of her, pressing his lips to her sweaty neck trying to stifle his low groan, their bodies quivering and writhing beneath each other, unable to calm down.

"− shhh, little one − it's okay − shhh −" He hushed her in a soothing voice stroking her soft hair, kissing her tenderly on her temple, her cheek, her jaw − she turned her face towards him and their lips joined in a sticky, helpless, dirty kiss.

"− fuck −" He exhaled pressing his forehead against hers; they both closed their eyes intertwining their fingers together and lay in silence, their bodies rising and falling in heavy breathing.

They heard someone's footsteps and the sound of a light being turned off followed by a door opening and closing. They breathed quietly, his little sister hissing in discomfort as he slid out of her with a soft movement of his hips.

"I know, little one. Do you have tissues here to wipe yourself off? Bring you something to drink?" He asked in a whisper and she nodded, lying with her eyes closed completely without strength.

He covered her with a blanket, buttoned his trousers and ran downstairs to the kitchen to pour her some water; he took a glass from the cupboard above him and put it under the turned-off tap. He jumped back and doused himself, almost having a heart attack when he saw Criston right next to him.

He turned off the tap quickly − Criston scratched his head and grunted, as if he didn't know himself what he wanted to say.

"…listen. I know you and my daughter have been close lately. After what happened…you know…she doesn't trust me or confide in me. It seems to me that she has someone, that someone comes to her, I hear sounds from her room sometimes and I just − I just worry about her." He finished embarrassedly, rubbing his chin, lowering his gaze.

He stared at him with his eyes wide open and swallowed loudly, feeling his heart pounding hard.

She and he had talked many times about what they would do if someone caught them or asked them about it, but now that it had happened he was terrified of what he was about to do.

They had promised each other not to be like them.

That they wouldn't be cowards and liars.

He licked his lower lip, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

"Yes, she has someone." He replied coolly, taking a loud sip of cold water from his glass, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

Criston twisted uneasily in his place, looking at him uncertainly, putting his hands on his hips − he nodded, probably not knowing himself what he thought about it.

"Do you know who it is? Is it some boy from her studies, someone decent?" He muttered, running his hand involuntarily over his face in a nervous gesture.

He pressed his lips together before forcing out what he had wanted to say to his face for a long time.

"We've been together for almost two months."

Criston blinked, as if something in his sentence puzzled him, as if he had accidentally used a word incorrectly − his eyebrows arched in amusement, recognising it as an obvious mistake on his part.

"We?"

"Me and her."

The amusement disappeared instantly from his face; he saw that his lower lip twitched. He turned pale all over, his hand dropped as if without strength, he had the feeling that he was about to faint.

"This is not funny, Aemond." He said dryly, and he involuntarily chuckled under his breath, taking a deep sip of water, feeling suddenly confident again, knowing that he had him in his grip.

What the fuck could he do to him?

"That's my opinion as well. I take this relationship seriously." He hummed and Criston was suddenly right beside him − his fists was clenched on his sweatshirt, pressing his back against the fridge with a hard thud, his nostrils twitching in rage.

"Aemond, for fuck's sake, what are you talking about? Is this your revenge on me? Are you mocking me to show me how disgusted you are with me? You're entitled to it, but I swear if you touched her…"

"I love her."

Criston stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, then snorted with nervous laughter, shaking his head, his hands clenched warningly on the material of his clothes.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You fooled her and seduced her, took advantage of her naivety to get back at me? Hm?" He growled in rage while shaking him, an involuntary wide grin of superiority appearing on his face.

"I feel sorry for you if you think this is all about you. You and my mother can fuck as much as you want and beg for forgiveness like the true Christians you certainly are, I don't care. I don't give a fuck about you, pal. I want her."

Criston let go of him abruptly, running quickly up the stairs − he cursed under his breath moving immediately after him, remembering that she was lying under the blanket almost naked and that he had no way to warn her what was coming.

He heard her squeal and scream in terror as her father burst into her room turning on the light − she covered herself helplessly with the same blanket he had covered her with earlier looking at them terrified, breathing loudly through her mouth.

"What have you done?" Cole asked in disbelief, shaking his head. He moved suddenly from his place opening her wardrobe, pulling out her backpack, haphazardly packing her belongings into it − his mother appeared in the entrance to her room, rubbing her eyes, apparently snapped out of a deep sleep.

"Criston? What's wrong?"

"Get dressed. I'll take you to your mother." He said to her huskily; his daughter sat still, shaking all over and glanced at him with tears in her eyes. He swallowed loudly and looked indifferently at her father.

"She will stay with me."

Her father turned to him and looked at him with fury.

"Don't speak, brat, or I'll really fucking kill you!"

"Criston!" Cried Alicent, horrified and bewildered.

"What's going on here, how can you say something like that?" She asked spreading her arms and he pointed a finger at her son with a look full of accusation and pain.

"This little bastard is fucking my daughter to get revenge on me. He used her and he's fucking proud of it." He said clasping her backpack, his mother grabbed his arm, looking at him in disbelief.

"Aemond, what is he talking about?"

"He used me? I wanted it, Dad." She sobbed out in a breaking voice, and he felt a squeeze in his heart at the thought that she had not turned away from him, that she had defended him.

Her father shook his head, not listening to her at all, recognising that she was not thinking soberly, that he had manipulated her so much that she was saying what he wanted to hear.

"Get dressed." He growled and tugged on her arm so hard that the blanket slipped out of her hand exposing her breasts − she squealed and wept loudly, helplessly trying to cover herself again.

Seeing this he moved on him in involuntary reflex and pushed him away from her so hard that Cole hit the back of his head on her wardrobe.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!"

He fell to the floor, losing his hearing and sight for a moment when Criston hit him in the face with his fist − he heard her muffled crying and screaming, heard her quickly put her sweatshirt on and run to him, trying to help him up, her father pulled her to move behind him despite her crying.

Alicent looked at them with horror and tears in her eyes, pale, covering her mouth with her hand, Daeron stood beside her in his childish pyjamas not understanding completely what he was looking at.

"Mummy, what's going on?"

"− dad, stop, it hurts −" She cried all red with tears, breathing loudly, trying to get away from him.

"− you should have thought of that earlier −" He growled pulling her towards the door, but she resisted, finally biting his hand and he groaned, letting her go at once.

She escaped and ran to him, falling to her knees, hiding in his arms, with which he immediately embraced her tightly, panting loudly along with her − he looked at her father with rage, seeing the bruises on her arms, her body trembling in convulsions as she sobbed loudly, terrified.

Criston looked at them in disbelief and shook his head − he looked at Alicent as if he had suddenly realised something.

"Did you know about this?"

His mother looked at him as if he was mad.

"What, of course not, God, Criston!" She mumbled helplessly and burst out into a loud sob herself − Criston ran his hand over his face, walking with a quick, anxious step around her room.

He stood over them impatiently, and he felt his stepsister snuggle tighter into him, clasping her fingers painfully tight on his back, begging him silently not to let her go.

"Get up. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. That's enough fooling around, we're going to your mother's. Come on." He said a little more calmly, but met with no reaction from her − his large hands were stroking her soft hair and back, his lips placing a gentle kiss on her head.

Criston hid his face in his hands, holding back the urge to kill him in front of his mother.

"You won. Okay? You won. We'll move out, you'll get your house back, we won't bother you. You'll never see me again, I promise. Just let her go already." He said powerlessly as if he understood exactly what he meant and what he wanted.

Normally he would have been amused by this, but now all he felt was tiredness.

He was tired of them.

He snuggled into her tighter, pressing his forehead against her shoulder, burying himself in her soft, sweet-smelling flesh, feeling her hold him tighter, her nose and lips nestled into his neck.

He heard Criston move from his place after a long moment and laughed, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, walking out of the room, Alicent moving behind him.

"These kids are completely out of their fucking minds. I'm calling her mother."

He felt her flinch in his arms as she looked up at him in horror, his mouth forming a voiceless "We're leaving."

After five minutes they were both downstairs in front of his car − Criston hearing the front door open ran quickly down the stairs, looking at them in horror.

"…calm down, I know it's my fault, but you just have to…I know, I understand, like…fuck, stop, what are you doing? Get out!" He shouted loudly, furious to see her immediately get into the car, closing the door behind her, panicked. He got in from the driver's side and immediately started the engine, backing out of the driveway, moving forward with a squeal of tyres, leaving Criston and his crying mother behind.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye letting out a loud breath, shaking all over, her figure seemed even smaller to him than normally.

She sat curled up covering her mouth, her eyes clenched in pain, a sea of tears running down her cheeks, she was struggling to catch her breath.

He quickly grabbed her hand that was lying on her thighs in his, and she squeezed it in a panicked gesture.

"I know, little one. It was very scary. I know, breathe." He whispered in a trembling voice, trying to calm her and himself at the same time, looking in the mirror to see if by any chance someone was following them.

They did it.

They ran away.

They showed them the middle finger and fucking left.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[loremaster]

i went crazy (as i am known to do) and drew BOTH of each daily prompt for @raincodeshipweek! nothing past PG-13 here. double check the tags for ships below - or if you want to be surprised, jump in and see them all here:

Hurt/Comfort - Clockmare - I remember a while ago @pixelatedraindrops did a poll over which of the two to draw sick in bed… Halara's cat allergies won out, but I thought the opposite scenario of Fubuki needing recovery from overusing her rewind powers was cute too! This is a very cute ship that needs more love!

Healing - Kokolight - This is *THE* ship that's all about healing. (Emotional healing at least.) Yuma learns a lot from Vivia about how to embrace the uncomfortable parts of life… and Vivia learns a lot from Yuma about how not to let that diminish your spark. Plus, by the end, they understand what each other’s been through more than any other characters... almost. Also, dat height difference. Good shit.

Dancing - Aetheria trio - Similar bonding over shared grief here! But this time there's three of them! Big 3 of Cups energy. It's a shame we never really got to see much genuine interaction between Yoshiko, Waruna, and Kurane during the game's story… but sometimes the most fun parts are what we get to imagine for ourselves, hmm? Anyway, yeah. These three are bonded for life. (Too bad it wasn't a very long one...)

Domesticity - Viviakou - There's nothing funnier than two guys with opposite behaviors. Vivia wedges himself into the crack between the bed and the wall as far as he can. Yakou spreads out and takes up more room than the bed even has. Plus, he snores. Disasters, both of them. …I was going to try and come up with another ship for this prompt, since - spoilers - there'll be more Viviakou later on... but I thought of this image and laughed hard enough I couldn't not draw it!

Sun/Rain - Yakou/Amaterasu Researcher. - One of the happiest moments of Yakou's life was when his wife got him a boat for his birthday. A whole boat!!! A portable office! Never had he felt so loved before. …Never has the sun shone that brightly again. He hates the rain.

Stars - Clockbolt - Fubuki is staring out wistfully at the rain clouds, lamenting that she cannot see her star - the one her parents bought for her. But luckily - “Don't worry, Princess, I'll be your star…!” says Desuhiko. Bolder, brighter, and much, much closer than her faraway prize…Yeah, I think Fubuki would eat that up. This is a fun ship. I like that Desuhiko - against all odds - treats Fubuki like a person. And ironically I think that would make her like him more!!

Flowers - Furroughs - What else could I have drawn for 'flowers,' honestly? It's a cheap bouquet of Black-Eyed Susans! I can't see this as a healthy relationship, honestly, but that's what makes it fun! Imagining them as childhood friends who used to be really close but grew apart in adulthood strikes just the right chord of melancholy with me. Even more heartbreaking if you see them both as trans - imagine Yakou's so excited to have a friend like him, and then as soon as Seth transitions he's like "you don't know me. never speak to me again." Mmm, I do so love to put Yakou through the wringer.

Memories - Yumagami - Sometimes you don't know what you've got until it's gone. I imagine Yuma goes through phantom pains after their pact gets broken, not knowing whose laughter keeps ringing through his ears, what's up with that tingly spot on his cheek, or why he can't look at a barrel without his face feeling hot. (Though, he's probably astute enough to put together the clues...)

First Times - Viviakou - The first time Yakou heard Vivia say that catchphrase, it didn't feel very good.

Final Moments - Viviakou - ...The last time didn't feel very good either.

Swap - Vivia/Amaterasu Researcher - Okay, hear me out. If Yakou had managed to run up that hill, make a deal with Kodaka, and get him to swap their places - that is, he dies while his wife survives and becomes Chief of the Nocturnal Detective Agency - I think Vivia would think the same of Mrs. Furio that he did of Mr. Furio (that is, helplessly smitten). EXTREMELY underrated. Please ship this with me.

Alternate Universe - Zilara - My personal pet rarepair!!! Alas, our two confident creature-lovers have been kept from each other by the cruel hands of fate. So, I cope by drawing them getting fancy little drinks together. This is an homage to Boba AU, of course, but honestly, while drawing this, I was picturing them as students at the local prestigious college campus. Maybe they're members of frat Alpha Beta Omega or something.

Past/Future - Makoyuma - This one's more of a concept/pitch than a fully explored scene, but hear me out: time travel AU. What if Yuma meets a mysterious masked stranger who turns out to be a tech-savvy time traveler from a destroyed future... but then also turns out to be himself, somehow? How is there someone who looks exactly like him, 5000 years from now? What's the connection between Yuma and Makoto? And why are they so drawn to each other?

...The last prompt for the official Ship Week is a free day - so I'm going to take the day off! Though, there are a lot of other ships I lament not shouting out here - Kokobolt, Kokomare, Twimare, Fubugami, just to name a few!!! But I'm gonna give myself a break for now. Don't worry, you'll see more art from me soon - maybe even print versions of this, and some of my other Rain Code fanart. And if there's a specific ship or scenario you really can't wait to see... my commissions are open! ;D

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 9: Beneath the Veil

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

He soars above the roofs, moving swiftly with every forceful downbeat of his veiny, membranous wings. The moon shines bright and full tonight, the sky encrusted with stars glinting like polished gems against the pitch black.

Elowyn and the revolting Drow kept him far too late tonight, requesting additional samples of his blood, trying to justify their incompetent failures. If those two whelps make him miss his chance at seeing her tonight, he will punish them. Severely. The thought fills him with sadistic glee, and the lips of his snout pull back to reveal rows of sharp, needle-pointed teeth, as close as a smile as he can manage in this form.

A hoarse voice pierces through his morbid contemplation like hot steel, “Where is he, spawn?”

For a fleeting moment, he looks around, thinking someone is talking to him. He will torture whoever dares call him a spawn. He will make their death drag on for days, weeks, months, perhaps. He is a pathetic spawn no longer. He is the Vampire Ascendent, and he will not be belittled.

“Did I stutter? I said I don’t fucking know!” Her voice, usually sweet like wind-chimes in a gentle summer breeze, is bristling and teeming with bitterness that nips his ears.

He angles his wings, drawing them close to his body and dives, rapid and sure. He swerves between obstacles, beady black eyes darting around. That overly sweet scent of powdered iron vine stirs unwelcome memories as it hits his nostrils and makes his eyes water.

Shit.

He pumps his wings hard, heading straight toward that sickly sweet scent. He can feel himself start sinking into the mire that has muddled his mind and held him hostage, but he cannot allow it to swallow him in its gaping maw this night. She needs him.

Astarion, he must remind himself of his name. He is not just the Vampire Ascendent; he is Astarion.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

No. No. No.

His newly beating heart arrests in his chest, immobilized all over again, as he sees the hunter and watches them draw the stake from their hip. She... Gods, she doesn’t do anything. She closes her beautiful eyes and accepts her fate without a fight.

What in the bloody Hells is she thinking?

Fight! He wants to scream but cannot as he shifts forms in a fraction of a second, hauling one of the Gur holding her steadfast into the treeline while drawing his dagger, twirling it into his grip with a flick of his wrist and plunging it into their chest. Pivoting with bared teeth, he does not even bother waiting to revel in their dying shudder.

He is liquid lightning made flesh, and he takes the next hunter in a flash, slashing his dagger across their jugular with a satisfying spray of blood that splashes against his ivory skin and glazes his silver hair with a rust-coloured tint. He discards them just as quickly.

He does not waste a second and spins on his heel, lunging forward, every muscle and tendon in his body buzzing with the energy of 7000 souls. He rips the last Gur away from her, slinging them into the air with no more effort than it would take him to lift a speck of dust.

He regards the flailing human through narrow eyes with brows pulled down in a scowl that darkens his face. He’s going to snap their neck like a matchstick for thinking they can kill his beloved dark consort.

No, he corrects himself - his spawn, his toy, his possession.

“Please, don’t,” she pleads.

Her voice snaps him out of his grisly ruminations, and his eyes meet hers. Those round moon eyes that used to burn vividly with the glow of her blazing spirit now appear almost matte, and his heart clinches in his chest. Where is the fire he’s used to seeing in those eyes?

The scent of blood lingers heavily in the air, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of battle, and the gurgling sputters of approaching death stroke his ears, enchanting him.

Does she truly expect him to spare this feeble sack of shit? He does not spare lives simply because she requests it.

Yet, he is considering it. Why?

He cocks his head, straining against the insurgence of the other presence that threatens to gain control of his body. Ripping himself from the savage chomping jaws of this monster within is painful.

Agony, worse than any torture Cazador ever inflicted upon him, flares through every sinew of his body as he thrusts the hunter against the wall.

His breaths come in ragged, quick succession, but he is back, he is present, he is Astarion.

She stares at him with shock and winces. Her brows furrow with confusion as her eyes cast down and his follow their path.

He had not been fast enough.

Her body trembles as panic channels through her. She grips the stake and rips it out. The sound makes him nauseous and sends bile rising into his throat.

“... Astarion?”

His ears twitch at his name. Her eyes flutter closed as her consciousness begins to slip. Reflexively, he dives forward, arms outstretched, and for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, her name tastes like honey on his tongue as he cries it.

He catches her before her limp body can hit the ground. Gods, she’s far too light and bony with gaunt, hollow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. His mouth drops open, horrified. Squeezing his eyes closed, he grimaces and shakes his head slightly. He does not have time to dwell on this right now. He must get her help.

The Cleric.

He does not want to, but he can do nothing for her. He moves quickly toward that little house he has watched her return to time and time again.

He considers breaking the door down, but if he does that, the Cleric is likely to attack first and ask questions later. He slams the heel of his boot on the door with a loud thud.

“Astarion?” Shadowheart blinks the sleep from her eyes rapidly, bristles and lunges for her mace, “You should not have-”

“Shut up,” he spits harshly, pushing past her, “Put your distaste for me aside. She needs your help. If you wish to try and kill me after, I will gladly do away with you.”

The golden glow of Shadowheart’s magic recedes from her fingertips as she looks at her in his arms, mouth agape. Her eyes harden as they meet his, “Did you do this!?”

“Me?” He’s astonished at the accusation. Why would he do this? He would never, nay could never. How dare she accuse him of such barbarity!

“Yes, darling,” he drawls sarcastically through clenched teeth, “I thought it was a lovely little icebreaker. I stake my dearest spawn and then show up on your doorstep requesting your help.” He scoffs indignantly, clicking his tongue at her, “Do not be so stupid. I care not what you think of me, but this is not my doing. If I had wanted her dead, she would be dead, and I would not be here.”

“She is dead,” Shadowheart snarls, gripping the hilt of her mace so hard her knuckles strain white, “You already fucking killed her.”

“I-” He did, didn’t he? She is dead, and it was him that drained her of life. No. He pushes the thought away. He had given her the choice. She chose this, and he could not be blamed for her choices.

“Semantics,” he recovers quickly with a shrug, “I could argue them with you all bloody night. Will you assist, or would you prefer to continue glaring at me? I do love the attention, after all.”

Shadowheart scoffs, nose rising with a grimace, “Put her down and step away from her.”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. He will not lose her again. He cannot. “You have a choice, my dear. Help her as she is, in my arms, or do not. Stop wasting my fucking time.”

“Gods, you’re still as insufferable as you ever were!” Shadowheart stomps her foot, balling her fist up at her sides and levelling the mace at him before discarding it.

“Thank you,” he grins victoriously.

Magic encompasses Shadowheart’s hand. She steps close but warily as if he might pounce on her, and he rolls his eyes with a dramatic huff. Shadowheart recites an incantation, lays a splayed hand on her, and the spell flows over her body. The bleeding slows but does not stop. Shadowheart tries again, stronger this time, the magic suffusing the dim living area with a light blue luminescence.

“Take her to her room and show yourself out, Astarion,” Shadowheart instructs and points toward a darkened staircase, “It’s at the top of the stairs, second door in the hall.”

He chuckles at the silly notion he would leave her in this condition. He’s finally got his hands on her again, and there is no way he is letting her go, “No. She’s coming to the palace with me tonight.”

Shadowheart shakes, trembling with rage, “No. I will not allow you to take her.”

“Try and stop me,” he sneers, his brows knitting together, “She needs more healing, of course. You are most welcome to join us at the Crimson Palace if you wish.”

She will heal, although he’s not sure how fast in the emaciated state she is in. He will take her home where he can watch over her.  He will take her back where she belongs, with him, forever.

He shoves Shadowheart with his shoulder and heads for the door. He hears the crackle of her magic as it leaves her fingers and braces himself to absorb the attack. It hits his back, warming and prickling his skin.

He feels it again, the tug in his mind, demons creeping closer, trying to pull him into oblivion. He takes a deep breath, and his hands squeeze her more firmly, grounding himself.

Turning, he chuckles at Shadowheart as she stares at him, eyes wide in confusion but keen with determination, “That tickled, darling.” He taunts, “I will overlook this little altercation. After all, what’s a little quarrel between old friends? Now, I really must be getting home. You know where to find us should you come to your senses."

He wonders if Shadowheart will try again. She was a determined little spitfire, after all. He quickly slips out the door into the night and laughs when he hears Shadowheart’s livid scream.

“Fuck!”

It’s not long before Shadowheart jogs to his side, “What the Hells happened, Astarion?”

He’s surprised she did not come fully clad in her armour with every weapon she has. Surprised and rather disappointed. He thought she was more intelligent than to walk into the devil’s den defenceless.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us,” he says mirthlessly and shrugs, “She was attacked.”

“Yes, Astarion, I can see that.” Shadowheart scoffs at him, frowning and crossing her arms with a snort, but her expression softens when she looks at her, “Can she die from this? For good, I mean.”

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw, “I will not allow it.”

He walks quickly with long, ground-devouring strides. Shadowheart has to trot alongside him to keep pace.

She stirs in his arms now and then, trembles rippling through her muscles, fingers twitching, and he pulls her into him as close as he can get her. He wants to tell her it’s okay, to whisper that he’s got her and she is safe, but he bites his tongue.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is silent from there on out, and he’s thankful for it.

He lays her down on his bed as Shadowheart yanks scrolls and potions from her bag. He runs his fingers over her cheek when Shadowheart isn’t looking to let her know she’s not alone. He’s here. It’s been so long since he felt her skin. His heart feels like it palpates, skipping beats and is uncomfortably heavy in his chest. He cannot remember feeling anything similar in all his 200 years.

Shadowheart expends every scroll and every ounce of energy she has. Sweat rolls down her temples, and her magic dims and fizzles out on her fingers.

She pants, bracing herself against his bed, “I can do no more until I rest.” Shadowheart nudges him with an elbow to the ribs, “Get out. I need to clean and wrap her wounds.”

He narrows his eyes and quickly snatches the roll of bandages from Shadowheart’s hands, “Allow me.”

Shadowheart stares at him, teeming with hatred, “You will not. I need to undress her. Get out.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he snickers, “Many times, might I add.”

Shadowheart snarls and digs her finger rigidly into his chest, “You would violate her like that for your sick pleasure?”

Violate her? He would never do such a thing. How sick does Shadowheart think he is?

“Pleasure? There is absolutely nothing pleasurable about this!” He howls, affronted at the accusation that he would somehow get satisfaction from such an act. He runs his fingers through his blood-stained hair, “If she wakes while you are at it, she will drain you dry. She will have no control and will not be able to stop herself.”

Truth but not the reason he is being so insistent. He could not care less if she drained the Cleric drier than the desert at noon. He would watch it happen with glee. The truth he is reluctant to admit even to himself is that he wants to be close to her.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow at him, and she crosses her arms with a huff, “Fine, but I am not leaving you alone with her.”

“Fine by me,” he smiles amicably, with a shallow bow, “May I?”

Shadowheart watches him with the same intensity and mistrust she used to watch the Gith with, and he rolls his eyes at her.

His fingers nimbly undo the clasps and laces that hold her robe closed and peels it from her body, sticky with drying blood. He’s careful, keeping his movements slow and measured.

Good Gods, there is so much blood. It coats his hands, up his forearms, muddying his skin and getting under his fingernails.

“Fetch that, will you?” he points to the glass basin filled with clean water, “Cloths are below. Bring them all."

Shadowheart grumbles under her breath but obediently does as he asks. He cleans her with gentle strokes, discarding the rags as they become blood-soaked and spoiled.

Hells, she is thin beyond his wildest imagination. Her collar bones, hip bones, and ribs jut out from her sunken stomach. He could count every vertebra in her spine. She looks frail and sickly. It takes considerable effort for him to keep his facial expression impassive as if he doesn’t care, but her condition makes his bones ache. It reminds him of the time he spent the year sealed away, starving and alone in that old, dusty tome. Is he no better than Cazador? He buries the thought.

“I should have brought her a change of clothes,” Shadowheart cringes while discarding the robe, fabric soaked and heavy with blood.

“I have her clothing. I will fetch her something when we finish,” he concludes almost absentmindedly, his mind focused on wrapping her with the roll of bandages.

“You have her clothes?” Shadowheart gawks at him, eyes rounded with surprise, “Still?”

“Yes.”

He does not explain further. He still can’t recall why her bedroom was separate from his. Worse yet, it was down in the spawn quarters. Did he put her down there? Why?

“We can do no more for her tonight,” he murmurs as the backs of his fingers graze down her arm. He doesn’t even bother to look at Shadowheart. He points toward the door, “Guest bedrooms are in the west wing. Take your pick.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms and sniffs, “I will not be leaving her half-naked with the likes of you.”

He tires of this and these accusations that he will act indecently. Maybe he is a monster, but he is not as twisted as they all seem to believe he is. He does not have the energy or the restraint to participate in petulant arguments. If Shadowheart pushes him too far, which is an utter certainty, he will be Astarion no longer.

Astarion, he reminds himself again. I am Astarion.

He catches Shadowheart’s eyes and compels her, “You will go to the first guest bedroom you find, and you will sleep until dawn."

Shadowheart’s pupils dilate wide, and red tendrils trail around her as his compulsion roots into her mind.

“I will sleep until dawn,” Shadowheart repeats, absent and emotionless, getting up and leaving him alone.

He sighs with relief and drags a chair to the side of the bed. Dawn is an hour or two away, at best, but it is enough. He leans back, resting his elbow on the armrest and his forehead in his hand. This was his fault. He dragged her into this mess with the Gur. He knew they had been trying to track him, but he did not know they knew about her.

He will find where they are hiding and slaughter the lot of them for this. Why stop there? He will hunt every tribe of Gur to the ends of Faerûn and eradicate them from existence entirely. They will all pay in blood for what has occurred tonight.

She coughs and mutters indiscernibly. A voice inside his head wails that he should destroy her because she makes him feel, and that makes him weak. She makes him weak. He thrusts the thought down, frowning in disgust at himself for ever having it in the first place.

Gods below, what has he become? He’s spent months watching her from a distance. At first, he told himself he kept being dragged back to that terrible little hovel because he felt a foul sort of gratification in watching her suffer as she withered away to skin and bones or cried on the ground.

It made him feel good, powerful, but above all, needed. For a time, he savoured her misery as if he were sipping it like a fine wine.

He can’t remember exactly when it stopped being enjoyable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a shaky breath, kissing her palm and interlocking his fingers with hers, “I’m so sorry. I will not fail you again.” 

“It’s the wizard.”

He can hear emotion siphon from his voice, a sheet of ice crystallizing it. Her beautiful eyes are wide and round with fear, her mouth dropping open slightly. The tips of her fangs peek out of her full lips, disorienting him for a moment. Those fangs do not look like they belong in her mouth. Yet, he had put them there, didn’t he? She pulls the bedsheet up, grasping the silken linen in her fist and bringing it to her chest, shielding her body from him. He loathes the way she is looking at him. She is frightened of him. There was a time not too long ago when she trusted him beyond measure. He longs to see her look at him like that again.

But right now, the wizard is here to take her from him. He cannot lose her again. Gale cannot have her. She is his.

He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He can feel that unholy abomination within him start rampaging against its shackles. It pulls at the borders of his mind and whispers corruption in his thoughts, begging to be released.

“No. No, it can’t be. Gale doesn’t know where I am,” she stutters, panic taking flight and soaring into her voice, “You’re mistaken.”

If only he were.

He cocks his head, eyeing her warily and waves dismissively, “Shall we answer the door and find out?”

He tries to sit up. She relinquishes her linen shield and scrambles into his lap, squeezing him tightly between her thighs and straddling his waist. She plants her splayed hands on his chest and thrusts him down, grinding him into the bed with all the strength of her vampiric form.

She looks to the door, brows upturned, portraying her unease, and then looks back at him, “Ignore it.”

He lets her push him back and narrows his eyes in a challenging glower. Even with all her strength and weight behind her, he sits upright effortlessly in a slow advance. She forgets herself sometimes, forgets what he is, the power he possesses. He can feel her body trembling, her fingers digging into his chest, and he revels in the fear illustrated in the intricate details of her features.

He blinks hard and rids himself of that thought. It’s his ire forcing impulsive whispers through his head. If he wanted that, he could simply let himself slip away, and he would not even have to remember the savagery he dealt.

“Now, why ever would I ignore my old friend Gale?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s another well-practiced veneer, just another mask, one of his many.

“Please, Astarion,” she takes his hand and begs, “Ignore it.”

“No,” he retorts, easing her off him gradually and sliding off the bed. He grabs his trousers and throws them on.

She clambers ungracefully, grabbing her clothes, “Astarion, listen to me. Please. At least stay in here while I talk to him.”

He whirls on her with a snarl before he even knows what he is doing, “I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He shouts at her cruelly, “I take orders from no one!”

His eyes start their restless shifting. He marshals his resolve and the muscles in his arms strain. His fingers twitch as unseen talons claw rifts into his consciousness, and he reels to keep himself tethered to reality.

He must not give in.

Her arresting eyes bore into him. She speaks to him softly, using that silver tongue in her most zephyr intonation, “Stay you, please.”

She watches, observing his every movement. Shooting pains cleave through him. It feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside out, and Gods, it hurts. If she were not looking at him like that, he might let himself be dragged away.

Astarion, he prompts himself; I am Astarion.

He jerks his eyes away from her while buttoning his chemise, “I’m trying,” he growls low, “Do not challenge me right now.”

A warning. He can feel himself sinking. All grace and fluidity have been depleted, and he moves stiff and rigidly. She picks up her shirt and stares at the tattered rag he tore from her body. He can still taste her pleasure sweet on his tongue, feel her dissolving around him, while his name rang like a prayer through these halls.

He told her he was going to make love to her, didn’t he? Why did he say that? He does not make love. A lapse in judgment in a moment of passion, surely. He does not dig deeper. He dares not follow the trail because he’s afraid of what he will disentomb.

He shifts his form and reappears by the door. Her footsteps descend the staircase so quickly he’s surprised she hasn’t sent herself tumbling. Perhaps he has managed to teach her something, after all.

He knows what awaits when he opens this door. Gale will try to take her from him again as he did before with his trivial illusions, sincere confessions and genuine love, but she belongs to him.

Astarion, Astarion, Astarion, he chants to himself as he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Gale’s voice clamours through the halls as he pushes in, “Where is she, Astarion? What have you done to her!”

“That’s Lord Astarion to you, Gale.” His voice is tight, soaked in cordial falsity, “How lovely to see you. Welcome to our home.”

Gale scoffs at him, brows furrowed, “Lord Astarion? You cannot be serious?”

“Oh, I am dead serious.” He seethes through clenched teeth, brows pulled down in a menacing scowl, “In my home, you will show me the proper respect I am due.”

“Respect?” Gale shouts at him in a rage, arms gesturing wildly, “You lost any hope of respect as soon as you forced undeath on her.”

Forced undeath on her? Forced?! He did no such thing! He requested, and she accepted. Her undying loyalty for an eternity with him.

A simple transaction.

... Right?

The edges of his vision are starting to ripple and blacken, a sure sign he is losing.

She runs around the corner, almost tripping over her feet, and her words blunder out of her mouth briskly, “Gale, stop! You don’t understand what you’re doing. You’re putting us all in danger.”

“Yes, Gale,” he chimes cooly, “I am very dangerous.”

His memory flashes with images of himself standing, blood dripping from his hair, off his fingertips and chin. Mangled bodies are strewn haphazardly around him, open mouths lamenting silent screams as their milky eyes cast judgment on him. He does not recall dealing these deaths, only waking up in the aftermath of his primal sadism.

Gale ignores him and reaches toward her. He doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s twisted Gale’s arm behind his back. He fumes, “Do not touch her. She is mine.”

He considers breaking the wizard’s arm with a gleeful, ghoulish smile, tugging his lips up. He applies a little more force, and Gale cries out. The pained bawl is music to his ears, and he almost floats away on the bewitching hymn.

“Astarion, stop it.” Her cold hands clutch his heated cheeks, “Look at me. I’ve got you, but I need you to hold on.”

He focuses on those fascinating multicoloured doe-eyes through the storm clouding his vision. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to release Gale with a grunt. His limbs feel numb - like they are not his and should not be attached to his body. He shudders and leans back against the wall, with such pressure that cracks begin extending across the wood panelling. Agony explodes behind his eyes. He’s sweating, perspiration rolling down his forehead and temples and the delicate black fabric of his chemise clings to his damp body.

She drags Gale out of the manor into the sunbathed street, trying to put as much distance between him and Gale as possible. She squeezes her eyes closed and grits her teeth as the radiant light spreads over her snowy skin.

I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. He wants to tell her, but he is no liar. She is safe with him, Astarion, but he cannot be sure of his actions if he is overtaken and subdued.

“What in the Hells is going on here?” Gale yells at her, “What are you thinking going back to him? He killed you and then left you to rot in the sewers! Do you remember how Shadowheart and I found you? You were out of your mind with hunger!”

Rot in the sewers? What the fuck was Gale talking about? He never left her in the sewers. Did he? His memories are fragmented and unreliable. He remembers defeating the Netherbrain, the searing pain in his head, standing on the docks, and little else. The first vivid thing he can recall is watching her walk out the palace door, tears gliding down her face, her eyes shimmering wet in the moonlight, and her voice trembling as she said goodbye.

He does not know what is happening to him, but he knows there is more to the Rite than the devil let on, and whatever ails him is slowly eating away at whatever is left of him.

“Yes,” she mewls, a hand coming to her forehead in an exasperated gesture, “I remember. It doesn’t matter now. You shouldn’t be here, Gale. Go home. I will come when night falls, and we can discuss this then.”

“Why are you putting yourself in harm’s way again, for him of all people.” Gale scolds her and makes those voices in his thoughts croon louder, promising the wizard’s death, telling him he won’t have to blame himself, “Is this some sort of compulsion? Has Astarion forced you to do this? You’ve always had a big heart, but you have never been stupid.”

Did he call her stupid? He will rip out Gale's fucking tongue for speaking to her in such a manner.

“Astarion hasn’t compelled me,” she retaliates in a cutting inflection, but he hears the unmistakable notes of uncertainty, “I am here of my own volition.”

“No, I do not believe that.” Gale decrees, sure and confident, “I think Astarion knows how to manipulate you, and he continues to do so, as he always has done.”

“Perhaps he is,” she sighs, “But perhaps he isn’t. It matters not. The choice is mine to make, and the consequences are mine to bear, whatever they may be.”

Gale’s voice loses its keen edge and drops low, “You fled from Astarion, from this life. Why return to it? Help me understand, my friend.”

Her fists clench at her sides, and she growls, frustrated with the inquisition. “Isn’t it obvious? I love him,” she shouts, squaring off with Gale, “I love him, and I will not, cannot, give up on him!”

He stares at her back, mouth dropping open and eyes rounded. He did not expect this. She is doing this because he promised her freedom, is she not? Another transaction.

“That man,” Gale spits, “No, that monster cannot love you. Not anymore. You’re coming home with me.”

Bitterness rises hot in his throat and coats the back of his tongue. He’s spent lifetimes having someone dictate what he can and cannot do, and he will stand for it no longer.

He does love-

He cuts the thought off abruptly as if it were a stray stitch unravelling from a grand tapestry. His blood solidifies, icy in his veins.

If he admits this, it becomes real, and she alone has the power to destroy him, wreck him beyond all hope of repair.

Yet, despite his best efforts, whatever he retains of his soul weakly whispers on, ruing against his restraint.

I love you too.

He groans and leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to keep himself upright. His brain feels like it’s twisting in his skull. Oblivion is edging closer, vines made of shadow reaching out to him and twisting around his limbs.

“No, Gale. Stop,” she screams, her feet dragging across the paved stone street, “You are going to get us both killed!”

“I am not afraid of Astarion,” Gale says, resolute.

He’s heard enough, “You should be, Gale.” he hisses as he emerges from the doorway, “Leave. Now. She has made her choice.”

The sun is bright in his eyes, much too bright and hot on his already feverish skin. He forces himself to stand straight, though he wants to double over.

Gale scowls at him, brows pulled down, “You did this, didn’t you? You compelled her, exerted your will over her and forced her into this servitude!”

Gale would want to believe that, wouldn’t he? Blame him for being the puppet master, because then Gale would not have to face the truth.

Despite it being the objectively stupid thing to do, she loves him.

“Gale, go home,” she screams, anger thrusting into her voice, “I will explain everything, but you must go before it’s too late. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

His body does not feel like it’s under his control, and movement feels wrong. Gripping her arm, his fingers dig into her flesh, and he hauls her backward toward the manor with so much force that he wrenches her off her feet and into the air. An anguished cry chokes from her throat. It breaks him from the daze. He did not mean to hurt her.

“I didn’t mean to-”

He doesn’t get to finish before he’s pushed back and off balance by a sudden, strong gust of wind, far too powerful to be anything natural.

He rights himself quickly, whirls, and watches in horror as a radiant beam of pure sunlight careens toward her. It washes over her before he can move, and a shrill, soul-shattering scream wrests from her throat.

The demon bursts from its prison with pain so torturous it fractures his psyche, liquefying his brain matter.

He’s dragged down, down, down, where everything is quiet and dark.  

Sunbeam spills over you in an upsurge. Your skin sears, your eyes sizzle in their sockets, and white-hot pain swarms your vision. Falling to your hands and knees, a cry so shrill tearing from your throat, it feels like it rips your vocal cords to tatters.

“Are you pleased, wizard?” Astarion drawls, “Look what you’ve done to my most precious treasure.”

Astarion’s voice is distant and emotionless, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s lost the fight with himself. If you do not do something quickly, Gale’s blood will soak these streets, and it will be on your hands. Astarion told you those who provoke him rarely survive. Gale will be no exception.

Gritting your teeth, you push through the pain, making your nerves sing and blink to clear your vision. Astarion stalks toward Gale, laughing as if deranged while he nimbly dodges every one of Gale’s attacks, a predator playing with their prey like a cat with a mouse.

From the ground, you cast Hold Person, halting Astarion. He wars against his restraints. You will not be able to hold him long.

“Gale,” you sputter as you feel your concentration breaking, splintering at the seams like an overstuffed doll, “I cannot hold him long. Run to the waypoint and get home.”

Gale shakes his head, “I won’t leave-”

You trample over him, “If you don’t, we are both dead. Go! Now!”

Seconds that feel like hours pass before Gale turns and disappears down the street. You hold Astarion for as long as possible, vying to give Gale enough time to get to the waypoint. You can only hope Astarion does not decide you’re too broken and no longer fun to toy with.

Astarion rallies against your impediment and Hold Person breaks and shatters as your concentration is pushed beyond its limits.

Trembling, you try to push yourself to your feet, but you can’t get your limbs and muscles to obey orders. You don’t hear Astarion’s footsteps as they approach, but his proximity is betrayed by his beating heart.

Astarion’s hand curls into your hair, pulling you to your feet with an unforgiving yank, “You should not have intervened in my fun.”

“Astarion-”

His hand slams into the bottom of your chin, making your teeth clash with so much force you’re sure they will buckle and disintegrate in your mouth.

“Don’t “Astarion” me. It will not work this time,” he growls with a taunting edge, “Astarion is gone. I am the Vampire Ascendant! I am a God, and I will not be caged! Do you hear me? You are nothing, and you cannot save him.”

He talks about himself as if they’re two different people.

Astarion looks around, and a menacing smile slinks across his lips, “Perhaps I should simply let you burn and put an end to this once and for all.”

Panic forces your hand. Whoever this person is, he is not Astarion, and he may very well let you burn. You press your palm against his chest and let liquid fire, hot as the fires in Phlegethos, explode against him. The instant you feel his clutch release, you throw yourself back into the safety of the manor.

Crawling further inside, you push yourself up with the aid of a wall as your knees quake under your weight. You look up just in time to see Astarion’s hand as it slams into your throat, and he lifts you off your feet. His grip is stringent and unforgiving, and bruises instantly varnish your pallid skin, narrating abuse with dark hues of blue, purple and red. You kick against the air hopelessly, feet trying to find purchase.

You pull at his wrist and hand, digging your nails into him, blemishing his ashen skin with bloodied, jagged lacerations. You try to speak, but he increases the pressure on your throat, and nothing can make it out of your compressed esophagus.

You keep your eyes away from Astarion’s; you cannot look into those ruby-red eyes and see him look at you like you are nothing. Not after he has been looking at you like you’re everything.

Astarion’s head rears back, and his fangs plunge like icepicks into your neck. He shakes his head side to side like an animal trying to tear your throat out. You try to cry out, and your fingernails claw at his arms and face. He draws blood in erratic, unrestrained gulps and swallows it greedily. It spills from his mouth, running down your neck in a tributary, soaking into your shirt.

You oppose his hold on you, but it’s no use. Astarion is too strong, and you’re far too depleted. Astarion is going to drain you dry once again, and you stop fighting it. He cannot kill you like this, but what he does with your unconscious body afterwards is another story entirely. You dare not think about it.

Your limbs are the first to start feeling the effects of blood loss with tingles spreading to your fingertips. Even though it’s not possible, you still feel the sensation of paling further and growing colder as you begin to feel faint. Your body goes limp in his clutch as it numbs to the point where not even your fingers have the energy to twitch. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes spurn your effort to keep them open. A quiet, pathetic whimper escapes your parted lips.

Suddenly, Astarion rips his fangs from your neck, rough and painful. The agony snaps you back into your body. You fall to the ground in a shuddering heap. Blood continues to flow freely from your neck and spreads sanguine streams in the cracks between the wooden plank flooring, overflowing and pooling around your face and shoulders.

You watch Astarion stagger backward. Violent spasms wrack his body, and he falls to his hands and knees. He convulses, body writhing and twisting, and his fingernails make deep, long gouges into the floor, bloodying his fingertips.

You’ve seen him fight himself before, but it’s never looked like this. Good Gods, this is pure, undiluted suffering, and tears well up in your eyes.

I did this to him. This is my fault.

You try to speak, but the pain in your throat is unbearable. Your fingers splash in bloody puddles as you flex them. It takes every ounce of energy you have left, but you reach out and place your hand over Astarion’s as it claws the ground. His surprised eyes dart to you at the contact.

You keep your eyes focused on the beautiful red of his, in case it’s the last time you see them, as your world fades to black.  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

So we did backtrack quite a bit in this chapter, but I thought it was important to learn why Astarion was even around for the Gur attack, and also to get a good look into what's going on in his head.

Trying something new with Astarion's POV. Let me know if it works or not, and I might keep switching perspectives.

Also, the new patches additional kisses - be still my beating heart.

[genericpuff]

On this week's episode of "Webtoon Controversies That Could Have Been Avoided If Only They Had Some Damn Quality Control"-

Oh boy, prepare yourselves, there's some TEA on this one.

Quantum Entanglement, a new Webtoon Originals series from creator Arts Angel (aka Sarah Ellerton) is uh... a teeny weeny painfully obvious that it was made with AI.

AI is getting better, but when it comes to comics, there are still a lot of "tells" you can pick up on once you know where to look. Hands are certainly one of them.

Not knowing how to draw hands efficiently and consistently is definitely an Artist Problem(tm) but it becomes a lot more obvious it was made by AI when you get weird little off-putting mistakes like a fingernail being just a little too long or missing joints (hot dog fingers, eyo) or the distinction between fingers not being clear.

But there's also hair and other detailed parts that are often lost in the translation process between prompt to final piece. Jewelry, text on a screen, phones, that sort of thing. The insinuation of a 'thing' is there, but it's like looking at it through a fishbowl.

And ultimately, a lot of AI art tends to just be a little too 'perfect'. Everything is just a little too smooth for it to look like it was naturally made by a person. Faces end up veering into the uncanny valley territory and there are inconsistencies between the eyes and the rest of the body. Backgrounds become lost in what I like to call "AI goop", becoming nothing more than weird blurred/filtered out insinuations of what's supposed to be behind the character.

Basically, at this point, it's undeniably clear that AI is being used to create this comic. While there are also plenty of signs in the handiwork that show a human was involved in some parts, there are other places that are undeniably filled in with the use of AI. So it's not necessarily a 100% made-by-AI comic, but it's absolutely AI assisted.

But what's REALLY absurd about this whole situation? The creator denies it. To the point of including a disclaimer in the first episode trying to "get ahead" of people who are assuming it's AI by saying, "No, it's not made with AI, here's the proof! Don't look at the blood on my hands or the body in the trunk of my car!"

Now, first off, the absolute absurdity of making yourself look guiltier by trying to prove your innocence before people have even started to suspect you... I'd like to think that this was edited into the first episode after the initial accusations started rolling in but considering it's an Originals series, it's hard to know if it was, as creators typically don't get as much control over just editing their episodes on the fly like Canvas creators do. Typically it's their editors who do that sort of thing for them. And even if it was edited in afterwards, it's still there for people who have no idea going into the comic blind and might not automatically assume it was made with AI, so it just looks like you're bringing up the potential of AI being used completely unprovoked. By planting the idea in your audience's brain that AI is even a question, you're making them suspect everything.

It's kind of like when Dream was suspected of cheating in a way-too-lucky-to-be-real speedrun of Minecraft a couple years back, so he went to all these painstaking efforts of hiring a quantum physicist to "prove" his innocence with a straight up THESIS documenting all of the reasons he couldn't have cheated through math and figures and jargon. Ironically, this just made Dream look guiltier, and sure enough, he eventually admitted he had cheated.

That said, did you notice something in that "art process" pic?

That finished panel isn't even what showed up in the final comic.

So the absurdity of this all, again, just makes Arts Angel look a lot more guilty of actually using AI, especially when it's basically undeniable in so many of those panels above. People don't paint like that.

But that brings us to talking about Sarah Ellerton, aka "Arts Angel", the creator. Many long-time readers of her work are defending this, claiming that she has, in fact, "always drawn like this".

What's insane? She actually is who she says she is. This isn't like some kid who came out of the woodwork with AI and claiming that they had 20 years of experience, Sarah Ellerton's main site, The Seraph-Inn, has been live and crawled by Wayback Machine as far back as 2005.

And you can see the art evolution over the years, starting with Inverloch-

-into Phoenix-

-and all the way to Immaterial-

But here's the thing about that last comic. The main protagonist is, apparently, the same girl from Quantum Entanglement, the newest installment in this series where it becomes abundantly clear the creator has started using AI.

You can see the effects of this being parsed through AI, because she's gone from being a unique character with two-toned hair and darker skin, to being turned into a generic Instagram anime girl. And lemme tell you, AI used in comics has NOT gotten better at depicting darker-skinned characters (I actually tested an AI-coloring tool WT was planning on putting out a year or two ago, it was uh... not great.)

But the most damning thing about Sarah?

She works in IT.

That on its own wouldn't be so telling if it weren't for the 20 years she clearly spent actually honing her craft, only to suddenly switch to using AI as a crutch.

Quantum Entanglement was picked up for Originals in July 2023. It launched two days ago, with four free to read episodes and 6 more under the FastPass paywall. Three months after it got picked up. That turnaround speed is insane for an Originals series. Now, I'm more inclined to believe that maybe she's using the exact same pages she used in the Canvas version (there's unfortunately no way of checking through Wayback, it never crawled the Canvas version, so unless someone has backups of the Canvas pages they're willing to share, we'll never know) but that short turnaround time is insane for a comic that's this insanely detailed. It likely means they didn't need much pre-production time to get a strong buffer going, and that it doesn't take them as long to produce these episodes on a weekly basis so they could be under way less crunch than creators who do this by hand.

By comparison, the winners of the Call to Action contest from last year are STILL working on their pre-production. Many other greenlit Canvas series are known for getting picked up and stuck in pre-production for several months and even a year or more simply due to how the company operates with when it chooses to launch these series and how much pre-production is necessary. Some creators have literally said that their pre-production was done, but WT still kept them waiting to launch. So three months for a freshly greenlit Canvas series to launch is NOT the norm.

All that said, I feel for the people who are trying to defend her. But it's so undeniably AI with the creator herself providing fake proof that it makes it really sad to think that this person was honing their craft for 20 years just to wind up utilizing AI. Being a good artist does not make you immune to the temptation of using cheap methods or developing bad habits. Going through "the struggle" does not make you immune to taking shortcuts that wind up cheapening your work or taking advantage of the work of others.

Now, maybe Sarah trained AI around her art. If this didn't play out the way it did, I'd be willing to give her benefit of the doubt and assume that. Training AI off your own work, while still up for debate as to how ethical that is, at least doesn't hurt other artists, because it's your own work the AI is "stealing". There are definitely ways AI could be used to make life easier for artists without replacing the art process entirely, the same way artists have learned to use 3D assets and digital art filters to make their process more efficient and boost the quality of their art up to the next level.

But the fact that she's being so cagey over it, claiming she's not using AI period when she very clearly is, providing "proof" that actually proves she definitely used AI, while operating under a penname that's strangely similar to a name Grimes - former tech wife of Elon Musk and staunch supporter of AI - used for one of her studio albums-

- that's what makes it a lot more clear she's using it maliciously.

The AI is very likely trained off another artist's work. Maybe someone whose art style is similar enough to hers that she could integrate it into her own and pass it off as legitimate. Someone whose art style is cartoonish but still modern, like if Disney made anime. Someone who's so prolific and consistent in their stylization that training an AI off it would seem like a no brainer to those who want to replicate that style quickly and easily.

Damn. What a disappointment. Do better, Sarah.

And for god's sakes, Webtoons, pay more fucking attention. I've been steadily picking away at moving the entirety of my comics over to other platforms on a weekly schedule, but at this point I kinda just wanna dump the last 30 or so chapters onto ComicFury all at once so I can ditch this platform for good, especially if it turns out AI comics getting greenlit is a feature, not a bug. The ratings for Quantum Entanglement have dropped significantly overnight, now sitting around 5.09 and still dropping, but is Webtoons going to do anything about it? That remains to be seen.

[specialagentartemis]

I just started trying out stained glass, which I know you also do...any hot tips for beginners or things you wish you'd known when you were first learning?

YOOO STAINED GLASS. Fave. I would love to see what you come up with!

Are you primarily using foil+solder or lead came? I've never actually used came so I have very little advice in that department, though I do want to at some point...

Some things to keep in mind, some imparted to me by my craft center teachers and some discovered by trial and error:

Get a designated box to cut glass over, because the more ambitious the shapes you want to cut, the more shards WILL go everywhere and you want to keep them contained.

If you're cutting glass by hand, you cannot make sharply concave shapes. You will think you can. You will think it can't be that hard. You WILL push your luck. You will end up frustrated. Avoid concave shapes.

If you want to cut concave curves, make them very gently and generously sloped.

If you want to incorporate concave shapes in your design, use multiple pieces of glass to make the curve.

Design with glass in mind from the get-go, rather than trying to adapt a complicated image. If you're designing your own work, try to build it around larger, geometric shapes, without a lot of small fiddly curves. Small fiddly curves DO make fun images, but they will also drive you crazy when they inevitably don't quite fit together right. Make sure you build in enough larger, geometric shapes into your design to anchor your piece and save your sanity.

That said. NGL incorporating things like fossils and marbles and weird shaped natural things is Fun. You can wrap anything you want in copper tape.

Draw or print out your pattern on paper and number each piece on both the pattern and the glass itself. Sharpie wipes off glass pretty easily.

When grinding glass, make sure each piece is ever so slightly smaller than it is on your pattern. The thickness of copper tape seems negligable but adds up when you want pieces to fit precisely.

There are non-lead solders, and they're basically fine, if a little more annoying to use. Lead melts more easily, but I usually use zinc because it's not lead lol. Though if you're not eating off of your stained glass, using lead proooobably isn't a huge deal. Always wash your hands after glasswork regardless.

Tip tinner is your friend! Tin the tip of your soldering iron before and after use, it makes it so much easier.

When you're soldering pieces together, I find laying down a base of thick cardboard, laying out your design on the cardboard, and then using thumbtacks around the edges to anchor the glass pieces in place and prevent them from sliding around helps a lot.

If you want to hang up your stained glass creation like a suncatcher, add loops or hooks, and try to put them at junctures/seams of different pieces of glass to distribute the weight and pressure. My go-to method to make loops for hanging the pieces is to take a metal paperclip, and then loop it around needlenose pliers to make a circle with the wire sticking straight out on either side. Lay the flat wire ends along the outside and solder it down. It makes good secure loops that you can tie a ribbon or attach a chain to, while distributing the pressure along the outside of the piece. And it’s metal so solder sticks to it.

I hope that's not too much! I love working in glass, it's fun and it's so pretty.